I'm doing another one of these, but more for newer-ish fics. The more well-known ones are the most Kudos'ed fics you'll see on AO3 (for good reason), but I thought I'd give some love on some fics that probably aren't getting as much attention since the fandom isn't as active as it was last year.
Similar to the last rec list that I had, I'll mostly be sharing my thoughts that may or may not talk about the plot for each fic.
Candied Consideration by Kayleen756894 - This is by the same author who wrote Inscriptions (aka one of my favorite Jeckole fics), and while I haven't read it yet, I can always trust this author to deliver. It's a crossover fic, which may not be everyone's cup of tea--but, it's a crossover fic with Heathers (that one musical I haven't seen). I know nothing about Heathers, but based on some of the things I've been hearing about this fic, it's that one crossover that a lot of people didn't expect they needed. Both source material are pretty similar in terms of vibes which makes it fit pretty well for someone who's primarily a Class of '09 fic reader. I have yet to read this, but it's Kayleen, so...I'm sat.
Even When It's Quiet by mlpvsbojackhorseman - I didn't get a chance to read the old version when it was still running, but the author ended up revamping it and is currently on Chapter 2 with a darker tone. As someone who loves hurt/comfort Jeckole (especially fics that touch more on the darker aspect of mental health), this was that type of fic I was looking for to scratch that itch. I want to note that the tags include Dead Dove, but the author mentioned it's more for exploring really taboo subjects as Jecka and Nicole's relationship progresses.
God, I'm Very, Very Frightened I'll Overdo It by Fox_Is_Fandumb - I believe this fic has been around while the fandom was much more active, but it recently updated earlier this month and thought to put it on this list. I don't care if people say it's OOC for Nicole and Jecka because I'm vanilla and like seeing them happy. But what makes this not as "OOC" for me personally is that their core personality traits are still retained in some way despite being more mellowed out. It's meant to be a collection of oneshots during their (Jecka's) college years, most of which are pretty fluffy. If you're looking for some light-hearted fluff between the two that takes place after high school, you should give this a read.
Wanweird by AbsurdofOurs - I didn't think I'd find another fic that gave me the same feeling as Progman's Jeckole, but this was definitely the one. Nicole is peak loser in this one, and I love it. She's living in Emily's car and sells vapes to kids on the playground, all while still thinking about her situationship with Jecka back in high school. I say that this gives me the same feeling as Progman's Jeckole since their dynamic is largely inspired by Codepedent Philosopher's Guide to Staying Alive. And honestly, I eat that kind of codependent dynamic up so good. I love the interactions between Nicole and Jecka, and there were some scenes where I found myself laughing because of the comedic timing. I love the way that this author writes Jecka and Nicole's dialogue, and if you're looking for a specific codependent flavor of Jeckole, this is the fic for you.
Reflection by Kayleen756894 - Another Kayleen fic, but this time, it's a Halloween special. I read this when it came out and the pining on Nicole's end made me think I was witnessing her in a glass closet. Nicole is a vampire in this one, surprise, surprise, but she also craves Jecka's blood--the same friend who may or may not let her have a hit when she gets hungry. The part I love the most about this fic (aside from the prose) is the banter between the two. It was definitely needed after everyone's disappointment from the third game lol. If you're looking for a fluff(?) Halloween-themed fic, this is for you.
sweetgirl by jackdotcom - This was a really sweet fic I read (while I was bedridden from my Illness Part II) that takes place around Christmas. It's broken up into three chapters (though can easily be read in one go), and it has Nicole and Jecka having a shitty time but decide to spend the Christmas day together pretending that it's not Christmas.
Last Night in Town by bunmoder - I actually read this last night, and I believe they're a newer writer that came in, but I loved the way they wrote the overall mood of this fic. It's a more bittersweet Jeckole fic, but it's also very fluffy during the quiet moments.
I Was Never Complete Without You by MentalCrit09 - Also another post-Flipside fic, but for those people who hated the FYE Roadtrip route. It focuses more on Jecka's recovery back into normlacy after being rescued from that distasteful ending. It's not super angsty and has enough balance between the heavy subjects of what Jecka went through as well as the general fluff after reuniting with Nicole. For anyone who really wanted a fix-it fic/happy ending fic from arguably one of the worst endings from Flip Side, this fic is for you.
Laughter of a Faded Star by Progman - This actually isn't an old fic, and also a bit of a strange one. However, after my hesitation from reading a very AU-divergent fic, I thought this deserved to be on here. I've mentioned before that I tend to lean more towards Jeckole fics where they're adults, so that's most likely why this is here. I do want to mention that it feels very divorced from the original source material, but Progman explains it enough in both the writing and their author's notes to why Nicole and Jecka are the way they are here. Nicole isn't super fucked up here since her dad never shot himself, but because of that, she and Jecka never met in high school. This is more of an AU where they meet as adults, where Nicole is a part-time comedian while Jecka is a therapist/psychologist. It might not be up everyone's alley, but I enjoyed reading it and seeing how their meeting played out as their alternate selves.
And that's it, for now at least. I really wanted to try and focus more on newer/recently updated fics (post-Flipside) despite throwing in some older ones. It's not a very long list, but hopefully I can create a Jeckole masterlist one day (including Explicit works) that has fics stretching back from post-Re-Up.
I'll probably have a general Class of '09 rec list at some point because while I'm mostly a Jeckole monoshipper, there have been some fics for other pairings that I thought were well-written. But we'll see when I'm not too lazy to make that one lol.
i yearned for the day I found a lesbian eyekon who knows about f1 I almost cried seeing your f1!Sofia fic omg once its morning and I'm able to read it I'm gonna eat that shit up diva
AWWW THANK YOU BABY 😪
f1 lesbians are such an unexplored concept thank you for sharing your yearning
I’m also coming out with an f1 smau soon…that’s also katseye…watch out for that shit queen…
I love lesbians. Man, I love lesbians, okay? But, if I see one more bitch post about some random ass lesbian TELLIN THE WORLD HOW SHE WANTS TO FUCK HER GIRLFRIEND AND KISS HER OPEN MOUTHED WHILE SHE ORGASMS OR ANYMORE OF THAT FREAKY SHIT IM GOING TO STORM THE GAYS.
I am not turned on by this. I am not ATTRACTED to women publicly announcing that they enjoy touching themselves to their girlfriend cooking. I respect your bravery, but I cannot handle this anymore.
✦ ─── 𝓘'll envy even the earth that wraps your body, 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza
─── 𝓞n the night of her debut, sophia gave her heart to the one girl she was never meant to love in silence. they'd promised each other forever, a lifetime of warmth and love. but a kingdom is bound to have enemies. bound to lose men, treasures, have casualties. bound to break promises. sophia just didn’t think it would be hers.
❝𝓭eath doesn't discriminate,
𝓫etween the sinners and the saints.❞
⊹₊♚₊⊹ pairing݁ᛪ༙ princess sophia laforteza x knight!reader
genreᛪ༙ angst, slight fluff, character death, princess x knight, wc: 14.9k words
❝𝓲t takes and it takes and it takes,
𝓪nd we keep living anyway.❞
THE FIRST TIME SOPHIA LAID EYES ON YOU, you stood beside your father in the great hall, silent and stiff-backed, a tiny shadow of the man who commanded the king’s guard. she was five years old, small and delicate in a gown too fine for someone who preferred to run barefoot through the castle gardens. you were five, too, but you stood differently—composed, disciplined, hands clasped neatly in front of you, eyes steady and watchful, taking in everything without a word.
her father, the king, looked at you with approval.
"arthur’s daughter," he mused, pleased. "you will make a fine knight, just like your father."
your father kneeled before him, his fist over his heart. devotion, loyalty. "she will learn well, my king. one day, she will take my place and serve you loyally. she will protect what is most precious to you and she will serve your daughter until her dying breath."
sophia watches as you bow your head, murmuring a quiet, "your grace.” acknowledgement.
you did not meet her eyes like she wanted you to. you barely even looked at her. and sophia, who was used to attention, finds herself frowning at the lack of exchange.
later, sophia finds you in the courtyard. you’re sitting alone on the stone bench, the quiet space overlooking the training grounds where the knights practiced. the air was was thick with the sound of clashing swords, the loud shouts of young men sparring, and the laughter of the nobility’s sons racing across the field, poking fun at pretending to be knights.
but you’re not like them. you wouldn’t be. you sat still, perfectly composed, your hands folded neatly in your lap, watching the knights with an intensity far too strange to be seen in a child.
the boys run and play, their laughter echoing in the distance, but you don’t join them. you don’t laugh. (why would you?) you don’t even smile.
instead, you watch the knights’ movements. the way they wield their swords with practiced ease, the way their feet shifted against the dirt, the way they carry themselves like warriors in their peak.
sophia decides that it was your father’s influence.
sophia approaches you, her cheerful voice piercing through the quiet. "hey, you’re the commander’s daughter,"
you glance up, your sharp gaze catching hers for just a moment before you returned your attention back to the knights below. "and you are the princess," you replied, your voice steady.
she beams at you, completely unbothered by the formality in your words. "uh-huh!" she exclaims, plopping herself down beside you without asking.
"which means you must be my knight." her grin is wide, innocent.
you blink, taken aback, your eyes flicking to her for only a second. "i am no knight," you say quietly, turning your attention back to the knights on the field, feeling their movements etch themselves into your memory.
"not yet," she corrected, "but you will be. you’re going to be the greatest knight in the whole kingdom!"
you don’t respond to her excitement. you’re quiet, your thoughts heavy and focused on the distant sparring knights. sophia’s words hang in the air, and they don’t quite reach you.
instead, you continue to watch the training grounds, fascinated by the fluid wave of the knights’ movements, wondering if you’ll be able to stand to their level one day.
"why are you here, princess?" you ask after a moment, the question simple but with a curiosity behind it that you don’t usually show.
she shrugs, looking at the sky above. "because you looked lonely."
because you looked lonely.
you don’t say anything in response. you simply keep your gaze on the knights below. the boys who were once laughing and playing are now just faces in the distance, you don’t bother familiarising yourself with them anymore.
"why are you so quiet?" she asks, a little puzzled, her voice dripping with concern.
you turn your eyes toward her, noting the genuine curiosity in her expression. "why are you so loud?" you counter, your tone even.
she giggles, a light sound that rings through the silent courtyard, warming your chest as you shifted in your spot.
"someone has to be," she says, nudging you playfully with her shoulder.
for the first time, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of your lips, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
"i’ve decided," sophia says suddenly, her voice full of determination. "you will be my most loyal knight.”
you exhale softly, not surprised, but amused by her certainty and boldness. "it’s not your choice, princess. there could be someone much better trained out there, compared to me."
but she doesn’t back down. she never will, as you’ve come to realise later on. "no, there won’t," she says firmly. "because when i am queen, i will command it."
you don’t answer right away. you just stared at her, gaze softened. this time, you do smile. just a small thing, barely there. but it was real.
in that quiet moment, you realized that she did seal your fate. though for now, you are just children. for now, she smiles at you like you are the only thing in the world that mattered. and for now, that is enough.
—-
you stood in the training yard, the sound of clashing swords ringing in your ears, the weight of the blade in your hand grounded you to the moment. your father’s approval was always there, a quiet pressure in the back of your mind, and the thought of it kept you moving, kept you focused. every swing of the sword, every calculated step was done with purpose. you were determined, relentless. there was no room for anything else.
you must prove yourself.
the other boys laugh and joke as they sparred, their voices light and careless, and you knew you can’t afford to be like them. they move with the ease of someone who knows that there will be another chance, but you? you don’t don’t have that luxury. you must be better, always better. every strike, every movement is a step closer to something you can’t even name yet, but something that feels like the only way to survive.
your father watched from the sidelines, his gaze unwavering, and you could feel it, sharp as a blade like always. it’s all the validation you need, even if you’ve never heard a word of praise. that was the way it’s always been.
and yet, as you pushed yourself, you felt something in the air shift, an uneasy weight. it’s the feeling of never being enough, no matter how many times you proved yourself.
and then that’s when you saw her—sophia, standing off to the side, leaning against the stone pillar, her eyes fixed on you. her gaze was unblinking, and there’s something in the way she watched that made your heart stutter.
you don’t want her attention. it feels too soft, too invasive, too vulnerable, in a way that makes the air around you feel more suffocating, heavier.
when you stopped for a moment, sweat dripping down your brow, she spoke. her voice cut through the silence, light but pointed. “you’re trying too hard.”
you froze for a moment, the weight of her words settling over you like a blanket. your first instinct was to brush it off, to shrug and say nothing and ignore her. but you can’t. couldn’t. not this time.
instead, you wipe your brow and glanced at her briefly, offering only the barest of responses. “it’s how i’m taught. because if i don’t, someone else will be better.”
she doesn’t look surprised by your answer, just studied you in the way she does, her gaze never faltered. she stepped forward a little, her voice quieter now, a hint of something softer behind it.
“and what if it’s not enough? what if being the best doesn’t make you happy?”
you felt the question settle in your chest heavily and unfamiliar. it’s not something you’ve ever really allowed yourself to consider. happiness isn’t something that existesd here, not in the world where only the sharpest and most disciplined survived.
you looked at her funny, but didn't answer straight away. instead, you turned your attention back to the sparring knights, needing the distraction. needing to bury the question before it took root in your mind.
“it will.” you mutter, and you don’t let yourself dwell more about it, even if it felt wrong and foreign in your tongue.
there’s a long silence. you can feel her watching you, but you don’t turn to meet her gaze again. you focused on the sword in your hand and the weight of it, the way it felt like an extension of your body.
it was the only thing that made sense right now.
but behind you, sophia doesn’t respond. she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. because knew better than to believe your words. but you know that lingered, awaited for something—maybe for you to look at her again, to actually hear her.
you kept moving, movements sharp and precise, but even as you fought, there was something unsettled, something more than just the burn in your young muscles. a small, quiet part of you that wondered if she was right. but you couldn’t afford to stop and think about it. you’ve wasted too much time talking to her. so, you kept going, because that’s all you knew how to do.
yet.
—
over the years, you and sophia had grown closer in ways neither of you ever expected. when you were younger, the distance between the two of you had always been clear—but that that divide blurred, softened, throughout the years.
sophia’s playfulness never truly went away, but it had deepened, matured. that much you expected.
and you? you stayed calculated, still planned three steps ahead, but somewhere along the way, you had learned to let her in past your defenses.
at sixteen, the two of you were no longer just the princess and the daughter of the commander. you had become something else. friends, yes, but possibly something more.
sophia had become someone you trusted, someone who understood the quiet moments between words, the way your mind never really stopped moving even in moments of peace.
and she had learned to meet you there.
sometimes, when she laughed, it would remind you of the way she used to be when she was younger—loud, carefree, like she had no care in the state of the world.
but now, there was a certain softness to her, a calmness that reflected in the way she had matured over the years. she still teased you—that, you were sure will never go away—still pulled you into moments of silliness and you’d begrudgingly let her pull you in.
one afternoon, the sound of your father, calling out commands, echoed through the open space.
he was pushing you harder than usual, the drills grew more intense, more demanding. you stood tall, your posture unwavering, sweat dripping down your brow as you went through each movement with practice.
there was no room for error—every strike, every block, every step had to be perfect. it had to be perfect.
sophia, manon, and lara happened to be passing by, and as they approached, they couldn’t help but pause at the sight.
“oh, wow,” manon said, eyes widening in dramatic surprise as she stared at you. “look at y/n. she’s, like, all muscles now.”
lara squinted at you, her face a picture of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “right? definitely all muscles. i wonder if you run into her that she’ll just end up feeling like a wall. not to mention, god, she’s so pretty.”
sophia’s gaze shifted towards you, following the movements of your body, the way you moved with such focus and strength. she hadn’t realized how much you had changed over the years. the lean muscles in your arms, the way your body had grown from the thin, aloof child into someone far more charming.
and for a brief moment, she found herself staring. but it was different this time. it held her prisoner in the moment, unable to look away.
however, she quickly snapped out of it, cheeks flushing a little as she tried to laugh it off, but her gaze kept returning to you. there was something about the way you moved—so disciplined, so intense.
“what are you staring at, princess?” manon teased, nudging sophia’s side with her elbow.
“nothing!” sophia replied a little too loudly, trying to mask her sudden fluster and red cheeks with a laugh. “i—i’m just... uh, just admiring the, uh… the…te.. technique! the technique! it’s impressive, okay?”
lara snickered, crossing her arms. “sophia’s got it bad,” she said in a sing-song voice. “someone’s in love.” the rajagopalan dynasty’s princess dragged out.
“i’m not in love!” sophia quickly protested, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “i’m just—look, it’s just hard not to notice, okay? she’s... all grown up. and... very focused.”
meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the ongoing conversation, too deep in your training to care. your father, watching from the sidelines, was doing his best to hide the smirk creeping onto his face.
he crossed his arms, eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mild amusement as he watched sophia try to hide her flustered expression from her friends’ teasing.
"y/n!" he called out, his voice thundering throughout the courtyard. "stop getting distracted. focus!"
confused at his sudden outburst despite the fact that you were focusing, you immediately snapped back to your drill, adjusting your stance and continuing the movements without a second thought.
sophia quickly looked away, her face turning a shade redder than usual as manon and lara fought to keep their grins in check.
“yep, totally not in love,” lara whispered to manon with a wink.
“she’s definitely not in love,” manon whispered back, both of them now completely absorbed in watching sophia squirm at their words.
your father caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye once again, though he pretended to ignore it. his lips that had had let the smirk spread, but his gaze never wavered from you as he called out again, “again, y/n. one more time. don’t get sloppy now.”
you didn’t notice a thing, of course. you were too focused on keeping up with your father’s rigorous pace to pay any attention to sophia and her friends. but sophia? sophia would never quite forget the way she had found herself staring a little too long at the girl she had known since she was a child—the girl who was now possibly so much more than that.
and as they walked away, manon leaning in to whisper something to lara, sophia’s thoughts were a little scattered, her eyes flicking up to you one last time before she hurried to catch up.
your father watched her go with a raised eyebrow, amusement barely hidden. "you're doing well, y/n," he said, his voice steady, though there was a knowing glint in his eye.
you nodded, eyes trained on your sword. "thanks, father."
and somewhere, deep down, you couldn't help but wonder why everyone else seemed to be so focused on you all of a sudden.
–
a week later, sleep had evaded sophia. the nights seemed longer lately, and her thoughts tangled in ways she didn’t want to admit. the silence in her room only made the restlessness worse, so she decided to take a late night stroll through the castle’s endless corridors.
wrapped in a loose nightgown, her bare feet were quiet against the stone floors, she wandered aimlessly, letting her mind travel wherever it pleased.
the castle at night was always quiet, eerily so, and sophia liked it that way. but tonight, there was something almost peaceful in the quiet. that was until she reached the courtyard.
through the large arched windows, she saw a figure moving against the night sky. it was you—no doubt about it—still training, despite the late hour.
your tunic was soaked with sweat, clinging to your skin as you moved through the steps of another drill, oblivious to the time.
sophia stood there for a moment, watching you with furrowed brows. she could feel the cool night air brush her skin, but there you were, perfectly in sync with your movements, as if it was any other day.
she shook her head, biting back a smile. "this is ridiculous." she mumbled to herself.
with a deep breath—hyping herself up to talk to you—, she stepped forward, her bare feet making almost no sound as she moved through the dark courtyard.
her eyes locked onto you, and she steeled her shoulders, walking up to you with the kind of authority only a princess could carry, even in her sleepwear.
"y/n!" she called, loud enough to break the quiet and peace of the night. "stop!" you didn’t hear her at first.
"sophia," you muttered to yourself, barely pausing to look in her direction, blinking confusedly.
sophia raised an eyebrow, huffing with mock irritation. "i said stop." she repeated when she caught your arm attempting to swing again.
this time, her voice had a firmness to it, and you finally turned, sparing her a glance. your expression was neutral, almost bored as you stared back at her.
"i'm not stopping," you said, the words clear and defiant as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. you changed stances, readying for the next move.
sophia crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk. smug. "you’ll stop because i’m ordering you to."
you narrowed your eyes, raising an eyebrow. "really? you’re going to pull rank on me at this hour?"
sophia hesitated, looking at you in disbelief for a moment before giving a dramatic sigh. "fine, i won’t ‘order’ you. but can you at least take a break? i’m surprised you even know how late it is now."
you didn’t immediately respond, and instead, you moved into another series of attacks, form still perfectly sharp.
"y/n," she tried again, this time with an exaggerated whine. "you’re going to wake the whole castle with your...your… clanging!"
surprisingly, you actually stopped. rolling your eyes as you set the sword down. you were beyond exhausted, but you refused to show it.
"whatever, princess. go ahead and get your beauty sleep," you said, feigning indifference. “don’t want to wake up the whole castle, after all.”
sophia couldn’t help but laugh at your sarcasm. "are you always this annoying?" she asked, her voice filled with teasing, though there was a glint of something else. something less playful, more... curious.
you turned your head just slightly, avoiding her eyes. "i’m not annoying. you’re just tired. go back to bed before you wake up your entire kingdom."
sophia blinked, suddenly remembering something that had been bugging her all night. "speaking of which," she said, "why are you even still training this late? don’t you know it's a new moon tonight?"
she waved her hand vaguely toward the sky. "it’s literally so dark out here, y/n. like, how are you even seeing anything?"
you paused, staring at her. "are you... are you really asking me if i can see in the dark? do you not know that knights are trained to fight in all conditions?"
she leaned back slightly, exaggeratedly inspecting the sky. "yeah, well... i thought maybe you were secretly a bat or something. you know, like, using echolocation to fight? you could probably just echolocate the entire castle and then—"
you blinked, completely deadpan. "okay, no. what are you even talking about right now?"
sophia let out a snort of laughter at the absurdity of it all, her eyes lighting up as she giggled louder than she had meant to.
louder than she expected, louder than what was probably necessary. for a moment, everything seemed to stop, until she could feel the sudden tension in the space between you two.
you stared at her, eyes wide in confusion, your face heating up with the weirdest mixture of annoyance and... something.
"what? why… why are you laughing?" you asked, furrowing your brows, your lips threatening to form a scowl, but failing.
"i just—echolocation," sophia giggled, clutching her sides, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "that’s just... i don’t even know where to start with that, but it’s so funny!"
you quickly turned away, trying to keep your expression neutral, but your face flushed a deeper shade of red as you mumbled, "shut up, sophia. you’re gonna wake the whole castle with that laugh."
but even then, your words felt weaker than they should have. there was no bite behind them—just a strange sense of vulnerability in your voice, something you weren’t sure how to hide at the sound of her giggles. at the sound of her.
the sound of her laugh, free and unburdened, caught you off guard. it wasn’t the carefree laugh of a princess anymore, it was something more. it was real. had your gaze softening and your shoulders hunching in the slightest.
and that’s when it hit you. her hair, dark and shining under the moonlight, seemed to shimmer, like it was dusted with stars. the pale moonlight painted her skin a soft silver, and her eyes, her eyes seemed to glint with a hidden amusement, the sort of amusement you could never quite figure out even if you’d wanted to.
then you felt a sudden warmth rising in your chest, and before you could stop it, your face flushed with embarrassment. you quickly looked away, determined not to show it.
sophia, still giggling to herself, barely heard the softness in your tone. she was too lost in the moment.
"maybe i should wake them up," sophia teased, voice light. "imagine all the knights running in to see what’s going on, and then they see you, the stoic commander’s daughter, getting made fun of because you could echolocate your sword moves—"
you cut her off, giving her an exaggerated sigh as you walked back to your training spot, trying your best to ignore the lingering laughter—her laughter— that hung in the air.
she didn’t seem to care, still beaming at you (like always), completely unaware of how her teasing had managed to chip away at your usual composure. you felt that odd warmth again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding it.
“stop laughing. you’re actually going to wake the whole castle this time.” your words came out sharper than you meant them to, but they lacked the firmness they usually carried.
you were only half-serious, trying to hide the way your heart had skipped a beat. “you’re truly annoying, you know that?”
"absolutely," she replied, grinning ear to ear. "but don’t worry, i’m going to let you get back to your echolocation training now. just try not to wake up the entire castle next time, alright?"
“you try not to wake the entire castle up with your laugh.”you just waved her off, though there was a softness in your demeanor now, a quiet that wasn't quite like your usual aloofness.
when you picked up your sword again, you could’ve sworn she had already noticed—maybe she was even smiling to herself—but you wouldn’t dare let her catch the flushed look on your face.
sophia made her way back toward the castle, humming a tune to herself. she’d never know how her laugh had done something to you.
but tonight, it didn’t matter. sophia had just managed to make you feel something that she didn’t even realise she'd been doing all along.
—---
finding herself in the ever-so-lavish solar room of the castle a week later after the midnight run-in with you who had never really ended up bringing it up again, sophia found herself stuck and confined in the silk-lined walls with thread spools scattered around her in every unimaginable colour as she sat stiffly across her mother in the embroidered velvet chaise, early sun filtering through the open windows of the castle.
her mother coughs softly. “fifi, sweetheart, your debut’s just around the corner,” her highness, queen laforteza started, lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.
sophia’s hand stilled on the embroidery hoop perched on her lap, halfway through finishing the attempt to embroider the laforteza house crest—though one of the griffins looked like a lopsided duck instead.
sophia didn’t bother to muffle the groan that escaped her lips, dramatically dropping her head back to meet the golden edge of the chaise and bringing the hoop up to cover her face. “please don’t call it that.”
“don’t call what what?” her mother said innocently, threading a new color into her needle. “your debutante ball? your formal entrance into society?” she gasped, feigning shock. “your grand unveiling?”
“my god,” sophia muttered, dragging the needle through the fabric with a little more force than necessary, brows furrowing as she stared back at her mother unimpressed.
sophia wasn’t dumb. far from that. give her some credit. she knew exactly where this was going. her mother was inching toward the topic like it was some diplomatic strategy that her father had given her the task to look over, all smiles and cunning eyes.
and of course, the first dance was at the center of it. which, to be fair, any mother would want to know in order to guarantee the safety of her daughter—and in this case, it was the one and only princess of the laforteza kingdom.
not to mention the suitors. oh, for god’s sake, the suitors. they seemed to multiply with every passing day, letters stacked in neat little piles outside her room after a worker had done their daily rounds droppiung mails to each royal family, always signed too formally and written too stiffly. she sat up, continuing to work on her shit attempt at needlework.
she loathed it. just the mention of it makes her shiver. by god, she can’t deal with them. doesn’t even want to think about them approaching her next year because she knows for a fact that they will, because their ego just truly is at an all-time high whenever they lay eyes on her when really, sophia only knows the only reason why they do is because they either see her as a trophy, or the siren call of the throne.
her thoughts somehow drifted to you.
queen laforteza continued, arching a brow. “and have you thought about who your first dance might be with?” she asked, the question light and playful, but unmistakably pointed.
sophia didn’t look up from her needlework. “mom, my debut’s not until next year.”
“and you say that as if that gives me no reason at all to start planning now,” the queen said, voice airy. “you do know who your dear mother is, don’t you?”
sophia rolled her eyes. “you plan things like they’re battle strategies.”
“well,” her mother said, threading a perfect knot into the fabric, “i did grow up married to a war general. was his assisstant for quite some while too… still kind of am.”
sophia sighed, lips pressing into a thin line. “i’d rather have a sword in my hand than dance with any of those obnoxious lords who can’t even look me in the eye without turning into a puddle.”
“then who can?” her mother said gently. “there must be someone who doesn’t turn to dust under your stare.”
sophia hesitated. her fingers slowed against the hoop. her thoughts drifted to you once more.
because she was right. god, was her mother right.
someone can keep their composure perfectly still under her stare and dish it right back, who, even after all these years, never once broke eye contact unless sophia showed signs of discomfort at the exchange—not even when sophia was being absolutely ridiculous or bratty (asking you to play with her dolls with her when she damn well knew you were born with a sword in your hand).
she stayed quiet, not daring to utter your name. she’d have otherwise, were she in the comfort of her own room, but not here with her mother to hear and her too keen eyes peering at her.
so instead, she stabbed the needle through the fabric a little too hard, forcing a shrug. “i don’t know. maybe i’ll just pick randomly and call it a day.”
the queen gave her a long look but said nothing. only smiled to herself, as if she already knew the answer and was simply waiting for her daughter to admit it out loud.
“alright.”
—
sophia had felt suffocated.
it was only 5 pm in the afternoon and she had already felt the life sucked out of her being after the particularly long session of tea etiquette, posture corrections, and painfully long lessons on “how to cross one’s ankles like a proper lady.”
which after being dismissed by her etiquette teacher—an old, stern woman who looked as though she’d been plucked from the dustiest corner of the royal library—she made a beeline to where she knew you’d be, eager to run away from the woman’s judging gaze and almost tripping over the skirt of her dress.
she needed air. so in turn, she needed you.
“hey, echolocating knight-in-training, come with me.” her voice was soft and amused as it echoed across the courtyard, breaking your focus just enough.
you were in the middle of footwork drills as your eyes flicked up toward her, finding her leaning lazily against one of the stone pillars to your right, her silk, pastel pink dress catching the breeze.
she smiled at you, open and easy, albeit a little smug—and you had to suppress the involuntary shiver that crept up your spine at the sickly sweet sight.
you scoffed, unamused. “and why should i?”
sophia chuckled, shaking her head as she pushed off where she’d been leaning on the pillar and made her way to you, footsteps light.
you halted your practice, wiping your chin dry of sweat that ran down your cheek. “you forget yourself, y/n.”
“you forget your princess.”
then, without explanation, she extended her hand out to you, palm tilted slightly upward, waiting. you stared at it blankly, caught off guard by the sudden movement.
your eyes flicked between her hand and her face, trying to piece together what on earth she was doing. “what are you—”
“kiss the back of my hand, you idiot. gentlemen do it all the time as a greeting.” she wiggled her fingers impatiently, eyes squinting at you with a barely concealed amusement.
“guess we can’t say the same for you.”
you groaned but took her hand anyway, your fingers rough and calloused from years of hard work—one she’d closely watched—asharp contrast to her soft, perfumed skin.
you brought it to your lips with a gentleness that surprised her, brushing them across the back of her hand with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things, or those in higher rank than you are.
sophia’s breath caught, just for a second.
she hadn’t expected that.
she’d thought she could handle it. it was just a joke, a moment of teasing. she didn’t except you to actually go through with it.
her etiquette teacher had done it to demonstrate, and sophia hadn’t blinked then—possibly because she was a fossil—. but this? this was you, and her heart had the audacity to trip at the way your lips touched her skin.
“i’m not a man,” you muttered, your voice low and even, but your grip on her hand stayed careful, firm. you paused, then added softly, “i’m a woman.”
it shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. but it did.
her cheeks flushed, heat crawling up her neck as she yanked her hand back, clearing her throat. “well. clearly.”
you shot her an ‘are you kidding?’ stare, sighing softly at her interrupting your practice once again. a daily occurrence that you should’ve been used to by now.
“so, where are we going?”
sophia spun around before you could read her expression too closely. “the gardens,” she said over her shoulder, pretending like her face wasn’t on fire.
“and the lake. i’m tired of breathing in dust and listening to lady maribelle complain about my posture.”
you trailed behind her as she walked ahead, arms swinging with a freedom that had you quietly smiling to yourself.
the gardens were nearly empty by the time you and sophia reached them, the sky shifting into shades of orange and yellow as the sun began to dip behind the castle walls. the breeze smelled faintly of roses and lavender.
but sophia didn’t stop to admire them—she’d seen them way too many times to gag over them. she kept walking ahead, skirts gathered in her fists, guiding you down the stone path that led behind the hedges and past the willow trees, straight toward the lake.
“...we’re not just going to look at the water, are we?” you asked warily, already eyeing the small wooden boats bobbing at the dock.
sophia glanced over her shoulder, her grin suspiciously wide, eyes crinkled into crescents. “nope.”
“please tell me you’re not expecting me to—”
“get in the boat,” she sang sweetly, already stepping onto the dock and reaching for the nearest one painted gold.
you didn’t move. “sophia, i’ve been training all day.”
“and this is me rewarding you.” she turned and held out her hand again—not to be kissed this time, but to tug you forward. “you can row me around like a charming little gondolier.”
you sighed, staring at her like she’d grown two heads. “i hate you.”
“and yet, here you are.” she tilted her chin with mock arrogance, eyes glinting.
you groaned under your breath but followed her anyway, climbing awkwardly into the boat while she settled into the seat like it was the throne/, fingers trailing through the water. you grabbed the oars begrudgingly, shooting her a tired glare that only made her giggle.
fuck.
“you know,” she said after a few minutes of quiet rowing, “you’ve got a nice rhythm. maybe you were a sailor in another life.”
you raised an eyebrow. intrigued. “a sailor?”
“mhm. gruff voice. tragic, tragic past. always looking at the horizon like you’ve got unimaginable memories out at sea.”
you snorted. “you’ve clearly read too many romance novels. now i know why you spend too much time in the library with your nose buried in a book.”
she leaned back in the seat, eyes closing for a moment as the breeze sifted through her hair. “and you clearly don’t row me fast enough.”
you splashed her with one oar, just enough to make her yelp and sit upright, eyes wide.
“y/n!”
“oops.”
sophia narrowed her eyes but was still smiling, wiping her now-damp sleeve with playful offense. “you’ll pay for that.”
“good luck,” you muttered, rowing a little faster, trying to ignore the way your heart kept doing jumping jacks at how pretty she looked when she was mock pouting, sunsett dusting her skin like gold, water around her glowing.
you told yourself it was just exhaustion.
definitely not the way she kept watching you with that quiet amusement, like she could see right through you. like she always had.
—---
the solar room hadn’t changed at all. the same velvet cushions. the same lace-curtained windows. the same faint scent of lavender and rosewater that clung to the cushions, the walls, even the thread in sophia’s embroidery hoop.
the only real difference was the tapestry she was working on—no longer clumsy or full of crooked stitches, but neat, straight.
and her mother, of course, still sat across from her, spine perfectly straight, pale blue gown immaculately laid around her, with her embroidery in hand and a glint in her eye that made sophia immediately suspicious.
“dearest, your actual debut’s around the corner now,” queen laforteza said, voice lilting and casual. too casual, she’d dare say.
sophia didn’t even look up from her stitching, words tugging at a memory she hadn’t planned on revisiting.
suddenly, she was seventeen again, hands clumsy, posture slouched, hiding behind a half-finished crest while her mother teased her about first dances and suitors.
the memory irked her slightly. especially because nothing had changed, and yet everything had. if that made sense.
“have you picked out who’ll be your first dance now?” the queen added, sipping her tea like she didn’t already have a shortlist of eager young noblemen memorised from months ago as she requested for names of those interested.
sophia hummed, tying a knot in her thread with practiced ease. “i’ll just have basil as my first dance.”
that got her mother’s attention. the queen blinked, lowering her teacup mid-sip. “wait, but your brother—”
“i’ve already talked about it to him,” sophia said calmly. “he said he was fine with it. didn’t feel comfortable enough to have someone else dance me instead. i could’ve ask father to do it too, but i fear he’s already got too much on his plate. with the new knight recruits and all.”
her mother didn’t respond right away, which was rare. she simply studied sophia for a moment, as if trying to uncover whether her daughter was being genuine—or evasive.
“sweets,” she said after a beat, “are you sure you don’t want to pick a noble to be your first dance instead? i heard marquess barretto’s son leon, is interested.”
sophia groanef immediately, slumping slightly despite her attempt to stay firm. “mother, leon barretto wears more perfume than i do and nearly tripped on my gown last week trying to kiss my hand. i’d rather drown in the lake.”
her mother pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “he’s not that bad.”
“he’s that bad,” sophia deadpanned, finally setting her embroidery hoop down in her lap.
“besides, it’s not like the first dance has to be romantic. it’s ceremonial. traditional. it doesn’t mean anything.”
“it used to,” her mother said gently.
what she didn’t say was that the idea of dancing with a stranger made her skin crawl. that the thought of twirling in a room full of watching eyes, arm in arm with someone she barely knew, made her chest tighten.
and maybe there was someone else she’d rather offer her hand to. someone who stood steady in the moonlight and made her laugh when she wasn’t supposed to.
someone whose hands were rough and real and held hers like they were afraid to hurt her, like she was the most fragile thing in the whole world.
she found herself unable to articulate it into words again with her mother in the room.
her mother watched her quietly for a long moment, then gave a soft sigh and returned to her embroidery. “well,” the queen murmured, “if basil steps on your toes, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”
sophia cracked a small, lopsided smile. “he won’t. and if he does, i’ll blame it on the wind.”
–
the golden sun hadn’t even finished crawling its way over the castle walls when you were dragged—half-asleep and wholly unwilling—up and off the bed to stand barefeet in your chamber, marble flooring cold against your feet.
you hated breaks in your training. hated breaks in general. hated stillness. they made you feel like a blade left out in the rain, dulled and useless.
but as the king’s guard’s commander’s daughter, and more importantly, as the personal guard to the princess herself, you were expected to be rid of all training and any hard work the day before the debut of the king’s only daughter.
so, instead of sparring or drilling or doing literally anything useful, you were subjected to a full day of tailoring that commenced at the break of dawn. stupid, stupid, tradition.
the fabric was heavy and foreign on your skin. the uniform was modeled after your father’s—same deep navy blue tones, same sharp gold embroidery stitched along the lapel and hem—but unlike his, yours bore no jewels, no medals, no markers of great achievement.
it was a blank canvas, clean and awaiting, quiet proof that your legacy had not yet begun.
it’ll have one, one day. i’ll make sure of it.
now, hours later, you were only half in it. your jacket draped halfway up your shoulders, the sleeves rolled awkwardly around your arm as you stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the new recruits go through their drills.
it should’ve been you out there. every muscle in your body ached to move, to sweat, to strike.
“that’s what you’re gonna wear for the princess’s debut?” yunjin called out, amusement thick in her voice as she twirled her practice sword lazily.
“wow, so fancy, y/n. unlike you, we have to stay in these heavy, uncomfortable pieces of metal.”
keeho laughed behind her, clutching his stomach in mock agony. “how’s a man supposed to pick a woman up in this?”
he groaned, dragging a hand through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. “at this rate, you’ll sweep every single woman in the vicinity.”
you scowled, arms crossed over your half-dressed chestplate. “you’re there to support and show your loyalty to the kingdom. that armour is there to protect you in case something happens. you’re not there to pick up women, keeho.”
he gasped, utterly affronted. “god, you sound like my mother. geez.”
“maybe she’s smarter than you,” you muttered, and yunjin barked out a laugh.
truth be told, the uniform felt strange. it fit, sure, it had been measured to the bone, trimmed and cinched and hemmed perfectly to your body, but it wasn’t you.
it felt like wearing someone else’s skin. someone softer. someone still figuring out who she was underneath the polished buttons and polished roles, made to perfection as overlooked by your father.
tomorrow, you wouldn’t be in the shadows like you always were. not with sophia standing in the middle of the grand ballroom, not with every noble eye on her, and by extension, on you.
you didn’t mind being her sword. her shield. her quiet. but you just weren’t sure how to be seen.
still, as you watched your friends spar, the laughter between them easy and real, your hand tightened slightly on the edge of your sleeve. you could do this. you would.
because tomorrow wasn’t about you. it was about her. your princess. sophia. the same one who’d slowly chipped at your walls ever since she barged into your life all sunshine and rainbows.
and you’d wear this damn thing like it was yours. because sophia deserved someone who could stand beside her without cowering beneath the pressure of legacy. even if your uniform didn’t carry medals, your loyalty didn’t need stitching or .
—--
this was it.
the music slowed to a hush as the double doors opened, and all conversation stilled. heads turned, gowns rustled, fans fluttered shut. the grand ballroom, lit by towering chandeliers and flooded with golden candlelight, held its breath.
at the top of the staircase stood sophia.
she descended like something out of a painting—dressed in a gown that shimmered faintly with every step, the soft blue silk catching the light like moonlit water.
her hair was pinned with delicate gold leaves, and her gloves, the palest cream, trembled just slightly as she reached the last few steps.
you were already there, waiting.
my god, of course you were.
you stood at the foot of the stairs, back straight, gloved hands behind your back until you extended one forward for her.
your uniform, tailored and formal, fit you like a second skin, and though the medals were missing, your presence felt like its own badge of honour. sophia’s eyes found yours immediately, her expression unreadable but drawn—always drawn—to you.
a faint smile appears in her lips at the notice of your uniform matching hers.
she slipped her hand into yours.
gloved hand in gloved hand, you escorted her across the ballroom floor, past suitors and murmured gasps. your steps were steady. hers were lighter now, as if walking beside you was enough to melt the nerves off her spine.
you led her to her brother—basil, dutiful and already stepping forward with an awkward smile. sophia hesitated, only slightly, before she turned to you once more, her voice low.
for you and for your ears only.
“wait for me?”
you gave her a nod. “always.”
then she turned, and basil offered his hand. the music swelled, and sophia began her first dance under the eyes of the kingdom.
—-
time passed. champagne flutes clinked, music floated high into the domed ceilings, and laughter curled around crystal chandeliers.
you had tried, god you had tried, to disappear into the crowd after your brief appearance at her side, but your father had other plans. like always.
“you will socialise, y/n,” he’d said, placing an annoyingly firm hand on your shoulder before nudging you toward a young noblewoman who looked just as uninterested in the conversation as you were.
he wanted you to make a name for yourself.
gabriela, she introduced herself. from some lord’s house you didn’t care to remember. sharp eyes, sweet but cunning smile. she was fine. too curious, maybe. too flirty.
you were halfway through a polite excuse when the music shifted again, and she reached for your hand.
and somehow, you let her.
you weren’t thinking. you were tired. you were overwhelmed. and the thought of getting yelled at again by your father had already made your shoulders tense. so, you danced. you gave in.
your first dance, ever. not with the person you'd wanted, not with the person you’d imagined, but still, a dance.
across the ballroom, sophia had just finished her second spin in the arms of her youngest brother, oreo, whose too small tux kept making her laugh between steps.
she ruffled his hair after the last note and watched him scamper back to where the rest of the royal family was seated, cheeks flushed with pride.
then her smile fell.
because there you were. dancing.
not standing off to the side. not waiting for her like you said you would. always, my ass. but dancing, with someone else.
gabriela laughed at something you said. sophia could only assume it wasn’t even that funny—god, you’re not even that funny—and your hands were still joined, her other palm resting on your shoulder.
sophia didn’t even wait for the song to end.
she marched straight toward the drink table, lips pressed into a thin line, her expression far too aloof to be casual.
manon, trailing behind with lara following suit, raised a brow. “that was quick.”
“i need a drink,” sophia muttered.
“you just had a drink,” lara said, nursing a half-finished flute of champagne in one hand.
“i need a stronger drink,” she said, already eyeing manon. manon caught the implication.
she didn’t bother saying a word. just reached into the inside of her embellished cape and handed her a hip flask with all the ceremony of a royal decree.
sophia didn’t even blink. unscrewed it. took a slow sip. let the burn bloom across her tongue and down like acid into her stomach.
lara watched her carefully. “everything alright, soph?”
sophia lowered the flask, eyes sharp as they slid across the ballroom to where you and gabriela were still dancing.
“peachy,” she said flatly.
hands off. she knew that this woman could have anyone else, nd god, why did she have to pick you of all people? fuck, she might end up begging if she doesn’t let go og you anytime soon.
manon didn’t bother asking. she knew. so she just handed her another sip. and the two of them shared a look.
—-
“you know, fifi’s fond of you. like, really, really fond of you.”
your head turns to watch oreo under the moonlight. you’d found the king’s youngest child in the balcony after seeking for coolness and peace after the dance with gabriela and the chaos of being surrounded by nobles desperately wishing for sophia’s hand in marriage or for just a mere dance—which props to her, she’s only danced with her brothers.
the fact settles you.
“she shouldn’t be.” your reply garnered a laugh from the boy, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“but she is, though. it’s… unsettling, sometimes. makes me wonder if she’ll actually ever wind up finding a lord or something to date, because she spends too much time trying to, uh, what’s the word, have your friendship grow? i don’t know.. but you know, i just thought you’d want to know. ‘cause… yeah.”
you nodded, brows furrowing in thought as you leaned your elbows on the railing, lost as to why oreo, of all people, was telling you this.
you’d barely talked to the boy before, and you’re more than sure that this is the first time you’d had a proper conversation—which just happened to be about sophia.
you weren’t surprised it was about her. not that you minded, anyway.
“i heard marquess barretto’s son might be a potential match.” you’d commented after a beat, and oreo hummed.
“yeah, i overheard them talking about it. don’t think fifi’s as fond of him as she is of you though.” he replies casually, like it wasn’t anything big of a deal.
the two of you stood outside for a few more moments in silence, comforted that you’d both reached an understanding and bridged a new friendship that was built upon the love and concern for sophia.
then he spoke. calm, slow, took his time. he wanted it to linger, that much you knew. every word enunciated firmly, yet heavily blanketed with warmth.
“i hope it’s you.”
—---
the ballroom had grown louder. brighter. unbearably warmer.
and somewhere between her second drink from manon’s flask and the half-glass of wine she’d sipped too quickly after, sophia lost sight of you again. she was a lightweight, surprisingly (not) enough.
the music spun and so did the chandelier, her steps a little less poised now as she slipped through groups of nobles, skirts brushing against her gown, their laughter buzzing like gnats in her ears.
her mind was foggy. her throat was dry. her eyes eere hazy. her head was a mix of bass, violin, and the sharp reminder of of your betrayal—irrational and sticky, crawling beneath her skin like fire. burning hotter than the liquor that ran down her throat.
you had danced with someone else.
her stomach twisted every time she thought of it. the way your hand had rested so easily on gabriela’s waist. the way you let her smile at you. like it was nothing. like it didn’t mean anything.
how dare you.
how dare you dance with someone else that wasn’t her. it was her debut. her ball you were supposed to keep your eyes on her and her only. dance with her and her only. god, why didn’t you? you didn’t keep your promise.
you didn’t keep your promise.
her heel caught on the edge of someone’s coat and she stumbled forward with a sharp breath, hands out instinctively to grab onto something—and then—
“whoa—sophia—”
you caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her waist without hesitation. her gloved fingers curled into the front of your uniform, clinging, her cheek resting against your chest.
“you’re drunk,” you muttered under your breath, keeping it together like her close proximity didn’t do things to you.
“am not,” she mumbled into your jacket, and then, louder, “you danced with someone else.”
you stiffened. “sophia—”
“you did,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to glare up at you. her eyes were glassy, but sharp with frustration.
“i saw you. with that girl—gabby? gab—gabriela—manon told me.”
you hushed her immediately, grabbing her by the shoulders and casting a quick glance around. you’d already caught one or two nobles side-eyeing the princess in your arms, and the last thing anyone needed was this being tomorrow’s headline in the newspapers.
no, your dad would kill you. the king would behead you. (you’re dramatic. but it’s a possibility.)
“we’re going,” you said, low and urgent, slipping an arm around her waist as she swayed again. “you’re done. come on.”
“don’t wanna go,” sophia slurred stubbornly, stumbling as you started to guide her through the crowd. “s’my party.”
“you can barely stand.”
“still mad.”
“don’t care.”
you maneuvered quickly, expertly, keeping your head down, fingers steady around her arm as you led her past the sweeping golden drapes and into one of the side corridors.
the music dulled behind the ballroom doors. the cool air of the hall washed over you like waves, blessedly quiet.
sophia groaned dramatically as you pushed open the door to one of the unused sitting rooms. she sagged against you, like every ounce of tension had finally slipped from her bones the moment the door clicked shut behind you.
you helped her to the couch, kneeling in front of her to unclip her shoes as she flopped backwards, arms flung over the edge like a drowned, tragic poet. her tiara tilted sideways.
“you looked pretty,” she murmured suddenly into the quiet. “still look pretty.”
you froze. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “…what?”
“in your uniform,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed from more than just the wine. her lashes fluttered. she wasn’t even aware she was saying this.
“made it hard to breathe, ‘cause you—” she made a vague gesture toward your body, eyes half-lidded as she watched you with softness. “just stood there with your jaw and your shoulders—and then you had to go and dance with someone who wasn’t me—”
you closed your eyes, took a slow, steady and calculated breath.
“i wasn’t thinking,” she continued, voice growing softer, more fragile around the edges, eroding like your walls around her.
“and now i’m thinking too much and my head’s spinning and i hate that i care. i hate it. i hate it so much.”
you looked up at her.
and for a moment—just a moment—sophia laforteza didn’t look like a princess. she looked like a girl with a heart too full, slumped sideways in a chair that didn’t belong to her, whispering confessions she’d never dare say sober.
fuck.
“you need water,” you said finally, inhaling sharply.
“no. what i need,” she said, eyes fluttering closed again, “is for you to never dance with anyone else ever again.”
you blinked. your mouth opened. then closed.
“and, to kiss me.”
“what—”
too fast for how drunk she was, she grabbed a fistful of your collar with ashaky, determined hand and pulled you down into her.
her lips crashed into yours—messy, heated, desperate. she kissed you like she was trying to memorise something with the urgency of someone afraid of forgetting. like she’d waited too long and couldn’t hold it in anymore. and for a second,
you kissed back. you actually kissed back.
because she was soft and flushed and trembling (scared you’ll push her off), and it was her. the girl who haunted your thoughts during drills. the girl who laughed like the world was hers, and somehow made you feel like it could be yours too.
that she could be yours.
but your hand caught her wrist gently, and you pulled away, breath uneven, your forehead resting against hers as she blinked in a daze.
she looked up at you then, hazy eyes widening, horror flickering across her expression like a crack in the sky. her lips parted, like she was about to say something—apologise, maybe, or backpedal into silence.
“hey,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “tell me who i am.”
she blinked, confused. “what?”
“tell me who i am, sophia. just…say it.”
she blinked once, then her brows furrowed with focus, her hand still twisted in your collar.
“y/n,” she said softly. “you’re… y/n. you’re my knight.”
“and your name is?”
she swallowed. “my name is princess sophia elizabeth guevara laforteza, 122th heir to the throne after my brother.”
and that was all you needed.
you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “okay,” you mumbled, almost to yourself, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
“okay… you understand. you’re not fully drunk yet.”
“yeah, no crap i am. what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, voice low, still dazed.
you stepped back, gently but firmly, slipping her hand from your shirt and keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.
“we shouldn’t be doing this here,” you said. “someone could see.”
she didn’t argue. she didn’t tease. just nodded once, slow and sure, trusting you the same way she always had.
you led her out of the quiet room with a careful hand on her back, her weight leaning slightly against your side, every step quick and quiet as you took the back corridors—the ones only you and the guards knew—until you reached her bedchamber.
the door closed softly behind you. the room smelled like garden roses and her.
you helped her out of her gown without a word, careful, respectful. she helped you out of your uniform, clumsy fingers and sleepy sighs. neither of you spoke of what it meant and what it stood for next.
she curled into your side not long after, head pressed against your shoulder, bare legs tangled under silk sheets, devotion silent in the night.
—-
basil approached you the next day. you knew what he was there for before he could ask you. like oreo, you and him had a different kind of understanding. quiet and aloof, but close acquaintances.
he’d told you about his distaste for becoming the king, and how he’d pass the throne onto sophia the moment he’d been deemed worthy enough to lead his own royal guard.
“sophia disappeared sometime yesterday night in the party. were you with her?” always quick to the point, basil was. he never liked a chase.
you respected that about him.
you nodded curtly. you knew better than to lie. you watched him take note of the faint, dark purple mark on your neck, tucked away beneath the collar of your tunic. the corner of his lips curled up a fraction.
“i was with her, yes.”
“in more ways than one, i presume.”
your lips pressed into a thin line, throat bobbing. he chuckles softly. “it’s fine, y/n. ease up. i’m glad it was you, and not one of those snobby lords.”
a scoff was pulled from your throat, though it was more of an amused sound. “your sister knows better than that. she’s a woman that knows what she wants.”
“what she wants and what she gets.” he commented, and you nodded.
a beat passed. neither of you spoke. you both watch the movements of the knights-in-training. watched a younger knight fumble his footwork while yunjin shouted at him, keeho cackling in the background.
you don’t feel guilty about being interrupted.
then basil shifted beside you, voice softer. “i trust you wouldn’t break her heart.”
your brows furrowed, the thought that he’d even think that was insulting and offensive to everything you stood for. for the kingdom. for oath. for her.
you shot him a glance that morphed into a glare. “if anything, it’d be her that’ll be breaking my heart. she hasn’t said a word to me since we woke up this morning.”
his gaze followed yours and caught sight of sophia.
she was approaching the training grounds, walking with purpose, blue day dress trailing slightly behind her, sunlight wrapping itself around her like she were a daughter of the sun, glowing, radiant.
she didn’t belong anywhere near the battlefield. if anything, she looked like she belonged to you.
basil gave a low whistle, already stepping back. “then i guess i’ll leave you to it.” he gave your shoulder a brief, meaningful squeeze. “good luck.”
you swallowed, throat tight, and turned just as she stepped in front of you, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.
you opened your mouth, not knowing what to say—only for her to speak first.
“can we talk?”
you nodded wordlessly, following her as she led you away from the noise, around the stone corridor that wrapped behind the courtyard, until it was just the two of you.
quiet, save for the faint echo of swords meeting shields in the background.
she turned to you slowly, nervous, but determined nonetheless. “you thought i wouldn’t remember.”
to be frank, you hadn’t expected her to come. not after how quickly she’d disappeared that morning. not after she couldn’t even look at you when she slipped out of bed.
you looked away. “you were drunk.”
“not drunk enough,” she said. “i remember all of it. i remember everything.”
you stayed silent.
“you looked like you thought it was a mistake,” you finally said, voice low. “and it’s fine, sophia. it was a mistake. a lapse in my judgement, and i shouldn’t have let it happen or initiated anything.
her brows furrowed, eyes darkening. not with anger, but something deeper. hurt.
“it wasn’t,” she said. “not for me.”
your breath hitched. she stepped closer, her voice quieter now, the words meant for your ears only.
“i tried so hard to remember everything, y/n. not because i was scared i did something wrong. but because i wanted to remember it. all of it. i was scared of forgetting the feeling of your warmth against mine, scared to forget how it felt like i truly did belong somewhere with someone.”
her hand hovered, brushed your sleeve. she gulped, eyes looking up at you with silent begging, desperation. she needed to hear you reciprocate the feelings that had been gnawing at her since your first meeting.
“i love you, y/n.”
she can’t be the only one who felt it. and she was right.
“i love you more, sophia. ever since that night in the courtyard, where you fucked around teasing me about echolocation,” she laughed softly at the mention, “i’ve loved you ever since.”
your hand moved,
she leaned into your touch like she’d been waiting for it all her life—like your palm on her cheek was a missing piece she hadn’t known she was missing until it fit just right.
“say it again,” she whispered, barely audible. her lashes fluttered, her eyes on your lips.
you didn’t hesitate. “i love you.”
sophia smiled. soft, genuine. the kind of smile that stripped her of title, crown, and duty. just sophia. just yours.
then she surged forward, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise kept. it was slower than last night. no desperation, no effects of wine. just certainty. it was clear and steady and warm, it was everything sophia is.
when she pulled away, your hand still holding her face like she might vanish, she exhaled shakily. “i thought you hated me this morning.”
“i thought you regretted it,” you said, your voice rough with emotion you barely understood how to carry.
“never,” she replied, and it was immediate. “i regret not doing it sooner.”
you let out a breath of disbelief, a soft laugh that cracked at the edges. “you’re a freak.”
“you love me for it.”
“unfortunately.”
she grinned and bumped your shoulder with hers, fingers drifting down to take your hand in hers, entwining them easily like it was something as natural as breathing.
you decide that honour and loyalty aren’t the reason to fight for the kingdom anymore. sophia is now everything you stood for.
—-
you were both twenty when the first declaration of war from a neighboring empire had been announced. it was everywhere. in the newspapers, down to the leaflets and the frantic whispers threading through the markets and corridors of the kingdom. the empire of eyekonia hath declared war.
it struck like lightning. swift, absolute, and deafening. the court held emergency councils. generals moved like shadows through the halls. flags were lowered, then raised again under tighter command. the world sophia knew shifted beneath her feet.
she didn’t care about strategy or supply lines or how many allies the crown could still call on.
all she could think about was you.
sophia had found you in the eastern wing, halfway through your patrol, and without a word, she grabbed the back of your tunic, dragging you quietly, urgently, through the stone halls, past startled servants and guards who knew better than to speak up.
she didn’t stop until she found an unused meeting room, where the shutters were drawn and the heavy oak door groaned under the force she slammed it with. you stumbled inside after her, confused, the back of your shirt still wrinkled where her fingers had clutched it tight.
it had been a year since you both started seeing each other in secret. a year since that fated night that linked you together for an eternity, a year since she’d relished in the comfort of your presence.
she didn’t say anything at first. just paced the room, fingers trembling ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven bursts. and when she finally turned to look at you, her eyes burned—not with fury, but with something far worse: desperation.
“you’re not fighting the front lines, are you?”
you blinked. the question caught you off guard. truly. but then the weight of it crashed into you like a tidal wave. the news, the fear, the look in her eyes.
you stepped forward slowly, shaking your head. “no. my duty lies with protecting you.”
her body deflated in an instant, all the tension draining from her shoulders like a storm finally passing. she crossed the room in two quick strides, arms wrapping around your waist like she could shield you from the news of the war and the war itself.
she could stay like this forever.
“thank god,” she whispered into your chest. “i thought—”
“i know.” you murmured, pressing your lips against her hair.
you didn’t tell her how your father had been summoned to the war room before sunrise. how he’d returned with a rare look of relief in his eyes, saying that the king had other plans. that you, your father, and basil—who finally got his wish of his own royal knights and got the approval of the king to step down from becoming king—were to remain behind, at the palace.
“the frontline is no place for heirs or shields,” the king had said. “the royal family must be guarded. my blood must be protected. and sophia… she will need people she trusts.”
you had bowed. not for the kingdom. not even for the king. but because of her.
“i’m not going anywhere.” you’d whispered, feeling her arms tighten around you and nuzzling further into your neck like she’s trying to mold you both into one, warm breath fanning against your skin gently, grounding you. “i’m not going anywhere.”
“promise?”
“promise.”
—-
you were both twenty-two years of age—two years into the war with the empire of eyekonia, and the kingdom was bleeding. losing men like they were mere numbers on a scale, names carved into stone more often than into medals. they were dropping like flies on foreign soil, dying for oaths that no longer felt like promises, but debts too heavy to repay.
and you—ever composed, ever sharp—you were unraveling. slowly. quietly. like silk being pulled from the hem.
your restless nights didn’t go unnoticed. not to sophia.
she noticed the determination and focus in your eyes whenever you’d all meet up in the great hall to talk strategies for the way, the way your leg bounced up and down in an agitated tic, barely perceptible beneath your uniform—too subtle for those who’d merely glance your way. but not sophia.
never sophia.
she’d prided herself with knowing you better than yourself. the rhythm of your breaths. the slight dip in your voice when you were trying to keep emotion at bay.
the way you bit the inside of your cheek—not out of anxiety, but out of restraint—whenever someone proposed a strategy that would cost more lives than it should, before promptly leaning forward in your seat and shaking your head because the men aren’t just casualties that racked up numbers.
and then you’d lean forward in your seat, voice calm but firm, always with that same line: "there has to be another way."
because to you, the men weren’t pawns.
they were names. faces. boys you’d trained with. soldiers who greeted you in the early hours, who held open doors and passed messages and laughed at keeho and yunjin’s bad jokes. men who had families, stories, dreams. they were men who you’d seen each day, given empowering speeches to and playfully cheering after.
they were your men as much as they are hers and the kingdom’s.
and sophia—she would watch you from across the room, something tender and painful blooming in her chest. because she knew what it cost you to care this much. and she loved you all the more for it.
noticed the way you’d softened through the years, the way you’d let yourself feel and show more feelings, instead of casting them away in a bottle and hiding it under a chest you won’t ever open, leaving the lock for generations and generations to look for.
noticed the way you’d been treading carefully around the idea of joining the front lines, not wanting to sit back and watch as the kingdom fell apart around you that could potentially risk the royal family’s life. sophia’s life.
noticed the way you steeled yourself whenever numbers of lives lost were brought back to you at the end of the way, and sophia could feel her resolve that hung by a thread shaking, because she just cannot afford to have you, the person she’d lost nights to, rolling in bed and giggling like a teenager in love.
you, the person who used to be too scared to sleep in the same bed as her given the fact that you’d already slept together before, all unusually meek and unsure of your actions when you’d always been so sure of yourself.
you, who she was sure she’d spend the rest of her life with, have a family, grow old together and die beside each other. you who she wanted to marry.
and you, who she cannot afford to be a mere statistic of the kingdom’s casualties in a war she didn’t want. a victim to her father’s ambitious plans.
she feels sick.
she cannot fathom the thought of you out there, all alone while you stood in foreign soil soaked with the kingdom’s blood, away from the castle walls where she could keep you safe, away from her, away from the promise of forever. of a life with her.
she knew you were trained for this. it was a huge factor as to how you’d reached the levels and earned your place in the kingdom—and more importantly, a seat in the great hall where the king and queen, their oldest son, close advisers and commanders, and her, the heir, all gathered. you got there not because your father is one of the king’s trusted advisor, but because you worked for it.
she couldn’t look at you properly that night. couldn’t even face you in the bed as you both laid next to each other, eyes wide open and sleep not planning on visiting your eyelids soon. a lump formed in her throat and her limbs moved before she knew it, propping herself up on her elbows to sit up on the bed, back flushed to the headboard.
she watched you do the same. watched as you silently sat up next to her, adjusted the covers on top of her to make sure she’s hidden away from the cold. the action oddly spikes annoyance in her.
because how dare you. how dare you have thoughts of leaving the kingdom. leaving her behind to walk men to their demise because of her father’s foolish, ambitious plans that had dragged everyone into its whirlwind? how dare you have those thoughts and not tell her? how dare you ingrain the image of her waking up to an empty side of your bed, of leaving without telling her, just to hear word of your passing in her mind?
how dare you assume she doesn’t know you well enough not to notice.
“will you ever marry me?”
the question lands flat. your lips parted in a moment of surprise, eyes widening slightly at how blunt she’d been. she looks tired of everything, and rightfully so. she’d been tired of the war, of the stench of male ego to strike up a treaty to stop the killing, and even so of the unnamed and unfinished promise of forever with you.
she doesn’t know how much longer she has you before you tell her you want to go to war.
her eyes tear up, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as you stayed silent, fingers twitching but not reaching out. just watching. just watching as the fabric of her nightgown dampened and grew darker in colour as tears fell.
she hates how she leans in almost immediately at your touch on her cheek, pressing her face in your palm and god, she’d never been this vulnerable before. she gets why you hate it.
“of course i will.”
“but will you, though? because at this rate, i’m scared that i’ll keep waiting and waiting and waiting for you, and i will, because i love you—and i cherish you more than anything in this world—and that there’ll be a time that’ll come where you won’t—you won’t even be here, because i see it in your eyes. i see how much you want to fight the empire, even if right now, it seems like a lost cause. i see how much you look like you’re ready to choose the kingdom over me and i’m scared because i know that once you put your mind to it, that you will. and i’m scared because i know you have the capability to. and most of all, i’m scared that one day, i’ll wake up and you’re not even going to be here anymore. that you won’t be here to hug me when you know i need it without telling you to, to listen to me ramble on and on about something unnecessary, that you won’t be here when i need you the most. and i’m going to be stuck here, because god knows i cannot and will never find another to love. because you’d carved yourself into every. single. piece. of me. and i’ll never forget you. i don’t ever want to forget you.”
you don’t know when it started. sophia was too busy pouring her heart out to take notice, too, when you started pouring your eyes out. it hadn’t dawned on you, until now, that she’d always be waiting for you to come home, wherever you go, whatever you do. the realisation makes your heart weep.
you grasp her hands, tears streaming down your face just as much as the ones rolling down her flushed cheeks, hot to touch, and kiss her empty ring finger.
“i promise to you, that when the war ends and we can breathe easily and freely again, that i will marry you. this is my oath to you, my heart, that i will make you my wife the moment i can, and we shall live the rest of our lives together. maybe build a family, even turn the garden much bigger as you wish. we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out what we’ll do together.”
and sophia finally feels like she could breathe.
—
you were both twenty-three when things had looked even more grim than before, and twenty-four when you decided that there was no better time than now to enter the battlefield, four years after the war had been declared.
sophia sat stiffly. you both knew this day would come. it was just a matter of if or when, and you’d picked the day a week before your twenty-fifth birthday. sophia had wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, do as best she could while the kingdom slowly crumbled into shambles, try and focus on something else that wasn’t stained with blood.
but now here you are, dropping the decision on her lap like it wasn’t anything heavy. like you didn’t just tell her that you’ll be off to the thorny battlefield that swam with dead bodies.
would she really ever have the chance to marry you? to slip the ring in your finger and for you to slip the ring in hers, branding you to have a lifetime of love ahead of you? would she ever see you grow old beside her, all wrinkles and gray hairs, and a tired yet content smile on your lips as you watched your grandchildren—if you somehow manage to have children—run around the garden, otherwise, you’ll be watching either basil or oreo’s grandchildren.
she doesn’t know what was worse, not spending a lifetime with you, or you wrapped in death’s embrace somewhere in a place she couldn’t reach.
she decides its both. because it doesn’t give her you, either way.
SOPHIA’S POV.
you tell me you’re leaving like it’s a simple thing, like the ground won’t open up beneath me the second you’re gone.
i don’t cry anymore. i just sit there, watching you, memorizing every detail—the slope of your shoulders, the way your fingers curl restlessly against your knee, like maybe some part of you is afraid too.
“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.
but how else am i supposed to look at you? how else am i supposed to let you go?
when you’re gone, the earth will have you. it will hold you tighter than i ever could, wrap you up in its quiet, endless embrace. and i will be left here, hollow, staring at the ground beneath my feet and hating it for having what i lost.
if you must die, i'll envy even the earth that wraps your body.
—--
it had been a week since you’d left for the war. you’d already turned twenty-five.
your father had struck up a deal with one of the advisors from the empire of eyekonia, and wished to send troops to seek if the empire will hold up their line of the bargain. and the king—after a lot of nagging and persistence on basil’s end—had begrudgingly allowed his eldest son to come with his troops on stand-by beside your own.
keeho and yunjin looked uneasy and queasy on the way to the empire. the week had gone by quick, and thanks to your expertise and basil’s troops who had served as reinforcements, quickly wiped the enemy troops down, not a single knight sat on their horse unscathed or untouched by stains of blood. you yourself had suffered a deep gash wrapped tightly in bandage.
you stopped your horse just in front of the seemingly barren castle gates of the empire. it was daunting, the beheaded troops of your kingdom sat decomposing on pikes and up for display for everyone to see. you heard somebody retching behind you. basil rides his horse to stand beside yours.
“the sun is setting. we should set up camp near and leave this till the morning. i have a bad feeling about this.” you shook your head at his statement, wanting to get the whole thing done and over with, so you could go home to sophia and celebrate your twenty-fifth with her.
“no, stay here. i’ll go check it out.”
“absolutely not. i’ll come with you.”
you stared at the eldest royal sibling with furrowed brows, and after coming into terms that he wouldn’t back down, you relented, sighing deeply and hopping off your horse, patting the animal and glancing at yunjin and keeho.
“keeho. come. basil, take four of your men. yunjin, i’ll leave you in charge of the rest, keep an eye out for anything and shout if something happens. we’ll go check what we’re dealing with.”
everything felt wrong. from the moment you, basil, keeho, and four of basil’s men stepped foot in the courtyard with the rest of the forces outside the wide open castle gates, everything felt damn still and wrong.
there were no guards who greeted you. no banners waved. the gates stood open like a mouth waiting to swallow. and the air—god, even the air was dead.
"stay close," you’d muttered, hand never straying from the hilt of your blade.
you didn’t like it. none of you did. but orders were orders. and your fathe had sworn the eyekonian emperor’s closest advisor was loyal to ending the four year long war. she had extended a rare, desperate olive branch: a treaty, drafted in secrecy and sealed with royal insignias.
she was supposed to meet you. and she did.
but when she appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the dining hall, something in your gut coiled. she was too poised. too calm. and her green, sharp eyes lingered on you just a little too long.
still, you followed her. you had no choice but to. for the kingdom and for sophia. through the dust-slick halls that seemed to have not had a single soul clean it since the start of time. through the grand entryway of the dining chamber where a feast had been laid but left untouched. like it was meant for someone else.
you could cut the tension in the air with your sword. basil’s fingers twitched. keeho’s jaw was locked. none of the other men spoke.
"the treaty?" she asked silkily, voice echoing around the stone chamber.
you reached into your coat, pulling the sealed scroll and stepping forward. “from king laforteza. a formal end to the war, by decree of both kingdoms.”
you extended it with care, but she didn’t reach for it.
instead, she smiled.
and in that smile, you saw everything unravel. too fast, too quick.
too late.
a flash of sophia’s smile glinted behind your eyelids.
“poor child,” she said softly. “you should’ve stayed in your little castle with your little princess.”
before your sword could even clear its sheath, her hand shot forward, sharp and inhumanly fast—metal glinted under her sleeve—
and the blade plunged right through your chest plate.
you gasped as the steel cut through bone and heart and air, the force of it throwing you backwards as your knees buckled.
basil shouted. keeho moved.
the witch barely had time to twist the blade before basil was on her, fury igniting in his veins. he drove his sword through her neck, slicing with such force her body collapsed in a heap of blackened smoke. a whispered “long hail the eyekonian empire!” lingering in the air like a ghost.
you hit the floor hard, breath stuck in your throat, blood pooling beneath you, warmth draining fast from your limbs. you couldn’t breathe, the damage was far too severe for a quick movement, a rather large chasm where you heart laid and the surrounding areas.
coughing blood as it invaded your lungs, your blurry eyes caught keeho hastily ripping the metal plate covering your chest while the other soldiers screamed for the troops outside to come in, feeling hands pressing to try and regulate the bleeding, even if it was a lost cause.
but the damage was too severe to resolve. blood dripped down your lips, splattering on basil’s chestplate. him and keeho had looked horrified, like it was hard to believe that you’re here, dying in front of their eyes when you were just fine a few moments earlier. that the years of your life spent in training had gone down the drain with a quick snap of a wrist.
sophia had appeared in your thoughts once more.
sophia, sophia, sophia.
sophia.
you wonder how she’ll react to your foolish decision of rushing things to get home to her. the lapse in your judgement and eagerness to leave costing you your life. she’d have scolded you if you’d lived. mumbling something along the lines of “almost losing my future wife.”
you wonder how she’ll cope. nights spent in utter silence, when usually you’d be there to fill it with soft murmurs of something dumb keeho or yunjin had done while training. you wonder if she could even stomach seeing your empty side of the bed that awaited your return, of the fact that you’d practically broken your promise of marrying her when the war ends. you wonder if she’ll even be able to forgive you.
you’ve broken her heart, her trust, your promise.
you wonder if she’ll marry. you know she won’t, but you wonder if she’ll even consider it. she won’t.
you feel someone lift you up, eyes droopier by the second. you don’t know how long you’ll last, hanging on by a thread in hopes to have at least the littlest consciousness by the time you arrive at the kingdom. the ride home is at least four days, and you’ve been stabbed through the heart.
sophia, sophia, sophia.
the girl who you’d swore to protect, to stand by her side till the end of time. and in by doing so, you’ve protected her and the kingdom. but at what cost?
she was right. it’ll always be duty that you’ll pick.
—--
the troops arrived a few days later, just before the sun set.
the people gathered in hushed clusters near the gates, whispers trailing behind the guards who bore the burden of grief on their shoulders, despite the victory of the empire and the end of the five year war.
at the very front, a body lay still atop a wooden cart, draped in the laforteza colors—deep navy and silver, lined with the kingdom’s sigil. the cloth covered everything, but it did nothing to hide the shape beneath it. nothing to dull the cold finality of it.
sophia stood at the castle steps, hands clenched at her sides. she didn’t need anyone to speak. didn’t need the confirmation of names or reports or letters from the front.
she knew.
she knew the slope of those shoulders beneath the fabric. knew the way the blade of your nose had always cut sharp and proud, even in rest. she knew the stillness wasn’t sleep—it was silence. finality.
“no,” she whispered, barely audible.
“no.”
no one dared stop her when she stepped down the stairs. not even the guards dared look her in the eye.
she stopped at the cart, breath trembling, heart thudding violently against her ribs as if it could somehow drum you back to life.
“please,” she murmured, to no one and nothing. “please don’t do this.”
her hands lifted, shaking as she reached for the cloth.
and when she peeled it back—
her knees buckled.
a choked sound tore out of her throat. her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could stuff the scream back inside. you were pale. still. lips tinged blue. your armor had been cleaned, but the dent at your chest plate was still there. and your sword—your favorite—rested by your side like it belonged with you in death, too.
sophia dropped to her knees beside the cart, clutching the edge like it could hold her upright. she could hear basil somewhere behind her, voice low and broken as he tried to explain. but she wasn’t listening.
she was supposed to marry you.
you had promised.
and now, the war had taken what even time dared not touch. basil wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to hold her upright as wails so painful and gut wrenching pierced through the air, your father freezing in place at the sight.
he’d unknowingly lead you to your demise.
you were newly twenty-five when you’d died, and sophia never married. never planned to if it wasn’t you, anyway. she kept sleeping on your side of the bed no matter how painful it was, kept the blood-stained letter found in your pocket framed on the bedside table as a remembrance. kept your sword as a remembrance. kept everything you had as a remembrance.
because she was starting to forget you as time passed. was starting to forget how you felt, how you smiled, how you moved, how you looked at her like she was worth dying for and did. she was starting to forget.
and she wanted to remember.
she wanted to remember everything, down till the last pulses of her heart weakly pumped blood and basil and oreo’s children had gathered around her bed to say goodbye, a privilege you never got to have. she wanted to remember everything down to her last breath, how warm your skin felt beneath her fingertips, memorising and mapping your skin like it was the last thing she’ll ever do.
she never married. until death, she waited for you. waited for ninety years, if it meant coming home to you. she ruled with the strength you left her, carried the weight of the crown like your blood hadn’t been spilled across the kingdom’s soil to make peace possible.
she turned her pain into purpose, rebuilt a world you could’ve lived in—should’ve lived in—and still, every night, she slept facing your empty side of the bed. made it possible for the end and the start of something new. she died on your side of the bed, your letter addressed to her clutched to her heart. creased, worn, and faded.
“the queen walks beside her knight again.”
a/n. finished in time for beautiful chaos release🙂↕️ did not mean to write this long but oh well yall have to deal w this now. will fix thr layout of the pairing nd shit in the morning. this was NAWT proofread ts was long asl im highk not bothered to look for spelling mistakes nd shi💔🥀🥀🥀🥀 ts also took THREE gruelling months to finish🥀🥀🥀 its the reason why the mamma mia updates hv been locked in the basement
♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you and minji were always just friends—the kind who held hands without thinking, who shared beds without question. but when feelings begin to stir beneath the surface, you’re forced to face the one line you swore you’d never cross.
𝖈ontains : friends to lovers, theyre both oblivious, and also lwk in denial, just a whole lotta fluff with like the smallest smidge of angst (but its only cuz theyre—again—in denial), hanni is in the middle of everything
𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 5.0k
𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : requested by anon here! when anon requested a minji fic to “feelings” by lauv i fear they cooked with the idea… i tried my best bringing this idea to life and i kinda tweaked like a few things… 😓the ending is also lwk a LILL rushed
. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — feelings by lauv
the day started like all the others did, with sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds and minji’s voice in your ear. she was talking about something—maybe breakfast, maybe the dream she had about being chased by a giant toast—but you weren't really listening. not because you didn’t care, but because you knew this version of peace only came with her. it was in the way her laughter curled into the air like steam off morning coffee. it was in the way she reached out, absentmindedly fixing your sleeve like she always did.
you’d been friends for years now, and in that time, you’d become something like a rhythm—so in sync, people hardly bothered asking if you’d show up together anymore. where minji was, you were. it wasn’t planned or forced. it just happened, like gravity.
your friends joked about it constantly. hanni, especially, would nudge minji with a grin and say, “you’re basically married, you know that?” and minji would laugh, the kind that always made your chest feel warm.
“nah,” she’d reply, ruffling your hair. “we’re just close.”
close.
you’d memorised that word by now. tucked it into your heart and let it sit there, heavy and quiet.
some days it was enough. most days, it wasn’t.
like when she called you late at night, her voice soft from sleep, asking if you could come over because her room felt too quiet. and you did, of course you did, every time. and she’d curl up next to you like she belonged there, like your shoulder was made just for her to rest her head on.
or when she texted you just to say she missed you—even if you’d seen her that morning. your heart would skip, flutter, fall. but then she’d send another message right after: “also can u bring snacks i’m starving.” and you’d laugh and tell yourself to get a grip.
because she didn’t mean it like that. she couldn’t.
still, there were moments—tiny, trembling things—that made you wonder.
like the time she fell asleep with her hand in yours on the train, and even after she woke, she didn’t let go. or how she always waited for your reactions first, before anyone else’s, like your opinion meant more. like it mattered most.
and it did, didn’t it?
minji meant everything to you. in the quietest way possible, she’d become the center of your world. and you… you were just doing your best not to drown in the ache of it all.
“hey,” her voice pulled you back. you blinked, looking up at her. she had that look again—gentle, concerned. “where’d you go just now?”
you smiled, shaking your head. “nowhere. just thinking.”
she leaned closer, propping her chin on your shoulder. “thinking about what?”
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you reached for your drink, pretending not to notice how close her lips were to your cheek.
“you’re weird,” she said, teasing.
“takes one to know one,” you shot back.
she grinned, and your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. you wished it would stop or at least stop hurting so much.
later that evening, as the sky turned the color of old peach skins, you sat side by side on her bedroom floor, folding laundry while music played low in the background. she hummed along to the melody, not quite in tune but beautiful all the same.
“can i ask you something?” she said suddenly.
“sure.”
“do you think i’m… clingy?”
you looked at her, startled. “what? no. why would you think that?”
“just wondering. hanni said we’re always together. made it sound like i’m too attached.”
you laughed, though something stung beneath it. “we are always together.”
she shrugged. “yeah, but… it doesn’t bother you, right?”
you paused. your hands stilled over a pair of her socks. you looked at her—really looked—and saw that tiny furrow in her brow, the one she got when she was unsure.
“min,” you said softly, “i like being with you. it doesn’t bother me.”
her smile then was slow, sweet. “me too.”
and maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe it was just a simple exchange between best friends. maybe she’d forget it by tomorrow.
but you wouldn’t. you never did. because every time she said “me too,” it felt like a promise.
and every time, you wished she meant it in the way you did.
the sky outside was painted in soft watercolors—clouds trailing lazy streaks of white over a pale blue canvas. minji sat by the window of your favorite coffee shop, the same one with the peeling brick walls and mismatched mugs, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her cup.
hanni sat across from her, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, eyes occasionally flicking up with something suspiciously close to amusement.
“you’re fidgeting,” hanni said eventually, not looking up.
“am not.”
“you are,” she said again, sing-song. “like a nervous wreck waiting for their crush.”
minji rolled her eyes. “you’re being ridiculous.”
“and right.” hanni leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “so… what’s the deal with you and y/n?”
minji blinked. “what?”
“don’t play dumb.” hanni gave her a look. “you’re always together. like, always. people joke about it. you're basically conjoined. you do everything together, talk in code, wear each other's clothes—min, come on. if i didn’t know you, i’d think you were dating.”
minji laughed, but there was something off about it—too quick, too sharp. “we’re just close. that’s it. i don’t like her like that.”
hanni’s brow lifted. “you don’t?”
“not in a romantic sense.”
“mhm.”
“and she doesn’t like me like that either,” minji added, as if to make it clearer. “we’re just… we’re good friends. we just get each other.”
hanni tilted her head, unconvinced. “right. so you’re telling me you share your fries, your hoodie, your bed, and your deepest thoughts—but there’s nothing going on?”
minji fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. “yes.”
hanni sighed. “minji.”
“what?”
hanni sighed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “i love you, but you’re in denial.”
minji scoffed. “you’re reaching.”
“you’re repressing.”
minji scoffed. “i am not.”
“you are,” hanni said gently. “and that’s okay. it’s scary. love always is. but you don’t get to tell me you don’t feel something when it’s all over your face every time y/n’s name comes up.”
minji looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. her coffee had gone cold.
“even if i did,” she murmured, “what’s the point? she doesn’t feel the same. and i’d rather have her in my life like this than lose her completely because i was dumb enough to say something.”
hanni’s expression softened. “have you ever actually asked her?”
minji didn’t answer.
before hanni could push further, the bell above the door chimed, and minji’s head turned instinctively.
you walked in, hair a little wind-blown, hoodie sleeves too long, eyes scanning the café until they landed on her.
“hey,” you said, making your way over. “sorry i’m late. i had to chase down a bus, then realised it wasn’t even the right one.”
minji grinned. “sounds like you.”
“i’m lucky i didn’t get kidnapped,” you added, sliding into the seat beside her.
“you’d probably befriend the kidnapper,” minji teased.
“and ask for snacks,” hanni chimed in, laughing.
you rolled your eyes and leaned on the table, your arm brushing minji’s. she didn’t move away. she never did.
a few minutes passed as they settled into the warmth of each other’s presence.
then a barista approached with their drinks—a new girl, unfamiliar, with a practiced smile. she placed each order down carefully, but when she set minji’s down, she lingered.
“hope you like it,” she said, gaze fixed on minji. “it’s my favorite.”
“oh?” minji blinked, smiling politely. “thanks!”
the girl smiled wider. “you’ve got great taste.”
with one last glance, she turned and walked away.
hanni raised a brow. “well that wasn’t subtle.”
“what?” minji blinked. “she was just being nice.”
“min,” hanni deadpanned.
you snorted into your cup. “she was basically batting her lashes at you.”
“she was just being nice,” minji said, entirely genuine.
hanni shook her head. “min, you’re hopeless.”
“tell me about it…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the foam in your drink.
minji didn’t hear it. but hanni did.
her eyes darted between the two of you. her lips curved into something knowing, something quiet.
the conversation shifted then—something light, something forgettable—but the weight of those earlier words lingered, tucked between sips of coffee and the spaces your fingers nearly touched.
and minji, who didn’t think you looked at her like that—never once noticed the way your eyes refused to look anywhere else.
the sky outside was still bright, though the air had cooled into something gentler. you and hanni stood just outside the coffee shop, the door shutting behind you with a soft chime as minji slipped back inside to grab a pastry for the road.
you hadn’t said anything yet. not really. just shared a long look, the kind that passed between people who both knew what wasn't being said.
hanni was the one who broke the silence first.
“so,” she said, sipping her drink, “how long have you been in love with her?”
you choked on your straw. “hanni.”
“what?” she shrugged, lips twitching. “someone had to say it.”
you looked away, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic of your cup. the words came out without much thought, raw and slow and aching.
“she gives me whiplash,” you said, voice low. “she’ll hold my hand like it’s nothing. she’ll fall asleep on me like i’m the safest place in the world. and then she flirts with someone else like it’s just air.”
hanni didn’t look surprised. she just leaned back against the wall and stared at you like she was finally seeing what had been obvious all along.
“she’s clearly into you,” she said.
you scoffed, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “if she is, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”
“you don’t see it, but she’s always looking at you,” hanni said, matter-of-fact. “like she wants something but doesn’t think she deserves it.”
you blinked. your chest felt too tight. “she told me she doesn’t believe in love. that it always ends in a mess.”
“what if she’s scared?”
“then why does she keep holding me like she’s not?”
hanni didn’t answer. instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a pen, and started doodling on a napkin she’d saved. something small, a flower maybe. a heart cracked down the middle.
then she asked, voice soft and sure:
“do you love her?”
you froze.
you hadn’t said that word yet. not even to yourself.
“i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe. probably. it feels like—like it’s in my bones already. like it’s been there for a while and i’m only just now realising it.”
hanni didn’t tease. didn’t grin or poke fun. she just nodded, slow and understanding. it was like she knew the feeling too well.
“you should tell her.”
you shook your head. “she’ll run. she’ll say we’re better off as friends. and then i’ll lose her.”
“but aren’t you already kind of losing her, every time she looks at someone else?”
your eyes dropped to your cup, where condensation had pooled like tiny rivers. you hated how true it felt.
the thing was, you could’ve lived with the friendship. you really could’ve.
but only if the lines were clearer. if she didn’t brush your hair back like she was memorising your face. if she didn’t text you goodnight with little hearts when she was tipsy. if she didn’t make you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something unsaid between every touch, every lingering glance.
you didn’t mind loving her quietly. you just didn’t know how long you could survive the confusion.
“you think she really feels the same?” you asked, almost a whisper.
“i think she’s trying really hard not to,” hanni said. “but feelings are like fog. you can’t run from them forever.”
you sighed. the ache in your chest felt old and familiar by now.
“you think she’ll ever see it?”
“she already does,” hanni said. “she’s just scared to say it out loud.”
you stood in silence after that. not a heavy one, but soft and slow. a silence that wrapped around the both of you like a blanket.
then the door creaked open, and minji stepped out with a grin and a paper bag in hand. the top was folded neatly, and on it, scrawled in thick black marker, was a phone number.
hanni squinted. “is that a number?”
minji looked down, and her smile widened, sheepish and amused. “yeah. the barista. she, uh… she gave it to me.”
you blinked, words catching in your throat.
“so she was flirting,” hanni said, elbowing her. “what happened to ‘she’s just being nice’?”
“okay, okay,” minji laughed, lifting the bag in defense. “i didn’t know at the time! i’m just—i don’t know. i’m oblivious, apparently.”
hanni arched a brow, clearly holding something back. her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to minji.
minji met her gaze, then shot her a look—playful but pointed. like she was saying see? i don’t like y/n without having to say it out loud.
“you’re hopeless,” hanni muttered under her breath.
minji slung an arm over your shoulder casually, like she always did, like it was second nature.
“come on,” she said. “let’s go eat this before it gets cold.”
you forced a smile and nudged her side. “wow, getting phone numbers and pastries. who even are you?”
“minji the irresistible,” she said, with a grin that made your heart twist.
and as the three of you walked down the street together, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could pretend the ache inside you was just part of being friends.
minji arrived at your door like she always did—without warning, without needing to ask.
“i bring gifts,” she announced, holding up a plastic bag full of snacks like some wandering hero returning from battle.
“behold. ramen, choco pies, your favorite seaweed chips, and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “one overpriced convenience store cheesecake.”
you leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “you trying to win my heart or rot my teeth?”
“both,” she said easily, brushing past you with a smug grin. “multitasking.”
you closed the door behind her and watched her kick her shoes off like she lived there, like this was just her other home. she knew where everything was—where you kept the extra pillows, the charger cable tangled behind the couch, the specific mug you used when drinking tea.
and it never stopped being strange, how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.
“pick a movie,” you said as she dropped onto the couch, legs sprawled out like a cat basking in the last bit of daylight. “but no crying tonight, please. my heart’s too tired to carry your emotional baggage through another sad indie flick.”
minji gasped dramatically. “i’ll have you know my taste is refined. cultured, even.”
“traumatic,” you muttered, grabbing the remote and handing it to her anyway.
she stuck her tongue out at you, then began scrolling. “fine. something light. maybe that dumb rom-com with the guy who keeps falling over everything?”
you smirked. “so, you mean the story of your life? got it.”
she swatted your arm, giggling. “rude.”
you made popcorn in the kitchen while she set up the film, the scent buttery and warm and almost enough to distract you from the way your heart clenched every time she laughed like that—freely, without walls.
when you returned, she was already nestled into your couch, blanket pulled over her lap and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“your spot’s waiting,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.
you sat down, close enough that your knees touched.
“you know,” she said, not looking at you, “if people saw us like this, they’d probably think we were together.”
your heart did a somersault. but you didn’t let it show.
“yeah,” you said softly. “they’d be wrong though… right?”
minji turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “yeah,” she echoed. “very wrong.”
but she didn’t move away.
and when the movie started, her head found your shoulder, slow and gentle, like maybe it was exactly where it wanted to be.
“you comfy?” you asked.
she hummed. “too comfy. might fall asleep and drool on your hoodie.”
“it’s your hoodie,” you said.
“borrowed. indefinitely.”
you didn’t reply. your hand moved on its own, fingers brushing through her hair like a habit you’d picked up from another life.
and minji didn’t stop you.
halfway through the film, you looked down at her, her cheek pressed against your arm, her lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering with sleep.
she looked so small in that moment. so breakable.
you wondered if she ever looked at you the way you looked at her—like she was some kind of miracle.
your chest ached with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.
“you okay?” she murmured, half-asleep.
you forced a smile. “yeah.”
she blinked slowly. “you’re quiet.”
“just thinking.”
“dangerous.”
you chuckled softly. “probably.”
the movie played on, but you couldn’t focus. not with the warmth of her pressed beside you, not with the way she sighed in her sleep like she belonged here, in this exact moment, with you.
and when it ended, you stayed there, neither of you moving, the silence stretching between you like a secret.
eventually, she stood and stretched, yawning. “sleepover?”
you nodded. “duh.”
“you say that like it’s not a privilege.”
“it’s not. you’ve basically moved in.”
“you love it.”
you didn’t deny it.
minji changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she left in your drawer weeks ago. you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, laughing when you accidentally spit toothpaste on your own shirt.
and then, just like always, you ended up in bed—her on one side, you on the other, back to back but close enough that your feet touched beneath the blanket.
“goodnight,” she whispered.
“night, min.”
but neither of you slept. not right away.
you could feel her breathing. you could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.
and somewhere in the silence, her fingers reached for yours under the blanket—just a brush, a moment, a whisper.
you didn’t pull away. you never did.
you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that she was yours.
and she let you.
the morning light slipped in soft and golden, brushing across the bed like a quiet apology for interrupting the peace.
you woke before her.
you always did when she stayed over.
minji was still curled beneath the blankets, one arm flung across your pillow, her hair messy and tangled like the petals of a dream left half-bloomed. her face was calm, softer than she ever let the world see. her lips parted slightly, breaths falling slow and even.
you propped yourself up on one elbow and watched her, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache.
how was it possible that someone could look like this—so warm, so close—and not know what they did to you?
her presence filled the room like music with no lyrics. and you? you listened.
you thought about how easy it was, this rhythm you shared. the laughter, the sleepovers, the way her clothes hung in your closet like they belonged. the way she stole your hoodies and your blankets and, without meaning to, your heart.
she shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly as if something troubled her even in dreams. instinctively, you reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers light, careful.
your chest tightened.
god, you wanted her to wake up and see you. really see you.
you slipped out of bed gently, as quietly as you could, but the moment your feet touched the floor—
“don’t go,” she mumbled.
you froze.
minji’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she reached out blindly and caught your wrist.
“stay,” she said, tugging you back toward the bed.
you turned, heart stuttering. “minji, i was just gonna—”
“five more minutes,” she whispered.
you hesitated. “we’ll waste the whole day.”
“then let’s waste it together.”
you didn’t argue after that.
you let her pull you back beneath the covers, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist as if this was the most natural thing in the world. her head found your chest, and your hands found her back.
the world outside the window didn’t exist. just this bed, just this moment, just her.
you stayed like that for longer than five minutes. who knows how long.
eventually, the hunger crept in.
you both stretched and stumbled your way out of bed like a pair of old souls in a new morning, brushing teeth in sync, bumping shoulders, sharing sleepy smiles.
minji pulled your sweatshirt over her head. “i’m stealing this again.”
“not stealing if i let you,” you said.
“so you admit you like it.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“but you meant it.”
you rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.
the kitchen smelled of warmth and the weekend as you flipped pancakes in your old pan, minji perched on the counter like a queen in her kingdom, watching you.
“you know,” she said slowly, swinging her legs, “i agreed to go on a date next week.”
the spatula paused in your hand.
you turned, heart dropping like a stone.
“what?”
“mm.” she nodded. “you remember the barista? she asked me out yesterday and i figured… why not?”
you tried to keep your face still, tried not to let the hurt show in your eyes.
“but,” you said quietly, “weren’t you the one who said love always ended in a mess?”
she shrugged, looking away. “maybe i just said that to sound smart. maybe i was scared.”
you forced a laugh, but it came out flat. “so what changed?”
minji smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“i guess i thought it was time to try. open myself up a little. and i needed to prove hanni wrong”
the pancakes were starting to burn. you didn’t care.
“prove her wrong on what?” you questioned.
minji shrugged as she muttered a “nevermind” and picked up her phone from the edge of the counter.
you turned back to the stove, trying to hide the way your hands trembled.
you wanted to ask her—why not me? why not us? but you didn’t. you just flipped the pancake and said nothing at all.
behind you, minji swung her legs and stared at the floor. her voice was quiet when she said, “you’re not mad, right?”
“mad at you?” you smiled softly like your heart wasn’t shattering.
“never.”
you got there just after noon, letting yourself in with the spare key minji gave you months ago. her place was warm with the scent of citrus shampoo and fabric softener, a quiet kind of chaos unfolding in every corner—clothes thrown across the bed, curling iron plugged in, a half-bitten apple forgotten on the counter. it looked like her. it felt like her.
and in the middle of it all stood minji, hair half-dried and shirtless save for the sports bra she always wore when she was trying on outfits. she turned to you like you were her last hope.
“thank god,” she said. “i was two seconds away from cancelling just out of wardrobe-related stress.”
you laughed, not quite because it was funny, but because it was her. “you’re the one who wanted to give dating a shot.”
“yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rifling through a pile of neatly folded shirts and then promptly unfolding them. “remind me again why i thought that was a good idea?”
you stepped in and gently swatted her hand away from the shirts, holding up a few options yourself. “because you said it was time to be open. and that you wanted to ‘prove hanni wrong’ or whatever. ”
she groaned. “ugh. me and my big ideas.”
but she took the shirt you held out—a dark navy button-up that brought out the depth of her eyes—and disappeared into her closet to change.
you stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the familiar. her polaroids pinned to the wall. a hair tie left on her nightstand. the book she was halfway through with your bookmark inside it.
“okay,” she said, stepping out, “how’s this?”
you turned—and felt your heart skip.
she looked beautiful. not done-up or overly fancy. just her, in that natural, easy way that always knocked the air out of your lungs.
“you look good,” you said.
“just good?”
you smiled. “you always look good.”
she smiled back, that soft, pleased kind of smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. you wished it meant more than it did.
she sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging on socks, and you knelt beside her to tie her laces. she didn’t ask you to—you just always did. it was one of those little things. one of a hundred tiny acts that built a life together without either of you saying so.
“you’re too good to me,” she said, watching you double-knot the shoes.
you didn’t answer. just looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. “i know.”
she laughed and nudged your shoulder. “cocky.”
you stood up, brushing your hands on your jeans. “you nervous?”
“terrified,” she admitted. “but… kind of excited too. she seemed nice at the coffee shop. funny.”
“that’s good,” you said, voice steady though your stomach twisted.
you didn’t know why this moment felt like a countdown. like something irreversible was about to happen.
she walked over to the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “do you think she’ll like me?”
you shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of her pillowcase. “what’s not to like?”
and you meant it. but it hurt, saying those words like you weren’t the one holding every soft piece of her in your hands.
you wanted to be the one she was getting ready for.
you watched her in the mirror. the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. the way she adjusted her necklace and tilted her head to the side to check her angles.
and something in your chest clicked. or cracked. or maybe it had been cracked for a while now, and you were just now noticing the pieces.
you didn’t want her to go.
you wanted to be the one she dressed up for. the one she texted when she got home safe. the one who’d sit beside her on the subway ride back, legs pressed close and hands brushing just barely in the dark.
you wanted to tell her.
she turned around with a grin. “okay. i’m almost ready.”
you nodded slowly.
and maybe it was time for you to be ready too. ready to cross that line you both danced around.
minji stood before the mirror, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of her navy shirt, smoothing down wrinkles she wasn’t sure were even there. through the glass, her eyes caught yours—eyes that didn’t look quite like themselves tonight. they were distant, caught in a quiet storm you hadn’t seen before.
you sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded loosely in your lap, the weight of something unspoken pulling your gaze away from her reflection. when minji turned, her smile was quick and easy, but there was an undercurrent of concern hidden beneath.
“hey,” she said softly, ruffling your hair with that familiar, teasing touch, “are you missing me already? what’s up with the look?”
you tried for a smile, one that might reach the corners of your eyes, but it faltered, a fragile flicker in the dim light. “me? miss you? in your dreams.”
minji didn’t brush it off. she tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore.
“you okay?” she pressed gently.
“i’m okay,” you whispered, voice steady but quiet, like you were afraid to break the fragile moment.
minji shrugged, a small, uncertain movement. “if you say so.”
she stepped back toward the door, ready to leave for her date. the air hung thick with all the words you didn’t say.
but then you moved. slipping from the bed, your hand found her wrist, holding it softly but firmly—an unspoken question, an invitation. your grip was gentle, offering freedom and restraint all at once.
minji didn’t pull away.
she turned back to you, a nervous grin curling her lips. “hey, what’s this? you know, if you want food from my fridge while i’m gone, you don’t have to ask. just take care of my place.”
her joke floated between you, but it landed nowhere.
you met her eyes, vulnerability laid bare in your own. “minji... stay.”
the words were soft, fragile, like a whispered prayer.
“stay,” you repeated, voice breaking just a little, “don’t go on that date.”
minji’s brow furrowed, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “why?”
you took a breath, heart pounding loud enough to fill the silent room.
“because i can’t keep pretending this isn’t love. because i’m tired of waiting for maybe’s and almosts. because i want to be the one you look at like you’re home. and if that scares you, i’ll wait. but i don’t want to lose you tonight.”
her eyes softened, and the walls she built around herself started to crumble like morning mist.
“then,” she said quietly, “maybe we don’t have to go anywhere.”
you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.
and with a small, shy smile, she stepped closer—closing the space between almost and forever.
there, in the quiet flicker of her bedroom light, love was no longer a question or a fear. it was simply everything.
sypnosis - Sophia can't seem to get enough of that cologne, even if it belonged to the only racer she didn't understand nor like.
an - i wrote this after my lungs gave out during volleyball, and i was on the floor dreaming of sophia while my teammates thought i died
f1!sophia x f1!reader
song of the day- cologne - beabadoobee
Sophia stumbled into the room, her muscles screaming out, trying to pull down more air into her lungs, burning.
Sophia clutched her chest, her fingers clumsily grabbing handfuls of fabric and her nails digging into her skin, desperate to blunt the pain. the pulsating beat of whatever song the owner of whosoever dorm she was in chose pummeling into her head, only ever so muted by the door she clumsily slammed behind her. she collapsed, her knees buckling as she slumped onto the couch. its scent drifted between the smell of old beer, takeout, and the unfortunate fate of too many dirty bodies. something, that, if Sophia could, would have made her ram right out of the room and never look back on this damned city.
damn it.
damn the party, damn the influence of alcohol for taking her friends away, and damn her bruised ribs.
after lara came out, she dragged sophia everywhere, insisting on “finding the one for her”. Now, she was likely somewhere in a bathroom, heavily making out with another woman, and completely forgetting that sophia was here, very much injured.
her eyes grew heavy, her breathing settling to a steady rhythm, her arms slowly slumping to her sides, her nails scratching against the couches coarse fabric.
the door clicked open, and the booming music rushed back, spindling every one of her nerves.
“you okay sophs?”
the signature drawled out accent brought Sophia back to reality. yn leaned against the doorway, her eyes trained on Sophia. Dressed in her usual attire, a pair of grey pants, hung dangerously loose around yn’s hips, and a black t-shirt, one that leave anyone and everyone wanting to see what was underneath. if that wasn't enough, then maybe it was...
the cologne.
A velvety breath, with a smoky tinge, overtoning a seemingly sweet rose-like rinse, seeping under Sophia’s skin, rendering Sophia a mindless woman. one that haunted Sophia from the moment they had met, a perfume that she couldn't help but breathe in like a drug-
“leave.” she managed out, a shiver passing through her spine, crawling up to her head, buzzing and electric. as yn stepped closer, she could almost see the helmet she always so confidently latches on her hip from their races, the tattoo on her collarbone, peeking through whenever she makes a sharp turn, the tires screeching and the audience screaming.
the cologne became stronger, invading Sophia’s sense of smell until she could discern nothing else. nothing else but yn's hips, swaying as she stepped closer and closer, oh so wrapped delicately by her clothes.
“why should I?” yn drawled out, the cocky grin she always plastered on her face. Sophia couldn’t look at her, couldn’t breathe, without wanting to scratch that damn smirk off, without wanting to smash something into her face that will finally make her shut up, something like her lips-
“because I don’t want you wasting that cologne you bought with your daddy’s money on my poor people's lungs.”
with that final sentence, Yn’s grin widened, revealing a set of whitened sharp canines, and she stepped forward, shutting the door behind her. the way she walked pissed Sophia off to no end. how she took steps like it was a miracle to look at her. her arrogant sneer, how she tilted her head to look down at whomever, and how her shirt snatched just a bit tighter around her figure for a second, leaving Sophia wondering how hard it would be to take it off her-
what?
no.
“why are you here anyways?” Sophia leaned back, grimacing as she rested her head onto the headrest of the couch. even as she closed her eyes, she could feel Yn’s eyes following her every move, could almost visualize the predatory glint in her eyes and self-righteous tilt in her head. she should have felt nervous underneath yn’s hawk-like stare. Instead, she felt a strange sense of pride.
that yn was looking at her.
that none of yn’s fans could keep her like Sophia did.
“you should be doing beer kegs with your best rich bud megan.” she sneered, opening one of her eyes to scrutinize yn. she saw, with a satisfaction, the clench in yn’s jaw, the smirk she held faltering slightly at the rich she so pettily added, and the intensity behind yn’s eyes.
she couldn’t help but cock her head, her eyes drawn to the broad shoulders, the breath she held. she couldn’t help but trail her eyes downwards, down the muscles so perfectly toned, and to..
Yn was holding an ice pack.
“wha-”
yn cut her off with a scoff, her face growing ever so faintly red.
It must be from the alcohol. Sophia assured herself, her eyes flickering from the ice pack and to yn’s somehow…embarrassed expression.
but, yn had legendary alcohol tolerance-everyone knew that. so, what else would have incited yn to do this? should she even care? should she instead be focusing on the fact that THE yn ln is red?
“I can literally almost hear you plotting the reason why I’m helping you.” yn mumbled underneath her breath, her usual cocky smirk now lost to her downcast gaze and clenched fists. the strange soft undertone to her tone stirring something unfamiliar in sophia.
Sophia could feel the edges of her lips begin to twitch upwards, and she had to physically hold herself back from teasing the absolute hell out of yn. she opened her mouth slightly, excitement rushing through her.
but, just as she was about to release hell on yn, the clumsy fumbling of yn’s fingers and the strange nervousness in yn’s expression stopped her.
yn never fidgeted.
“what are you doing?” sophia murmured, her voice softened and nothing like the tone they usually shared. gone were the snappy and well-crafted insults they threw. her mind wandered off to create reasons, overthinking as instinct. she furrowed her brows, the dim lighting of the room casting a shadow on yn’s face, not allowing sophia the ability to search her expression for what she was thinking. the once booming party behind them now fading into a softened bass, it’s low beat thrumming through the room and sophia’s head.
“don’t act like I’m doing you a favor sophs.” yn grumbled, her voice raspy with annoyance, and the ice pack she held so delicately now scrunched up in her vice grip.
“I’m just making sure that you feel how it’s like to be treated by something that came from a…better environment.”
Sophia scoffed, the decade of pure resentment burrowing itself back into her chest, comfortable. how like yn to insult her on her lower class background again. the origin of their long heated rivalry came from yn’s pointed glances and venom-filled voice whenever she spoke of “sophia laforteza’s unfortunate beginnings.” she still remembered the pitiful stares, the poignant remarks, all from the uber-rich, and all lathering sophia into a state of pure loathing of the upper class she crawled and teared to join.
she could see yn’s cock her head slightly, the way she did whenever her words hit their mark. yn’s tongue swiped over her carnivorous teeth, the movement quick, and common for whenever yn savoured the pain her words had caused. each move, purposeful, done to hurt others. The way yn studied Sophia, lazy satisfaction, like a predator who’s already won, sent shivers down her spine.
“the only good thing about the hell you came from is that it gave you so much fraud money from your daddy's corrupt business.” she spat, leaning forward as the dim light caught the murderous glint in her eyes. the darkness retreated, the single overhead light shining a small glow over sophia’s white-knuckled fists, clenched angrily by her sides. she saw the way yn flickered her gaze to her flexed muscles, how, for even a split second, she could see the arrogance in yn’s eyes mix with something…else.
“be careful with your words sophs.” the intolerable nickname rolled off yn’s tongue, dripping with cockiness and oily affection. all of her teeth white, sharp, and perfectly predatory underneath the small dim of a light. . yn’s oh so broad shoulders rolled back, stretching and so posture-perfect in a way that only old money could earn.
“that corrupt business is the backbone of formula one.”
sophia grimaced as yn took another step closer, the room closing in, also as if conspiring with yn to destroy sophia’s mind. everything felt too close, too personal. too real. the quiet rustle of yn’s designer clothes,. her loose pants, loosely hanging around her hips, interrupting sophia’s train of thought whenever she made the mistake of looking. she opened her mouth, another string of insults about to part, preparing to distance herself from yn, to hurt her so much she’d leave. before she could do so, the pain in her rib, sharp and heavy, crashed her back to earth.
she bit back a cry, her previously clenched fingers going to brush against the sensitive area. she shut her eyes tightly for a second, wincing as the pads of her fingers shakily pressed down, testing the waters. as expected, each movement incited another sharp burst of pain that hit her like a tow truck, each small, sharp inhale parting the muscles in her ribs like a wilting flower.
she opened her eyes again, her gaze half-lidded as she glared at yn, daring her to continue her onslaught of insults.
yn’s eyes trailed over sophia, leaving her vulnerable and undressed under her gaze. the inhales she managed to salvage became even more difficult, and sophia found herself growing more and more nervous. she couldn’t pinpoint why it was just so hard for her to breathe in. this was always the thing with yn’s stares. sharp, narrow, and only thing that both made sophia an insignificant chess piece and the center of the universe. this was the look yn used whenever she saw her reflecting on her races and negotiations. unforgiving, and so quick to anger at every small, unseeable mistake.
“just give me the ice pack.” she mumbled, averting her gaze, the pads of her fingers still gently trailing over the fabric over her bruise.
“wait.” yn hesitated, her eyes going from their cold, calculating gaze to something that sophia couldn’t word. an almost soft expression, trailing down to watch sophia’s shaky fingers over her bruise.
“I want to see it.”
sophia scowled. all previous nervousness, any previous vulnerability she ever could have had vanished in a breath. the effect yn had on her, the ever so complex and vulnerable effect, shattered in a second.
“how like you, to demand of me.” she sneered, her shaky fingers suddenly swiping downwards to steady Sophia as she stood up in a rush. she ignored the tearing pain pleading for her to sit down, adrenaline pushing her forward as she took a furious step towards yn. the shadows between the two only darkened, but yn’s face was lit a bit more, revealing her cold eyes that followed each and every of sophia’s moves. she saw yn’s eyes briefly flicker to her shoulders, tightening as her weight adjusted to her injured side, then trailing down to watch Sophia’s ever so trembling hand.
“I hope that you can get this through that thick, gold-adorned skull of yours…” sophia jammed her finger at yn’s chest, leaning in as she sneered, her voice dangerously low. she had never been as close to yn as she had been at this very moment, close enough to see the small scar slit through yn’s eyebrow, that her friends gossiped to be from a car accident when yn was a kid, to see her sun-kissed skin, warm like caramel.
It took every muscle in sophia not to look too closely at the warm, golden flecks in yn’s otherwise inhospital gaze, to not breathe in cologne, its subtle notes of rose humming, caressing the burn in her lungs.
daddy’s money. she reminded herself, flaring up with anger again as she glared into yn’s eyes. the warm flecks sophia glimpsed disappearing underneath yn’s mask of snobbery, an ocean of haughtiness. with each second that passed, she could see visions of yn’s victory celebrations, each shot she downed costing an entire month for sophia’s family. she could see the tinted windows of every penthouse yn bought “for the fun”, yn’s opaque, gold-rinsed reflection taunting her. she needed to keep this simple, pure hatred, not another complex, emotion-filled relationship.
“you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
sophia expected yn to scoff. for something to flash on her face, for her to become angry at suddenly not having her command. she expected the famous temper of yn ln, the boarding-school spoiled attitude that she’s watched race engineers become leashed to. she expected yn’s cologne to evaporate, and for her to be left, alone.
but instead, she was met with the gentle touch of yn’s hand, guiding her back to the couch, tenderly holding her arm as she steadied her injured side.
“before you get more mad,” yn mumbled, her voice soft, pliant. Sophia’s mind was tangled, the contrast in yn’s behavior holding so much power over her. “megan’s cooler than a rich bud.”
Sophia snorted, the sound leaving her before she could stop it. yn’s face scrunched up in hurt, a childlike-expression that made Sophia’s chest squeeze.
“what? She's funny and really good at driving." The venomous tone in yn’s voice was gone, now carrying a note of confusion, of genuine hurt.
“everyone’s good at driving in f1 yn.”
“Yeah, but not everyone can be funny!”
“This is stupid.”
yn’s weak protests, all passionate on defending megan fall away to an easy, unpracticed laugh. Despite herself, Sophia found herself leaning in, like a sunflower drinking in vibrance. something about yn’s giggles was…strange. real. nothing like the snobbish, egoistic personality she was known for in f1. it was strangely low, a quiet chuckle that reminded Sophia of the one time she had seen this personality before.
it had been a charity event at a hospital, one covered with cameras bit more secretive than the other events. she had went into yn’s room, to grab a cup of water for her teammate, when she saw her.
yn, by herself with a girl, raising her high in the air, her eyes sparkling with joy. the girl was in a white hospital gown, the fabric contrasting the girl’s face, flushed with excitement. “again!” the girl squealed, leaning against yn for support, her voice high, sweet like sugar. yn’s face broke into one of such earnest joy that Sophia couldn’t stop herself from clutching her chest in agony.
She stood, frozen at the doorway, as YN gently set the girl down and knelt to her eye level, signing her jersey with painstaking care. She asked her gently about her dreams, held her close as the girl rambled on about cars and winning championships. She tickled the girl, laughing breathlessly along with her, readjusting her iv drip while pretending she didn’t see it, tugging her close like she was the greatest treasure. Yn’s face scrunched up in concentration, listening to each of the girl's words like it was her purpose in the world.
When the girl brought out a packet of markers, fisting each clumsily, stumbling across in her path, Sophia was sure that yn was going to refuse. If there was one main thing that yn took caution in, more than anything, it was her face. the one thing that media training denied anyone access too. even when yn was a child, she was on television. If not for her billionaire father, then for her face. each feature carved like marble.
during races, while other drivers drew lines across their faces, signals of enthusiasm, yn’s face remained clear. nothing but her pristine, sharp features, a symbol that yn didn’t need any motivation to win.
but now, yn just kneeled down, closed her eyes, and allowed wobbly hands to draw masterpieces over her face. flimsy flowers and smiley faces, drawings of cars scattered across her temple and cheek. here yn was, choosing a child's happiness over her reputation. over million dollar deals.
at that moment, the rose in yn’s cologne was the only thing keeping Sophia standing.
Then, the child noticed her, and pointed one small finger at her. her big, doe-eyes, enlightened at the idea of another f1 friend.
Sophia ran right at that moment, before yn could follow the child’s gaze, so innocently directed towards Sophia. her feet clashed against the sterile hospital floor, her breathing ragged, desperate to get away from this yn, desperate to forget what she’s just seen, to still see yn as another of the careless, inhuman wealthy.
“you’re way too close.” Sophia protested quietly, her voice falling weak to yn’s giggles. It was true, yn was close, close enough for Sophia to see every one of yn’s sharp, concise features, reduced to nothing under a fit of quiet snickers. Yet, even as she objected, she didn’t want yn to leave. didn’t want this softened version of the monster she built in her mind to disappear, to vanish after this moment. Sophia wondered when this version of yn came out most, what switch in yn’s head caused this beautiful girl to arrive.
Most of all, Sophia wondered what it would be like to see this everyday. to be able to trace yn’s features in a fit of laughter like right now, to wipe the tears of joy from her eyes, to press her fingers against the scar in yn’s eyebrow, to hear her childhood stories before formula had turned her into nothing but ambition and trophies.
“you should leave.”
yn finally stopped giggling, her hand grabbing scruffs of Sophia’s shirt to steady herself.
“what? I didn’t hear you.” she whispered breathlessly, her eyes finally opening, meeting Sophia’s. Sophia hesitated. Should she repeat herself, and tell yn she’s too close? tell yn to leave? that this-this was something she never wanted to see?
she opened her mouth, taking in a small breath, her chest clenching not from pain anymore but from the way yn looked up at her, her usual sharp catty eyes dilated, soft. the way she fisted her hand around Sophia’s shirt, clutching it like a child with their mother. Even though her position looked uncomfortable, her knees against the hardwood floor, yn didn’t move one bit. Only waited expectantly, for whatever Sophia offered, as if this moment would last as long as they wanted it to.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ you give yourself three rules as you make it onto the women’s volleyball team: 1. don’t fail any classes, 2. don’t get kicked off the team, and 3. don’t fall in love with any of your teammates. the first two are easy enough. but after meeting the team’s broody, guarded team captain, you realize you’ll have to try very hard not to fall in love with sophia laforteza.
ˎˊ˗ 🌌 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️
➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.
➴ genre + wc: 15k, slow burn, onesided rivals to lovers, angst and fluff, ice queen sophia, she turns mommy so fast, reader is lowkey a big dork.
➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫
┈─★ a/n: my first sophia fic <3 long overdue and now i'm lowkey addicted i fr miss being a sophia bias..... hope you guys enjoy, lmk what u think!! <3
“cyclones’ beloved libero retiring due to injury.”
you remember reading the article, at the end of your first semester in community college. your best friend put the idea in your head. malibu is a 6 hour drive from your small town, but you hop on the bus with a crazy, stupid idea, and pray it’s crazy enough to work.
you step into the gym and let out a deep breath. this is your ticket into something bigger.
“hi, um, y/n y/ln,” you greet the coach, recognizing her from all the articles you had read. “i emailed you guys.”
the assistant coach perches his arms on his hips and gives you a look of disbelief. “a walk on?”
you swallow down nervously. it’s not ideal, to be infiltrating this practice before their season has even started, a shot in the dark in the hopes that they haven’t already started training up a new libero. what even is your game plan? waltz up, show off your skills, and pray they see your potential enough to recruit you on the spot?
(well, yes, that is the plan, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating to have all these eyes start to draw to you, as if you’re invading their secret space.)
you try to avoid the attention your presence is bringing to you and stay focused on the conversation with the two coaches.
“freshman?” they ask.
“sophomore,” you clarify, before clearing your throat nervously. “i play libero.”
“why didn’t i see you during the off season?” he asks.
“i played club, i was homeschooled,” you explain simply, as they both turn to each other to review something between themselves. you feel so awkward, an outsider, dressed up to play, to beg for a chance to join a team that’s already got so much synergy between them.
“i remember you—” the coach says, but before he can say anything else, there’s the sharp crack of a ball landing directly in between the two of you. you jump back in shock, looking up to meet the intense gaze of a dark haired girl, eyes fixed on you. you swallow down nervously, and she walks up with a calculated coldness that makes your chest tense.
“this team hasn’t had a walk-on in years,” the girl says sharply. you’re shocked about how much she’s heard despite you guys talking quietly. did the coaches mention you and your impromptu tryout today? you try to flash her a smile to indicate you’re no harm, but she instantly sharpens her eyes at you. “not sure why you’re smiling. arrogance isn’t cute.”
her thick, dark hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail, kept out of her eyes by a wide headband. her eyes are dark, intense, and feel like they’re looking through you. everything about her screams composure— her kneepads are in perfect condition, her shoes are perfectly unscuffed, her tshirt tucked perfectly into her shorts in a way that makes you almost confused as to how she doesn’t have a single wrinkle. everything about this girl just looks so unrealistically perfect.
“no, yeah, totally,” you stammer, watching as she picks the ball up off the ground. you shake your head. “not trying to be cocky. sorry.”
“easy, soph,” the coach waves her off, before turning back to you. “y/n, join us for practice today. we’ll do a scrimmage at the end and see if you’re up to snuff.”
you nod appreciatively, and all you can feel are the harsh eyes of this girl burning a hole in the side of your head.
the coach motions for you to go get stretched, and you jog over to the other girls, waving as politely as you can manage. much to your relief, they welcome you warmly, encouraging you to warm up with them. you try to avoid looking back behind your shoulder, out of fear that the girl is still glaring you down.
you join the girls as they all get into their first warmups, and you end up directly behind this girl in the line to practice setting. you want to extend an olive branch, to express that you’re excited to get a chance to practice with them, that you’ve admired their team for a while and you recognize her as one of the best setters on the west coast conference.
she doesn’t give you a chance, shooting an icy gaze over her shoulder at you.
“don’t get in my way,” she warns simply, running up as the ball comes her way to make the first set.
“i’ll do my best,” you breathe.
-
by the time their practice ends, you’re dripping sweat, but it’s been fun to enjoy playing with a team like this all over again. your community college team was nothing in comparison, these girls are elite on several levels above what you’ve ever seen. but it excites you, and it makes you hopeful that with how good you’ve gotten over the years, you can convince them this is where you belong.
the assistant coach waves you over, and you comply immediately.
“what were your grades like?” he asks, looking over something on a clipboard.
“good,” you say quickly, your eyes widening. “why?”
the head coach interrupts, smiling broadly. “wanna play volleyball for me?”
“no way,” you breathe. “if you’re joking that’s super mean.”
“you’ll be our newest cyclone,” she beams, holding out her hand to you for a shake. “i’ll figure out application stuff with you. scholarship might not come until you’ve completed the season, but academics might be enough to get you through the first semester. welcome to the team.”
“thank you for the chance,” you breathe, feeling the emotion bubbling in your chest. “you have no idea how excited i am.”
you know most of the girls are looking at this point, but you feel one set of eyes harsher than the rest of them. you try to ignore it and not let it ruin this moment for you.
-
you get moved into campus and set your mind to ensure that the next practice you go to, you give it your all, eager to prove yourself to the girls on this team. you try to show up to the court early, and you quickly realize making friends might not actually be impossible, considering a majority of the girls are extremely friendly and even more eager to welcome you than you are to introduce yourself.
“y/n, hey!” they call out excitedly, waving to you where you’re already stretching.
you spend the next chunk of warmups small talking with your new teammates, doing your best to memorize their names and whatever quirks you pick up about each of them.
“were you seriously homeschooled?” manon, a junior, tilts her head at you curiously.
“it made it easier to focus on volleyball,” you smile. sure, it’s kind of lame you didn’t get to have the same high school experience as most other people, but you got the chance to travel all over with your club team, and the skills it gave you were obviously good enough to land you here, so you can’t be too upset at how it panned out for you.
“people ask me if i was homeschooled,” megan, a chatty brunette, blurts. “whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
lara lets out a laugh. “oh, you know exactly what it-”
“look busy,” daniela warns quickly, cutting you all off as her eyes go wide.
you’re not quite sure what she could mean by that, but the moment you look up, you realize someone is coming towards you.
sophia laforteza, you quickly learned her name. the no-nonsense, scarily-intense team captain of the malibu state university cyclones.
by the time you realize why daniela freaked out, you look around to realize the rest of them have jumped into very serious stretches. you quickly reach for your knees and pull them up to your chest, trying to look like you’re actually stretching.
“supreme leader sophia,” manon nods. you think the interaction is harmless enough, but somehow, it’s enough to set the captain off.
“bannerman, go take a lap,” she snaps quickly. manon groans but complies, standing up and starting to jog around the court. your palms start to sweat, but sophia eyes your group and moves on, and you breathe a little easier as the distance between you increases.
“so serious,” lara mumbles under her breath.
“is she always like this?” you ask, eyeing her nervously as you all keep stretching.
“no. she’s playing it up for the newbies,” daniela rolls her eyes.
“uh yes, yes she is always like that,” megan pushes back, shaking her head. “strict as hell.”
sophia’s voice cuts in from several yards away where she stands.
“you can take a lap too, skiendiel.”
“fuck,” megan groans, standing up. “how the fuck can you even hear me, leader?”
you bite back a laugh at megan’s nickname for the captain. you had heard manon call her that too, leader, but figured it was a teasing thing. not something all the girls joined in on.
“i have a sixth sense for complaining,” sophia says dryly.
as if sophia’s warmup drills weren’t enough, practice itself is absolutely grueling. you realize this team is no joke, and if you’re going to keep up, you’re going to have to take this extremely seriously.
“bro, my asscheeks,” megan whines as you guys reach the end of the 2 hour practice, each of you dripping in sweat. your legs are shaking and you wonder how the hell you’re planning to keep up with such an intense team.
but sophia laforteza waltzes by, her skin barely glistening with sweat, not a single hair out of place in her ponytail.
“more complaining, damn. if you’ve got the energy for that, then you’ve got another lap in you, skeindiel,” sophia grins, almost devilishly. you want to laugh— she seems borderline insane, but you can tell it doesn’t come from a place of true intent to harm.
“oh yeah? what if i fucking die, then what?” megan pushes back, tossing her head back in exhaustion.
“so dramatic, megan, you know it’s okay to shut up every once in a while?” manon groans, sensing where the youngest girl’s complaints are about to land them.
you can sense it too, after having witnessed sophia’s reaction earlier, and as predicted, sophia’s eyes sharpen as megan responds.
“i think we’ll all take an extra lap, just to show megan some support,” sophia announces, whistling quickly to catch the team’s attention. you hear a collective groan from everyone, and your coaches simply laugh at you all. you can tell that sophia’s ability to keep you guys practicing is something they’ve approved— all her power is clearly given from the people in charge, probably for good reason.
“meiyok, i’m going to fucking kill you,” daniela grits irritatedly.
“you like seeing people suffer,” manon groans at sophia as she stands up from where she was laying and begins to jog off.
“walk-on can handle it,” sophia says, pointing at you, surprising you that she’s chosen to bring you into it. “that’s the only person i hear not complaining, actually.”
you can’t help but find the nickname endearing. maybe it’s the worst timing possible, but it brings a smile to your face.
“walk-on?” you tilt your head. “is that supposed to be me?”
sophia arches a brow, turning her head to orient towards you. “problem?”
“surely you could have come up with something more creative?” you grin.
you hear a collective gasp from your teammates. something tells you that trying to banter with sophia laforteza is a very big, very dumb mistake.
“you know, maybe you, megan, and manon can finish with some burpees while the rest of us cool down,” sophia says, her jaw hardening. “see if that helps your attitude problem.”
i don’t have an attitude problem, you want to push back by saying, but you realize this girl is probably on a rampage, and getting in her way is a death wish. you bite your tongue and start the last lap, mentally preparing for the extra task sophia has given you.
“damn,” you gasp for breath, collapsing on the floor after the three of you finally finish.
“that was rough,” manon groans, only for megan to gag and dry heave in response.
“i’m going to puke and the season hasn’t even started yet,” the youngest whines.
“she usually loves the newbies,” dani says in surprise, having waited for you guys with lara as the rest of the team headed off to the locker room. “not sure what you did to her.”
“you replaced—” megan starts, but manon quickly cuts her off.
“oh shit,” manon nods. “that makes sense.”
“the old libero,” lara realizes, looking at you. “they were really close.”
“where is she now?” you ask curiously.
“she took a gap year,” megan tells you, and the others look amongst themselves anxiously. “mommy sophia’s been sensitive about it. those two did everything together.”
“mommy sophia?” you laugh, but they gloss over it, clearly dead serious.
“megan…” lara warns.
“what? she hasn’t always been this angry,” megan holds her hands up to defend herself. “serious, yeah, intense, yeah, a little scary, also yeah, but not this flat out angry.”
“no, i get it,” you shake your head, trying to empathize. “i wouldn’t want my business all out there either. not a great look. we don’t have to keep talking about it.”
the small group gives you a look of approval as you all head towards the locker room.
“i miss the old sophia,” megan admits quietly under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
——
your dorm isn’t perfect, but the malibu state campus is absolutely gorgeous, and being a 10 minute walk from the beach is enough to make up for your broken window and slightly unnerving roommate that won’t say a word to you. sure, you miss your home city, but it isn’t the end of the world, and the girls on your team are so friendly, it makes the homesickness even easier to handle than you imagined.
(at least, most of the girls on your team are friendly.)
you spot her on the first day of class, sitting alone at a 2 person table in your humanities class. you approach her without hesitation, just how you would for anyone else you know.
“hey! we have a class together. just my luck, huh?” you beam, excited to see a familiar face, dropping your backpack down on the table with a thud. “can i sit here?”
she looks perfect, as she always does, somehow making a black hoodie and gym shorts look elegant. her long dark hair is tucked back behind her ears, and her lips are so gorgeously glossy. sophia is naturally gorgeous, infuriatingly so, but you’ve never been the insecure type, more so just grateful to exist at the same time as people this pretty so you can admire them.
her eyes narrow at you, something dark and unreadable in them.
“you just did,” she says simply, staring at the backpack in front of her.
“i guess i should have asked before i parked my ass,” you realize, grinning sheepishly as you take up the seat next to her. “good point.”
“y/n,” she says firmly, looking back at the front of the room. “i can’t hear, and i need to focus.”
you were too busy trying to get on her good side that you didn’t even notice the professor had started introducing herself. you sink into your seat, trying to rush to get your laptop out.
“totally. sorry.”
she says nothing. she doesn’t even look back at you for the rest of the class. she doesn’t say “bless you” when you sneeze loudly in the middle of class, she doesn’t laugh like the rest of them when you introduce yourself and admit you have zero fun facts about yourself because you’re painfully incapable of self-reflection to know anything about yourself. when it’s her turn to introduce herself, she simply says her name and that she plays volleyball, sitting back down without so much as a smile. she doesn’t say anything when your computer dies halfway through the lecture and you have nothing left to take notes on, even though she’s siting next to the outlet and seems to have the same type of laptop as you do.
you’re not brave enough to ask her anyways.
class ends, and she doesn’t bother looking in your direction.
“don’t be late to practice,” she says simply, swooping up her backpack over her shoulder in a quick, graceful motion. “we need to win our first away game. sets the tone for the season.”
that’s it. you watch as she walks off unceremoniously, almost as if you didn’t exist except to inconvenience her.
“jesus christ,” you whisper under your breath.
———
your season starts a month later, and your first away game gives you a taste of what to expect.
“who’d you get roomed with?” you ask the small group of 5 that you had grown particularly close to as you guys cram into the uber to your hotel. you’ve missed traveling for volleyball, and the anticipation in your bones for tomorrow’s game makes you even more eager.
“i always get manon,” daniela says.
“and nobody else can handle megan’s mess but lara,” manon grins.
“hey, whatever,” megan whines from the back seat, where she’s been stuck in between all your bags of luggage.
“i got sophia,” you breathe quietly, thinking back to the email of the hotel roommate arrangement your coaches had sent out that morning. “should be fine, right?”
“walk-on, you’ll be quick to learn that supreme leader sophia is a drill sergeant with lipgloss,” manon laughs.
“very shiny, very pretty lipgloss,” you defend her.
“she’s a junior,” lara informs you, as if it puts some things into perspective for you. “for her, it’s time to start stressing about the real world next year.”
as a sophomore, you know you’ve got another 2 full seasons coming for you.
“second to final season,” lara goes on. “mommy sophia’s trying to make the most of it.”
you laugh again at lara and megan’s stupid nickname, as if “supreme leader” wasn’t bad enough.
you guys get to the hotel and your coaches send a group text warning everyone to be in bed by 9pm. you part ways with your group once the uber drops you off and go up to your room, only to find sophia has beat you there. she’s taken the bed closest to the window, her bag set up neatly. she’s wearing a facemask and a set of earplugs, eyes quickly flickering up to acknowledge you as you enter the room.
you can’t help but hope that this is your chance to break through her icy facade.
“hey! want to plan for breakfast together?” you beam, tossing your bag onto the floor in front of what sophia has decided is your bed. “i love hotel oatmeal. something about it is so gross i can’t stop craving it.”
she doesn’t bother to look up at you, slipping into her bed without another glance in your direction. “i need to sleep.”
“okay, no worries,” you blink, watching as she reaches for the light switch. “when should i wake us up?”
“i’ll be up at five.” her hand flicks the lights off, leaving you both in the dark. “good night.”
“good night,” you respond quietly, trying to feel your way around for your bed. you suck in a breath. this feels like it might be a very long few days.
—---
sophia is gone before you wake up.
you don’t hear her alarm, but you also don’t hear yours, and you’re just lucky that you can hear megan banging her fist against the wall, screaming for you stupidly and asking if you can hear her through the wall. you can vaguely hear lara yelling at her for being so annoying, but megan’s antics keep you from sleeping in too late, so you’ll thank the goofy sophomores some other time.
you don’t see sophia at breakfast, but by the time you come back to your room, she’s heading into the shower, freshly sweating in her workout clothes. you realize she’s probably already fit in a morning workout while the rest of you were barely waking up. you’re impressed, but frankly not surprised, by her work ethic.
by the time the game starts, it’s your first time in the cyclones uniform, and you feel a strange sense of nervousness wash over you in a wave. your warmups are simple enough, and sophia gathers you all in a team huddle after your coaches debrief you all.
“stay focused, stay confident, don’t let them see you sweat,” sophia states, voice cold, neutral, and self-assured. her icy disposition can be quite scary, but you can see why she’s captain— she’s intense, and something about her demeanor being so laser-focused fuels you with an equal amount of confidence.
“uh, leader, what do i do if i’m already sweating?” megan blurts anxiously. lara reaches over to smack her on the back of the head, and sophia keeps going.
“keep your hits unreadable. their back line is tough but we should be able to break through if we stack clean and aggressive. stay focused,” she emphasizes, eyes looking over at her two main hitters, dani on opposite and megan on outside. “i’ll feed whoever’s eating."
“i like that,” you grin, the metaphor tickling you for whatever stupid reason.
you almost regret it as soon as you say it, but sophia’s eyes aren’t hostile as they meet yours. you realize this may be a first.
“cyclones on three,” you blurt out, and sophia shoots you a sharp look, but doesn’t seem fully annoyed.
“one, two—” she starts, and the rest of the girls jump in for the finishing chant. by the time your team takes to the court, your body is buzzing.
time to shine.
the opposing team is no joke, and you wonder where the hell they got girls this fucking huge. they tower across the net from you, and you can’t help but swallow down anxiously. sophia walks back from the coin flip with an approving nod, and chooses to serve first. your old team always opted to pick the side of the court, but sophia takes to her serve with extreme confidence, and as you watch her two handed jump float, you realize just why she is the face of the team.
the girls on the other team blink in shock at just how high sophia leaps into the air to send her serve. when you played, setters weren’t exactly known for power, but the sharp boom that leaves sophia’s hand as it slams into the ball, shooting through the air to speed straight at the other girls makes you realize what a force this girl is. sophia laforteza, as scary and intimidating as she is, is the perfect face of the malibu state university cyclones for that exact reason— she scares the shit out of anyone who lays eyes on her.
much to your shock, the serve sinks directly into the wood. your first point, an ace serve of all things. lara and manon high five from their positions and daniela lets out a loud cheer, but sophia is focused as ever. she doesn’t so much as crack a smile as she returns to her serving position, reaching out for the ball as it gets passed to her. you look over and see the opposing team shaking their heads, clearly trying to regain their composure. another boom, and the ball is in play. your stomach flutters at the thought of sophia’s phenomenal talent, and how grateful you are to play on the same team as such a talented girl.
(maybe you don’t mind the batshit crazy attitude when she can back it up with skills like this.)
the set goes on and your team only goes up from there. you’ve forgotten how much you enjoy diving around a court like this, making quick work to get the ball back in the air each time it goes too far out of reach for the rest of the girls, hopping back up to your feet after every dive with a smile on your face. it’s part of what made you love the libero position in the first place— it was the perfect place to put all your boundless energy.
your team loses possession of the ball when megan misses her one-handed set to daniela, the opposing team using the opportunity to send the ball directly to where she should have been. you’re not fast enough to save it, but there’s no time to lose moping about it before those massive walls of women are preparing for their own serve on the other side.
the other team’s serve rockets straight into an empty gap where lara isn’t expecting, leaving it up to you to protect the back line. you focus in on where sophia is standing and dive, ensuring wherever you land, the ball hits you and soars high enough for sophia to set easily. and she does, and you witness megan and daniela stack so inanely fast, you almost can’t perceive where the ball ends up or who ends up with the kill. all that matters is that the ball slams into the ground at lightning speed, dani and megan high fiving each other excitedly, and that’s when you realize your team has insane synergy.
manon and lara with you, megan and dani eager to take on whatever sophia feeds them, and sophia, level-headed and sharp-eyed, keeping everything moving on the court.
it’s back to back, and the pace makes your blood race in your veins. the thud of the ball against your skin is a dull burn at this point, and your elbows ache from all your digs, but your adrenaline is at an all time high, especially as the first set ends and you guys are riding the high and sailing towards taking over the second set as well.
your heart thuds even more powerfully in your chest when after a particularly good save, sophia comes to tap fingers with you, her eyes lighting up even if her face is still stern.
“your serve receive is phenomenal,” she tells you breathlessly, and you can’t tell if you’re more shocked by the compliment, or by the first high five she’s given anyone all game.
“thank you,” you beam. “easy when i have such a good setter ready for me.”
sophia blinks, as if she’s surprised by her own compliment, or by yours, but you can’t read into it. “don’t get cocky.”
you smile back even brighter. “i think we’re flirting, leader.”
she shakes her head and returns to her position, but it’s the most positive interaction you two have had since you joined the team. maybe you overdid it with your joke, but sophia is unphased, and you guys end up winning the game in a blowout win over the other team, so it’s a win for the night overall in your book.
-
“hi,” you greet the captain, coming out of the shower after getting back to the hotel. you’re only going to get a few hours of sleep before your guys’ flight, and the routine starts all over again with practice in the morning. the grind for the msu cyclones clearly never stops.
“hey,” she greets back simply, and you’re just grateful she acknowledges you at all. she’s packing her bag, still in the uniform, clearly waiting her turn for the bathroom.
“great game!” you chirp excitedly, but you immediately regret it as she stares you over, a gaze that tells you she’s thinking, she’s studying, she’s got something prepared in her head.
but what she says next surprises you.
“you’re good. i misjudged you.” you almost can’t believe that she’s complimenting you, but it suits her— she’s not looking at you, she isn’t smiling, and she follows it up with a piece of critique. “but weak on your left side.”
“i hurt myself a few months ago, before the summer. still recovering,” you explain simply.
“oh,” is all she says in response.
she’s comfortable with the silence, obviously, but you’re not, so you blurt out the first thing you think to ask: “they’re serious, about the whole leader thing?”
“they call me that instead of captain,” sophia says after a beat. “manon was being stupid and then it just stuck with the rest of them.”
you smile, realizing she lets it happen. “it’s hilarious.”
“i’m glad you find it funny,” she deadpans.
“you don’t?” you raise a brow.
“no,” she says plainly.
you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “then you must hate what megan and lara call you.”
you see her gaze narrow, and she finally looks up to acknowledge you. “what?”
you grin, realizing you’ve caught her attention with that one. something the girl doesn’t know. you can see how it drives her crazy, and it makes sense— sophia is so in the know, so perfectly in control of everything around her, it must feel disorienting to have something occurring that she’s not aware of, much less on the team that she runs like a military commander.
“good night, leader,” you say simply, tucking into bed and letting your head hit the pillow. she says nothing and slips into the bathroom as quietly as she can manage.
-
you guys fly back and you’re already itching for the next practice, eager to keep improving as a team. the high of the first game’s win is addicting, and you’re not about to let that energy slip through your fingers.
at the end of practice, the coaches come and debrief you all, dismissing you for the morning. but you’ve quickly learned that the girls all wait for sophia’s approval, in case she has any final words or thoughts before you guys head to the locker rooms.
you all huddle around sophia, whose unreadable features have stopped unnerving you as badly. sure, she’s still terrifying, but a little less now that you know she’s actually capable of being something other than annoyed and pissed off.
she spins one of the balls in her hand, casually and comfortably, but her voice is cold and serious as ever.
“who came up with it?” she asks, eyes fixed on the ball in her hand. “mommy sophia?”
you hear the girls go collectively silent.
“oh fuck,” you hear lara whisper under her breath.
“who was it?” she repeats, her gaze unreadable as she simply keeps the ball spinning. “i can wait all day. i’ve got nowhere to be on a saturday morning."
you can hear a pin drop. finally, one of the culprits bravely admits to her crime.
“t’was i…” megan raises her hand sheepishly.
“hm.” sophia stares her over, and you can feel the collective terror of the team as they realize their captain is preparing to make an example out of megan.
but then sophia surprises everyone, instead of verbally berating megan or making her run laps until she throws up, she simply points to one of the scaffolds in the gym, motioning to megan for her to come up to it. “we’re having a pullup competition.”
“what the fuck?” megan asks in disbelief.
“she’s not gonna kill her in front of everyone?” manon asks in pure shock.
“maybe she’s turned a new leaf,” you offer.
“if you beat me, practice ends,” sophia explains the conditions. “i beat you, and we all run two extra miles. full extension, chest to bar, no fakies.”
“megan, i’ll fucking murder you,” daniela glares at her. it dawns upon everyone— the weight of how your practice ends rests in the mildly-incapable hands of megan skiendiel.
“no pressure,” megan mumbles under her breath as she approaches the bar.
the competition starts, and the silence erupts into a rush of screams and cheers as the two race to see who can outlast the other. it’s stupid, good-natured fun, and you know there’s a two mile run on the line, but you can’t help but love how silly the whole thing feels. you didn’t think sophia was capable of something like this, but you feel the scene quickly becoming a core memory.
“come on, you useless so-cal wasian!” manon screams, standing directly underneath megan to count her reps. “all that time lifting boxes in your little boba shop for what?! you could have been training shoulders that whole time instead!”
“i’m fucking trying,” megan sobs, her arms trembling after hitting 15. “i was at the boba shop trying to get bitches.”
“you were too useless to get a single number the whole summer you worked at that fuckass boba shop,” daniela screams laughing.
“oh my god, shut up guys,” megan groans.
“light work from supreme leader,” lara sighs, standing underneath sophia to count her reps, who leads at a steady 16 and shows no signs of slowing down. “chat, we’re cooked.”
megan is strong, but she’s growing unsteady with each increasing pull up. sophia, as expected, is barely breaking a sweat, face tensed in concentration.
you feel the back of your neck flush as you watch the way her arms move in the tank top, the way her eyebrows furrow together, the slack of her mouth and the quiet breaths she lets out with each movement. you mentally chastise yourself for the images that come to your brain and try to soothe your raging hormones by cracking a joke, clapping your hands at her.
“looking good a little too good, laforteza,” you tease her, shaking your head with a smile. “you make it look easy.”
in a true blink and you’ll miss it moment, you spot it— sophia laforteza, forever unshakable, lets her cheeks go pink.
you’re in shock at the reaction, and you half wonder if it’s just her straining to pull herself up again, but she simply drops from the bar, the girls all screaming excitedly as megan does one final pullup to surpass sophia by one. whereas sophia calmly reaches for her water bottle, megan collapses onto the ground, painting heavily.
“go shower,” she waves you all off. “get some sleep. good game, megan.”
she reaches out to tap fingers with the younger girl, who looks up at her with bright, excited eyes, clearly in shock to have beat the captain.
megan gets to her feet and pumps a victorious fist in the air. “i’d like to thank my mom, and then god, and then lebron james, in that order.”
“what does lebron have to do with this?” daniela questions.
“dude, what doesn’t he have to do with this?” megan answers too easily, and you simply shake your head laughing as you see them walk off.
you reach for your gym bag to follow them, and spot sophia watching you. she turns away as soon as she’s caught, her eyes avoiding yours. you smile to yourself and chase after your friends.
———
the next day, you’re off on your own in the dining hall getting something for dinner. you’re prepared to scroll tik tok as you scan around for an empty table to sit alone at, but something catches your attention. the perfect cascade of long, dark hair waterfalling down the shoulders of a familiar figure. she’s eating alone, a book in hand, and without thinking, you run over to join her.
“did you let megan win that pullup competition?” you blurt quickly, setting your tray down in front of her.
sophia remains silent. she doesn’t look up from her book to acknowledge you, but she simply raises her brows, as if to greet you. it’s not much, but you’ll take it.
“i watched this documentary today in my anthropology class,” you tell her, unphased by her silence. “where the adult lions pretend to cry out and lose their fights when the cubs are learning how to play. so the cubs build confidence.”
she shrugs as if she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “i’m just here to keep the team in one piece.”
“i’ve never met someone so passionate about this sport,” you breathe, admiring her pretty face since she’s not even bothered to look at you. you pick boredly at your dinner, much more interested in getting something, anything out of this mystery of a girl. “how’d you start?”
she pauses, her eyes flicking to your hand briefly, before she focuses back on her book. it’s a long bout of silence, but you hold your own, staring at her. as if she finally realizes that you’re not letting up, her voice softens. she finally gives you something.
“i played beach volleyball, as a kid,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “on the actual beach, in the philippines.”
“really?” your eyes light up at the piece of information. like a piece of a puzzle, giving you a chance to see the bigger picture that is sophia laforteza.
“i grew up there. didn’t have a ton. volleyball opened up every door i’ve ever had,” she goes on, but you can tell she’s picking her words carefully.
“you’re pretty far from home,” you acknowledge, tilting your head. “do you miss it?”
sophia says nothing. in the silence, you get an idea.
“c’mon,” you reach for her wrist, grabbing your phone to call up a few of your new favorite friends. “let’s go get lara and megan. two v two.”
“i have homework,” she pushes back instantly, looking down at your grip on her arm.
“homework will be there,” you reassure her with a smile. “come on, leader.”
to your shock, she relents. her eyes are hesitant and untrusting, but she follows behind you without a further complaint.
-
you all pile into lara’s car, and you’re on the beach within the hour. you haven’t played beach volleyball in a while, but you get the hang readily and when your partner is as good as sophia, there isn’t much of a learning curve. she doesn’t resist, getting into the game quickly and easily as you all enjoy the fall-time breeze and the beautiful golden hues of the setting sun against the ocean.
sophia spikes another ball straight into a gap where megan should have covered. the two girls groan as you’re up by another point against them.
“okay, my game is off. i have sand where sand isn’t supposed to be,” megan whines.
“meg, you are such a loser, lock in i am begging you,” lara gasps in exasperation. “there’s girls watching.”
sophia peeks over her shoulder and spots a small group of girls, your guys’ age, sitting on their towels admiring you guys as the game goes on. she arches her brows at you, in concern, but you wave her off, knowing it’s all in good fun.
“shirts vs. skins?” you suggest playfully, motioning over to megan and lara.
“see that, meg? that’s how you pull,” lara nods in approval. “see how she’s setting us up for success?”
megan quickly pulls her shirt up off of her head, and lara follows suit to do the same. the two play in their sports bras. sophia eyes you questioningly, but you reassure her once again with a smile that you know what you’re doing.
“do you guys want to play?” you offer, motioning to the girls watching from off-sides.
“we’re good watching,” they wave back appreciatively. “none of us are very good, anyways.”
“lara’s a really good teacher,” you encourage them, “and megan’s—”
“i love women,” megan blurts.
“oh lord…” sophia brings a hand to her face.
megan blinks a few times before trying again, her big puppy dog eyes wide and round.
“uh, i mean, i love women’s sports and i love getting people into women’s sports. do you guys like sports? we do, of course we do ‘cause we’re players for the university. not like, players players, as in like we pull a ton, i mean some of us do but some of us don’t, i meant like we play volleyball—”
“it’s painful to watch,” you whisper to sophia. she laughs and nods in agreement. the sound of her laughter makes your entire chest rumble with warmth.
“i think we should put her out of her misery and go home soon,” she mumbles back to you.
“at least give lara a chance,” you grin.
and pull through, lara does! the afternoon ends with the girls joining lara’s team, leaving you all in a 2 v 6, but even with the extra man power, you and sophia are truly no match. granted, none of the strangers play volleyball, and lara is too busy flirting while megan stammers her way through a half response, but sophia, true to herself, doesn’t take the game any less seriously.
lara drops you guys off one by one near your dorm buildings, and you and sophia realize you’re just a few buildings apart. you wave her off and head in your own direction, but you’re stopped by a movement that nearly shocks you.
sophia laforteza, ice queen, grabs you by the wrist.
“thank you,” she tells you softly. “the beach was… it was nice.”
“of course,” you smile back. “i can’t imagine being a whole world away from my family. you must get homesick pretty easily.”
her mouth tightens. “i have a hard time unwinding.”
“i can tell,” you laugh. “you deserve to smile too.”
“i forget that part, sometimes,” she breathes, offering you a quiet laugh in response. “i had fun watching megan fail at flirting.”
“she’s so, so clueless,” you shake your head.
sophia pauses for a second, contemplating. you can’t help but admire how deep those gorgeous brown eyes are, how easily you lose yourself in them.
“sorry if i’ve been short with you,” she finally says after a beat.
“i’ve been told you’re usually not this grumpy,” you say back simply.
“i wasn’t always,” she admits. “people used to think i was cheerful, actually. too cheerful.”
“i missed an iconic era, it seems,” you smile, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “but i think we met each other exactly when we were supposed to.”
another victory— you make sophia laforteza smile.
“maybe we did,” she says simply, before letting go of you. “good night, y/n. see you.”
—
your season goes on, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm with the girls. your season hits a few rough patches, but each time you hit the court with those girls, you’re forever more and more grateful to have convinced yourself to try out. your friendships are deeper, your days brighter, and you can’t help but feel like this is what the dream college experience is supposed to be like.
your teammates are admittedly a little more girl-crazy than you’d initially have expected, but you’re too busy trying to keep up to focus on much else. between classes, practice, traveling for games, and just general team shenanigans, you feel more than content enough. not having a love life doesn’t feel like it affects you in the slightest.
(and, should you ever get the itch, it’s always kind of fun to banter with your very hot, very serious team captain.)
you know nothing is going to come of it, and it’s absolutely harmless, but something about the way you and sophia go back and forth sends butterflies through your stomach. you know it’s all in good fun, and it isn’t hurting anyone, so what’s the harm in laying it on a little thick for the girl you know isn’t taking it personally?
plus, sophia’s been warming up to you, much to your surprise. sure, she’s still mostly quiet around you when you join her in the dining hall or sit next to her in class, but at the very least, she’s not glaring at you. she’s not mean, just focused, and the fact that she’s not icing you out is a huge win. you wonder what she used to be like, before she was this serious, and you get small glimpses especially when she’s on the court and playing like she was built for this and this alone. you see her defenses fall whenever that whistle blows, the way her eyes light up as soon as the ball leaves someone’s hand, the way she eagerly watches to see who scores.
and you love, love, love the attention she gives you for being a good fucking volleyball player.
“you’re amazing,” sophia had beamed under her breath at your last game, in awe at your sprinting dive to save what had nearly been a match-point, saved only by your quick feet.
“knock it off with the rizz while i’m playing, you’re distracting me,” you tease her, grinning widely, but you can’t deny the warmth it brings to your cheeks.
she shakes her head, but she’s smiling, watching you in admiration, and if you could feel any more vulnerable, it’d be under the beautiful gaze of a smiling sophia. she’s so radiant like this in front of you, burning almost as bright as the sun. you wonder what possibly could have happened to burn her out like this, to dim her light, and your heart aches at the thought.
your team wins your game, and instead of everyone scattering to try and get some rest, they all seem eager to shower and get dressed up for something. you follow dani’s directions to wait for a ride outside of the student center after you’ve gotten ready, and as much as you’d like to be curled up in bed and massaging your sore muscles, the enthusiasm from the girls is enough to get you going.
“ride with me and lar!” megan pleads, motioning for you to hop in the car as soon as they spot you exiting your dorm.
“where to?”
“it’s a surprise,” lara grins. you guys chat absentmindedly as she drives you guys up through the city, and before you realize it, you’re parking in front of a giant building plastered in neon signs.
“what’s this?” you ask, spotting other girls from the team arriving at the same time as you all.
“team karaoke,” lara fills you in excitedly. “oh, nobody told you? we do it to celebrate the halfway-point of the season.”
you grin bigger than you thought was possible. god, you love this team.
they lead you to the private karaoke team and introduce you to yoonchae, coach’s daughter who’s about to graduate high school and will be soon joining your team next year. there’s no drinking, mostly due to the underaged attendees, but also considering how insane half of the team is, there’s little more you guys need to get started than someone playing “thinking of you” by katy perry before you’re all screaming along at the top of your lungs.
you almost don’t notice when sophia slips into the private room, her hair softly falling over her shoulders. it’s your first time seeing her outside of her gym or campus clothes, and even though she’s still casual, you can’t help but admire how stunning she looks in the pretty black top and jeans she’s in. plus the silver-framed glasses you never get to see her wear, and you realize you’re going to have a very hard time not staring tonight.
“sing a little ditty for us, leader,” megan begs, hooking an arm around her neck and shoving the microphone in her face.
“filipino throat chakra!” lara hollers at the top of her lungs.
“so-phi-a,” manon chants. “so-phi-a.”
the girls all join in in the rambunctious cheer, and sophia simply presses a loving kiss to the top of megan’s head and waves them off. she sits down in between daniela and megan, but keeps one hand on the microphone. sophia may be a lot of things, but the one thing you’ll give her is that you can see how clearly she loves every single girl on that team, some ways more warm than others, but love nonetheless.
“queue lala lost you,” lara tells daniela, who’s been helping yoonchae queue up the songs as the girls all take their turns.
“you could hear sophia blasting this shit through the walls of the dorms all summer training camp,” megan laughs, pushing the microphone to her face. “i know you’ve got it in you, leader!”
sophia hasn’t said a single word since she’s walked into the room, but the moment she locks eyes with you, blatantly staring at her, her eyes soften.
“get off of me, meg,” she laughs, shoving the girl away. “i need a little space to hit these runs.”
“that’s our leader!” manon screams, leaping out of her seat to cheer the girl on as the song starts. between all of your cheers, you’re all almost louder than the speakers, but sophia’s voice rings out loud and clear as soon as the music hits.
she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t even so much as clear her throat before simply starting the song. that’s what you’re realizing is the way sophia operates— confident, certain, straightforward, not one to sugarcoat or do anything extra.
and it doesn’t hurt that her voice is absolutely gorgeous. you find it extremely hard to understand how people don’t just fall in love at the mere sight of her, much less the sound of her angelic siren’s call. she’s so focused, so precise, so impressive in everything she does, so capable.
(not that you’re in love with her or anything, definitely not the case.)
she’s not smiling until the end of the song, where she takes a small bow after the final note and lets megan scream in her ear about how beautiful the whole experience was.
“encore!” manon goads her on.
“i’m thirsty,” sophia shakes her head, reaching for her water. “it’s dani’s turn.”
“oh say less,” daniela chirps happily, pointing at yoonchae. “yoonchip, queue gasolina by daddy yankee.”
“no twerking on the table, megan,” sophia warns knowingly.
“you are literally no fun,” megan throws her head back.
“you broke their table last time,” sophia reminds her, laughing. “we had to put coach’s credit card down for them to not ban us from ever coming back.”
“that was not my fault,” megan pouts.
“i’m going to go get some air,” the captain stretches her arms over her head, taking her water with her as she heads towards the door. “yoonchae’s in charge.”
“what the hell?” manon protests.
“as i should,” yoonchae nods.
“sweaty, leader?” you joke, realizing the girl had worked up the slightest glint of a shimmer on her skin from the song in this cramped room.
“oh, like a pig,” sophia teases back.
“lechon queen,” manon laughs.
“oh fuck, this is like the perfect opportunity for a—”
“no spit roast jokes,” sophia holds a warning finger up.
“you’re no fun!” dani rolls her eyes.
sophia’s eyes are shining with something that makes you think for as much as she pretends to be annoyed with these girls, they keep her entertained. she reaches for the door and excuses herself. “i’ll be back.”
dani’s halfway through her second song when you realize sophia still hasn’t come back. you slip out the door and seek her out, finding her outside the front door, leaning against the wall, admiring the malibu sunset. you approach her quietly, as to not scare her, and lean on the wall next to her.
“who hurt you?” you laugh. “that song was haunting.”
sophia simply smiles knowingly.
“how much time do you have?” she says after a second, much to your surprise, even if she is joking.
“all of it, for you,” you tell her instantly, smiling back at her.
“you’re doing too much,” sophia shakes her head.
“i’m gonna be so transparent,” you tell her, raising your hands in the air like you’ve been caught. “i get such a rush when i make you smile. it’s like crack to me.”
“that’s sweet,” sophia laughs, her eyes avoiding yours as she stares down at something invisible on the ground. “i can promise you all that is not worth it.”
“for you?” you question. “no, i think you’re super worth it.”
sophia clicks her tongue, continuing to avoid your gaze. you can hear something soften in her voice— still playful, still firm, but something seeking more. “you don’t even know me.”
“not a ton, sure.” you lean the tiniest bit closer, your shoulders brushing together as you lean into her. “but i like what i know so far.”
“you’re weird,” she pushes you off, but her eyes are warm. she doesn’t entirely hate it as she’s trying to pretend.
“you’re smiling,” you call her out, poking her in the cheek. “i made leader smile!”
“y/n,” sophia says quietly, and you half wonder if she’s going to reprimand you, but then you realize that she’s leaning back against you. the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the gentle warmth of her body sending a wildfire along your skin at the proximity.
“yes, leader?” you tease playfully.
the girl’s eyes finally come up to meet yours, twinkling with something indescribable.
“you can just call me sophia.”
you nod, caught up in the warmth of her incredible brown eyes, and smile back broadly in response.
“sounds good, sophia.”
—
your team flies out to the next game a week later, and as you board the plane, you notice an empty seat next to sophia. learning your lesson from your first week of school, you approach her carefully, waving a hand in her face as she takes off her headphones and arches a brow up at you.
“hey!” you greet, pointing to the middle seat next to her, where she’s positioned by the window. “can i sit here?”
“no,” she blinks flatly.
“oh,” you feel the back of your neck burn awkwardly.
but then her eyes light up again, meeting yours, and you see it. the stupid sophia laforteza smile that sends a thunderstorm through your chest.
“i’m kidding,” she reassures you, moving her bag off of the seat. “all yours. i was saving it actually.”
“for me?” you ask in disbelief, slipping into the seat.
she tilts her head at you. “for whoever was brave enough to ask.”
you settle into the spot and the two of you coexist in a peaceful silence as the airplane takes off. but you and your stupid mouth can never keep your cool around sophia laforteza, and you find yourself rambling soon enough, disturbing what you can only assume is the peaceful silence she’s seeking.
“megan told me something sweet the other day. after our last game,” you inform her, wondering if the tidbit of information will catch her attention.
and it does. sophia’s brows knit together in curiosity as she turns to face you. “what’s that?”
“she says we make a good team.”
“we do,” sophia nods. “our positions kill when we work well together, and we work well together. i agree with her.”
“i could die happy,” you beam, pretending to fan yourself. “a compliment from the sophia laforteza.”
“hey!” she rolls her eyes. “don’t start. i’ve given you plenty.”
“i’m greedy,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. “sorry not sorry, i want more.”
“compliments are overrated,” sophia pushes back.
“oh, for you i bet they are,” you laugh, tossing your head back in disbelief. “what compliments could you possibly need? you’re brilliant, you’re confident, you’re super talented, and you’re insanely pretty. you’re perfect. people literally use ‘sophia laforteza’ as a synonym for perfection.”
“you’re doing too much, again,” sophia shakes her head, her eyes now avoiding yours.
“and you sing like a fucking angel,” you add. “and you smell amazing all the time.”
“not true,” sophia wrinkles her nose.
you’re about to look over and keep rambling, but in that moment you see it in her eyes. something about the way you’re talking to her makes her uncomfortable.
“and you’re actually so fucking nice,” you add, your voice softening, curious as to why the compliments are making her recoil like this. “like the nicest ever. just protective of what you care about.”
“that’s sweet,” she mumbles.
“i mean it. all of it, soph,” you press, reaching over to take her hand in yours. it’s a brave, probably stupid move, but as soon as your fingers touch, she looks up at you with those soft beautiful eyes.
“i’m sorry if i was tough on you, when you first joined,” she says quietly, her eyes digging into yours as if to emphasize her regret. “i couldn’t go easy on you. i have a lot riding on this team.”
“i forgive you,” you reassure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “have to keep up the whole tough team captain thing.”
“thanks,” she smiles softly.
“can i tell you something?” you whisper, leaning in as the plane cabin lights turn off, leaving you guys in the quiet glow of the airplane.
she arches her brows, beckoning for you to go on.
you smile. “i like knowing you’re a softie.”
something in her face changes, and you can see it. the warmth.
you rest your head on her shoulder, and she lets you, her gentle breaths keeping you comfortable the rest of the flight.
—
you and sophia become inseparable.
the next away game, you’re brave enough to invite her to come watch tik toks with you, and she’s bold enough to wriggle her way under the blankets, and before you realize it, the two of you are in your bed, cuddled up, staring at your tiny screen.
you try not to overthink it. your semester is going perfectly, you couldn’t ask for better friends, and the more time you spend with sophia, the more grateful you are to just know the girl. she’s incredible— so smart, so talented, and so, so thoughtful. someone like her shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be this perfect, shouldn’t be this close to you giggling at something stupid on your phone.
you don’t get more time to overthink. megan is bursting through your hotel room door, barging in as she seeks out a spare set of kneepads considering she left her lucky ones back home.
“it smells like fritos in here,” she says plainly, snatching your extra pair out of your bag.
“you have to be the weirdest person i know,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the pillow.
“my mom says frito smell comes from a yeast overgrowth,” the girl goes on, clearly not realizing she’s intruding. “y’all baking bread?”
“i don’t even think she realizes she’s talking sometimes,” you laugh, nudging sophia in the shoulder. “the noises just come right out of her.”
she grins back at you and checks the uber eats notification on her phone. “stay there. i’m gonna go pick up our food.”
she slips out of the door and megan simply watches, before looking back over at you.
“you guys look close,” the girl arches her brows knowingly.
“she’s been opening up,” you inform her.
“oh i bet she has,” megan nods, pursing her lips into an ‘o.”
“megan, ew,” you shake your head, throwing a pillow at the girl who has quickly become one of your best friends.
“i dunno dude, you’re mighty comfy. looks sus for two people just to be friends and be that all up on each other.”
“whatever,” you roll your eyes. you watch as the girl lets herself out.
sophia comes back and lands herself right back in your lap. something about how she fits so comfortably besides you feels too easy. megan’s words ring through your head, and you shake them off.
sophia falls asleep in your bed, and you don’t mind. you don’t mind one bit.
—
the semester goes on, and you and sophia only grow closer. wherever she goes, you’re sure to follow, and people become painfully aware of your newfound friendship.
“y/n,” sophia beams, waving you over as the girls all sit together for breakfast out on the grass of the quad. “come sit.”
you do as you’re told, looking in surprise as the girl hands you a drink. you’re usually one to skip breakfast in favor of getting more sleep, so the fact that sophia, a notorious early riser, already has a drink for you makes your stomach flip.
“i got you a matcha,” she beams proudly, unwrapping the straw for you and placing it in your hand.
“how did you know i liked the sesame one?” you question.
“you ordered it last time we went,” she responds simply.
“the whole team went,” you say in disbelief. “you noticed my order?”
“of course,” she says, too confidently, as if it’s obvious.
“such a gentlewoman,” you smile, pressing your head into her shoulder appreciatively.
megan, who has been eyeing the both of you since your arrival, simply blinks, before blurting out the only thing on her mind:
“sophia, you are so down bad.”
“not even,” she shoves megan away, rolling her eyes.
you’re blushing, and you hope sophia doesn’t notice. but what makes this even more difficult is that you realize she probably did notice, because sophia laforteza cares about those little tiny details.
—-
as it turns out, being this close to sophia laforteza is not only super enjoyable, but super fucking confusing. you promised yourself you’d focus on school and volleyball when you moved to malibu at the beginning of the semester, but whatever you’ve got going on with sophia starts to feel like this weird third thing, past friends but not quite somewhere beyond that. it’s nameless, it’s confusing, but worst of all, you can’t imagine stopping.
she opens up little by little, letting you have tiny pieces of her as if she’s testing how trustworthy you are. she tells you little stories of her island, reminisces about singing with her grandparents, reveals that she plays piano in the common room of her dorm late at night when no-one is around when she’s stressed. her favorite subject is english even though she’s studying public health to run her own pediatric resource clinic for low-income families. she likes disney and she’s afraid of bugs.
and she sings, all the damn time, as if she’ll die if she doesn’t get a tune out. at first it’s quiet, a gentle hum or a whistle, but with the sheer amount of time you two are spending together, the more comfortable she gets with your presence, the more she lets it out. by the time your season is ending, she’s around you and beaming like the clouds came out from in front of the sun, warm, bright, and so melodic. she sings at the top of her lungs whenever you two are alone, studying, watching a stupid movie, at the gym together getting in a stupid extra practice.
you feel kind of pathetic, but you’d do anything to spend more time with her, more time basking in her light, in her beautiful warmth. whether it’s joining on her on her morning runs, or hanging out at your dorm to watch game recaps, she’s reaching out to you, and you’re not about to let her slip through your fingers. each time she invites you to anything you say yes, and any time you think she may even remotely like something, you invite her. your days are starting to revolve around spending time with sophia laforteza, like you can’t get enough of her, but why would anyone want to be apart from her? she’s perfect, and if she’s picked you to be her new best friend, you’ll consider it the biggest win in the world.
the sleepovers didn’t start until your season starts coming to an end. you’re about to enter your first playoff game, and sophia invites herself over as you guys prepare for your flight the next day. you lose track of time packing, chatting mindlessly, sharing stories and making sure you’re both in the right headspace before the game, but quite frankly, any ounce of access to sophia that you get will have you exactly as focused as you need to be.
you’re not sure how you end up there, but you’re admittedly a little too close for comfort, curled up together in your bed. she’s in a cozy hoodie and shorts, those stupid glasses that look way too good on her perched on the tip of her nose as she shows you another stupid brainrot tik tok that made her laugh that day. somehow, you’ve ended up with your head on her shoulder, a common occurrence for the two of you lately, but the way you’re cuddled into her arm, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, close enough to see the shimmer of the lipgloss in the light of the phone screen, is a little too close for you to ignore.
you suck in a deep breath. you figure it’s now or never, and even if you get nothing out of it, you’ll feel better knowing you’ve at least made the effort to get some clarity.
“sophia,” you say gently.
“hm?” her head tilts in your direction, but she doesn’t look away from the phone screen.
your chest tightens, but it’s too late now. “what are we doing?”
“what do you mean?” her face stays neutral, forever the queen of composure.
“i mean i don’t even know what to call you,” you breathe.
“my name, duh,” she wrinkles her nose at you, and you shove her back gently. of course she’d choose now of all times to be a smart ass.
you let the silence rest for a few moments longer, but the feeling gnaws at you. you have to be honest, with her, but first and foremost, with yourself.
“sometimes it feels like we’re dating,” you finally admit.
you know sophia at this point to see her micro-expressions: the curl of her lip, a small shift, or in this case, the twitch of her brow. she doesn’t look at you— a habit you’ve realized that she takes up when she’s thinking.
“oh,” is all she says.
“yeah,” you breathe back awkwardly.
“we’re not,” she tells you.
you squint at her. “i know that.”
she pauses again. you wait her out. you’ve gotten good at it— realizing her silence isn’t hostile, it’s just contemplation. sophia, perfect sophia, takes a second to pick the exact words she wants to say in that exact moment. it’s part of what you’ve come to adore so much about her, how purposeful she is, her attention to detail.
“y/n…” she muses quietly, her lips parting to show her teeth as she sucks in a quiet, thinking breath. “i don’t know how to ask this.”
“sophia laforteza, tongue tied? our eloquent leader?” you tease her, poking her in the cheek. maybe it’s a poor time to be messing with her, but this is your bad habit, making jokes at the worst possible times to try and diffuse the tension. “what’s today, the end of the world?”
but she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even smile.
she finally turns her head, she finally looks at you. her voice low and serious, as it always is.
“y/n, i want to kiss you.”
“oh.” you blink. “oh.”
“you can tell me it’s a bad idea,” she tells you slowly, forever the gentlewoman, but the way her eyes flutter down to focus on your lips makes you absolutely dizzy, “or that you don’t want to.”
“i um,” you feel your stomach in knots, jumping at the sight of how she stares you down. “neither of those are true.”
she pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. the movement leaves her lip even shinier, which you didn’t think was even possible, but it is and it makes you absolutely sick at how easily the movement unnerves you. her voice drops, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice the rasp in her tone.
“y/n, do you want to kiss me?”
sophia is so painfully confident, so direct and straightforward, it makes your teeth hurt with how attracted you are to her.
you nod, dumbstruck and incapable of forming any more words, and her hand drops the phone onto her stomach. she turns to reach for you, her hand cupping you by the cheek. the feeling of her grasp on your face, the closeness of her body, her breath on your nose is nearly too much for you.
“i’m going to kiss you now,” she tells you gently, moving closer and closer with each passing second, her eyes never leaving your lips. “don’t move.”
you do as you’re told, and sophia laforteza is a woman of her word. she’s slow, painfully gentle as she bridges the distance between you both, and you lose yourself in the perfect smell of her hoodie, the softness of her perfect mouth, the perfect sweetness on her tongue as it brushes softly against your bottom lip. the only word you could ever use to describe sophia, the only word that even starts to do her justice— she is absolute perfection.
“you’re not real,” you breathe, staring at her in disbelief. you’re an idiot for breaking the kiss, sure, but if you didn’t pull away to take a breath, you might’ve actually passed out. your head is so, so dizzy— in no reality, when you had first met this girl, did you ever picture she’d let you get to know her, to be this close to her, to kiss you.
“very real,” she pushes back, reaching for you once more. she turns to lean on top of you, resting her elbows on either side of your torso, hovering over you. she reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face, her fingertips against your skin feeling like electricity. her eyes are so dark, so intense, so focused. “gonna kiss you again. don’t move.”
you wrap your arms around her neck and nod eagerly. she won’t have to tell you twice.
—-
making out with sophia laforteza for 3 hours the week of your first college playoff game is definitely not something you could have predicted on your sophomore year bingo card, but you’re not about to get greedy.
she falls asleep cuddled up next to you after you guys mutually agree to wait until after playoffs to get distracted by anything else, and you have half a mind to tell her that you’re already extremely distracted when she’s this close to you, but you’re able to keep those thoughts to yourself.
unfortunately, sophia is a creature of routine no matter how badly you beg her to sleep in and keep cuddling you, and gets out of your bed as gently as she can manage to go on her morning run. you’re not exactly thrilled, but she presses a gentle kiss to your temple as she slips out of your room and promises that you’ll talk more when she gets back. the combination of the two is a true win in your head, so you make your way to breakfast with a few of the girls and hope nobody asks why you can’t stop smiling even at 7 in the morning.
(of course, it would be just your luck that it’s megan who clocks you immediately— somehow clueless to literally everything except for whatever is between you and the team captain.)
“y/n, why do you keep acting like nothing’s going on?” she blurts, eyeing you suspiciously. you’ve looked down at your phone a million times that morning, eager to see if sophia has any thoughts about the development between you two, and of course, your teammate didn’t let it go unnoticed. “you’re clearly into her.”
you take a cue from sophia’s playbook and stay silent, reaching for your breakfast oatmeal in the hopes they’ll drop it. you know yourself, prone to oversharing, and you’re not sure that sophia would want something between the two of you to leave between the two of you. manon and daniela eye each other from across the table, lara giggles to herself, and megan doesn’t let up.
“are you guys dating?” she asks bluntly, narrowing her eyes at you.
“um…” you choke on your oatmeal, but try to play it off. “i don’t know how to answer that.”
“oh holy shit,” manon beams, her eyes lighting up. “it’s not a no! you always deny it!”
“it’s true,” lara grins. “this is your first non-answer.”
you feel your cheeks burn, but before you can hide your face, you can tell dani has already seen you blushing. the three of them burst into coos, clearly thrilled to hear things have moved along.
“dude, it’s so sweet,” dani chirps excitedly.
megan nods, and you can tell she’s about to start rambling, but it’s megan, and she means well, so you let her.
“no, dude, you have no idea how good this is for us. she’s like, finally smiling again! our sophia! angry, serious sophia. she even laughed at one of my jokes last practice. my joke. do you know how long it’s been since she’s laughed with me, bro? all it took was y/n to warm her back up. it’s like the ice age is melting or something. i haven’t seen her this happy since marquise—”
you see all 3 of the girls seize up at the exact same time at the mention of this name. a name you have never, ever heard before, and yet got each of these girls to freeze with the exact same reaction. your stomach drops.
“megan—“ manon says harshly, a tone she never uses, which only tells you this is extremely not good. whatever megan has just touched on was clearly not for your ears to hear.
“who’s marquise?” you try to ask, but the three ignore you, locked onto each other.
“megan skiendiel,” daniela says it like a punishment, and megan only sinks further into her seat, her eyes wide like a puppy that’s just been scolded for chewing something up that she wasn’t meant to. you guys are the only ones at the dining hall that early in the morning, but even then, you feel like the whole world around you is spinning, in the worst way possible.
“guys. freaking out here,” you remind them, still left in limbo with nothing more than a name and 0 context. “who the hell is marquise?”
then, as if on cue, a voice cuts in from behind you. a familiar, cold, firm voice. too perfect.
your stomach sinks. you can feel it about to crumble around you.
sophia laforteza, too perfect, too dreamy, too good to be true.
“marquise is my ex.” her voice is neutral, factual. you can’t bring yourself to look at her, but you can see her figure in the corner of your eye. she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, so composed, so eternally the picture of calm and control. “megan wasn’t supposed to mention that.”
you feel your stomach twist into a knot. “oh.”
“saw you guys through the window,” she explains simply, motioning out to the side of the table. you can see your table directly from the window facing the running trail. “thought i’d join you guys for breakfast.”
the tension is palpable. megan is the first to speak up, but her voice is quavering and weak, like she knows the gravity of what she’s done. “soph, i’m sorry…”
sophia moves into your view and presses her lips into a fine line. “they’re freaking out because we’re on a break. marquise gets back to the US in two months.”
“oh,” you say simply, dropping your gaze to the table. “oh wow.”
“we’re gonna go,” lara says, clearly sensing the danger in lingering much longer. she scoops dani in one arm and grabs megan by the hoodie, yanking her along roughly.
“y/n, i’m really sorry,” the youngest girl tells you, her voice shaky, and a part of you feels the tiniest bit better that her guilt comes not just from spilling sophia’s secret, but from not telling you something sooner. it softens the blow somehow.
“she played libero,” sophia tells you once the girls walk away. she sits down across from you in the booth. you can tell she’s treading carefully, wanting to be close but not wanting to overdo it, and you appreciate that she has the common sense to give you space and follow your cues. “she’s the one that got injured last year.”
your throat goes dry at the realization.
“i replaced her,” you finally say out loud. it stings even worse hearing it than it does thinking it.
“i wanted to tell you.” her voice is still even, still composed, but you can hear the quiet rasp of something more, like she’s straining herself. she’s speaking slowly, picking her words carefully as she does. “but i didn’t want to lose you.”
“you knew it was wrong,” you call her out shakily.
“i didn’t want you drawing your own conclusions,” she tells you. “after we kissed, i knew i had to say something. i wanted to. i was going to.”
“i don’t mind being a girl with a one-sided crush. hell, i don’t even mind if we don’t work out on our own.” your voice is shaky as you look down at your hands, trying to even out your breathing to avoid crying, but fuck, this hurts. “but i do mind being a rebound if you’re not over someone.”
“i am,” she presses quickly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her rush her words, as if she’s trying to speak over you. it doesn’t irritate you, if anything, you’re grateful to hear that she’s got some humanity left in her, but it doesn’t help soothe you. she tries again, letting out a breath to steady herself. “we haven’t talked literally at all since she left. i’m going to tell her that things are completely over between us. i can promise that i am 100% over her.”
you won’t look up at her, but you can see her hands on the table. she’s picking at her fingernail, and the movement surprises you. sophia never fidgets, never moves nervously, never even cracks a sweat. but here she is, picking at her nail, and it makes your heart ache. you want to comfort her, but you feel sick even thinking about how much you feel for her.
“that’s the problem with being dishonest, sophia. and i know you weren’t even dishonest, you just didn’t tell me the whole truth, but it’s still a problem,” you admit, swallowing down a lump in your throat. “‘cause now, i don’t know if i believe you. i don’t know if i can trust that you’re telling me the truth.”
she says nothing, and that seals your fate. you feel the first few hot tears drop from your eyes as you shield your face and get out of the dining hall as fast as physically possible, rushing to your dorm to try and compose yourself without sobbing in public like a mess.
sophia doesn’t follow after you. you feel stupid for ever thinking she would.
—-
megan comes over a few hours later after you miss practice, too embarrassed to face sophia after everything collapsing around you.
the younger girl sits on the edge of your bed, staring at one of her textbooks in confusion, but you know she’s only faking studying until you say something. you can tell she wants to apologize, she wants to say something, but if you can appreciate anything, it’s that megan is showing some restraint and stopping herself from crashing out in the middle of your dorm room.
you play mindlessly with your laptop as a specific email catches your attention. you had read it weeks ago, but archived it. the cyclones were your whole life at this point. this team had filled your heart with such a sense of belonging and wholeness, you didn’t even consider the idea that other schools could be eyeing you. you didn’t want any of them, you wanted sophia—
you clamp your eyes shut instantly as you realize your mistake, grimacing. you wanted malibu. you wanted to be a cyclone.
your stomach aches, thinking about the team captain. maybe this mindset of unconditional devotion was the thing truly holding you back.
so you go back to the email, and blurt it out to megan.
“UCLA is interested in me,” you tell her. “after this season.”
she looks up at you instantly, her brows tensing, but you see her instantly try to relax her face and be supportive. “oh whaaaaat? no way. that’s sick.”
you stare at your screen, feeling the ache in your chest and wishing you could just will it away in an instant.
“and since i’m still technically a walk-on, and not scholarshipped yet, i could transfer.”
“you’d leave?” megan asks softly, her eyes falling. “but we just got you, y/n. we’re about to win a championship together. you’d really leave?”
you hear the crack in her voice, but you can’t bear to look up at her. the idea sounds appealing, just a few more months and transfer over to a new school once the semester ends. move, start over, make new friends. you stop yourself from thinking about her again, pushing all thoughts of sunshine and lipgloss and singing out of your mind.
you blink a few times more, trying not to be swayed by just how fucking sad megan’s little sniffles are from her corner of your room.
“what if i don’t have anything keeping me here?” you ask, but you’re not quite sure the question is for megan any more.
—-
megan goes back to her own dorm a little bit later, after the silence gets to be too much, and you spend the rest of the evening staring up at the ceiling. you don’t have practice on sundays, so you’ll finally get a chance to sleep in, and you start to look up the forms you might need for a transfer if you opt to follow through with this. three schools in less than two years might not look great, but if it’s what’s right for you, you’ll figure out a way to explain it on a transcript.
you’re asleep with your laptop on your chest when a quiet knock on your dorm room door wakes you. you check your phone for any messages, and there’s no recent ones as you realize it’s nearly 1 am. you feel your eyelids getting heavy once more, but that knock comes back, gentle, evenly spaced, quick.
a perfect knock on the door, straight out of the movies. your stomach sinks. how fucking annoying to be so perfect, it’s recognizable, even in a knock.
you want to ask her to go away, and considering you just ditched practice for the first time all season just to avoid her, you figured she’d understand. but there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you suck in a deep breath to try and prepare yourself for what comes next as you get out of bed and finally give in, swinging the door open.
perfect sophia laforteza has messy hair.
it’s not insane, of course even her messiness is so coordinated, but it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her hair not silky smooth falling in waves over her shoulders. it’s a little frizzy, the tiniest bit unruly, thick and admittedly even a little poofy. she has some baby hairs sticking out of her headband, her bangs pulled back. your heart thuds at the sight— sophia, in her hoodie and her shorts, and her super cute, imperfect hair that’s somehow still perfect to you, as much as you wish it wasn’t
“megan called me crying,” she says simply, her eyes dark and seeking as they look up into yours, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stands in front of your door in the middle of the hallway, “saying you wanted to leave.”
you blink at her, and honestly, you’re not quite sure what to say next.
her lips press into a tight line at your lack of response.
“i’m sorry if that’s because of me,” she breathes, quieter now.
“i’ll text megan in the morning to apologize for stressing her out. i forget how sensitive she is,” you force a smile, your forever bad habit of trying to smooth things over with anyone and everyone. you drop your eyes, unable to keep looking at her any longer without the ache in your chest roaring back to life. “i need to go to bed, good night.”
you move to close the door, but to your surprise, the door doesn’t budge.
sophia has her foot against the base, her hand around your wrist, anchoring you there.
it reminds you of that day, on the beach, your first glimpse into something more in sophia besides her cold stares and her unobtainable standards of perfection. the first time she ever reached out to grab you, you saw it— sophia laforteza, as perfect as she is, is also human, just like you.
her voice surprises you.
“please don’t go.” it’s soft, and she’s avoiding your eyes again, but you hear the rasp, the crack in her voice as she pleads with you. “please hear me out.”
you can feel the burn in your chest at how small she looks, how unfamiliar this version of her is to you. “sophia…”
“i can’t um...” she clamps her eyes shut, and it physically pains you to see just how badly she’s struggling to get the words out. how badly she wants to be vulnerable with you, how hard it is for her. “i just got used to doing it alone. for a really long time. even when my ex was there, i just never could see myself as someone...”
she trails off, and you see it again in her face. that day on the airplane, where you had complimented her, how uncomfortable it seemed to make her to hear so many nice things said about her. you feel your heart shatter for her in that very moment. she doesn’t believe it.
“and then you came in, and i tried to push you away, but you insisted on being kind to me even when i wasn’t worth being kind to, and now i have feelings for you.” she bites down on her bottom lip, the words spilling out almost rushed, as if she’s trying to get them all out at once. “so here i am, pouring my heart out, hoping you’ll stay.”
you blink back, your heart racing. “you have feelings for me?”
“i don’t need you to say it back,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing. “i just need you to know how pissed i’ll be if you leave after i started to like you. even if it’s just as friends.”
“i didn’t know you’d care if i was gone,” you laugh, feeling your eyes water. it may be a little later than you would have wanted, but she’s trying, and you can see just how hard it is for her.
“you’re ridiculous,” she wrinkles her nose, as if it’s obvious. “i get leaving me might be easy—”
you stop her there, feeling yourself get angry at the way she talks about herself. “no. stop that. no way.”
she presses, insisting. “no, you don’t have to lie. i know how i get. i can be difficult, and a perfectionist—“
“sophia, you’re an incredible captain,” you cut her off, your voice full of conviction. “and a warm, thoughtful friend. people admire you.”
“they’re scared of me, y/n,” she breathes quietly.
“they respect you,” you insist. “you’re incredible.”
she pauses, looking at you, and you let yourself look back at her. something in her eyes change, softening, warming. like the stormclouds parting to reveal the sun.
“i didn’t believe any of that, until i met you,” she admits to you, shakily. “it was like you saw me differently. i believed it because you believed it. you treated me like i was worth it.”
“you are,” you press, before you remember something that might help convince her. “soph… the team, we made you a gift.”
she blinks back at you in shock. “what?”
you motion for her to follow you into your room, and reach under your bed to pull out a scrapbook you guys had worked on between all of you, keeping it in your room as you guys all worked on the finishing touches. the idea was to give it to her after playoffs were over, to celebrate her if you guys won and to cheer her up if you guys lost, but you figure the girls will forgive you for giving it to her a little early.
“when i first heard you were feeling homesick, we started putting it together.” you put the book in her hands and she opens it, immediately seeing all the printed photos of your team together. your days at the beaches, the practices you all bonded over, the photos of you all traveling for games, some of the random shenanigans you’d get into like karaoke. sophia turns the page and realizes that each girl on the team had written her a note about how much they appreciate her as a captain and as a friend, and paired their heartfelt notes with a photo of themselves with her.
(unfortunately, you had waited a little too long to work on your note considering you were working through a massive crush on her, but you hope she won’t mind that you’re the only person on the team who doesn’t have a page in the scrapbook.)
“this is how we see you,” you continue, watching as sophia flips through each page, reading over each and every word with unmatchable focus. “i know you have a skewed vision of yourself. you’re so, so hard on yourself. so we wanted you to have this, so you could see what the world sees. how we see you.”
“this is incredible,” sophia whispers, her eyes welling up with tears.
you’re incredible, you stop yourself from saying, letting you guys continue in silence as she reads the rest of the pages.
“megan spelled ‘gratitude’ wrong,” she laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek as she points to the mistake.
“okay, cut the girl some slack, she could barely stop crying long enough to get the words down. she was so sad thinking about how lonely you’ve been,” you laugh with her, pointing to the dried tear stains on the page. “literally sobbed all over the page and lara had to help her pull it together to finish and sign her stupid name. at this point i’m surprised there’s no snot.”
she smiles and wipes again at her cheek, clearly trying to stop herself from crying in front of you. “i’ve been a little less lonely, ever since you walked on.”
you want to reassure her that you don’t mind the tears, that you don’t mind her being human. that you adore every part of her, exactly how she is, perfect imperfections and all. you try to open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat.
she beats you to it.
“i’m sorry if i confused you,” she sighs. “it was unfair. i’d be pissed if i was you. getting all caught up before someone had their shit together.”
“i’m not mad at you any more,” you reassure her, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “maybe a little hurt, maybe a lot jealous.”
she lets out another laugh, and the sound warms your bones. the idea of UCLA seems so, so silly now, as you two look at the book together. this is where you belong. playing libero with the most incredible group of girls you’ve ever known. wingmanning for lara, laughing with dani, clowning manon, trying to keep megan from a near-daily crashout.
basking in the light that beams from sophia laforteza. reminding her every day that she is the sun in human form, twice as bright and just as warm. reminding her especially on the days she has a hard time believing it.
“i understand if you just want to be friends after this,” she tells you quietly, so infuriatingly thoughtful. “i totally get it. i’d love to be your friend.”
you let out a soft breath.
“i think friends a good place to be.”
sophia smiles, and you smile back. you stop yourself from reaching for her hand. her eyes twinkle as they look back at you. you watch her like she’s the sunset against the beach, and you let it warm you.
summary જ⁀➴ midfielder of the lacrosse team megan skiendiel has everyone's hearts, except yours. when she gets injured during a match and your mutual friend brings her to you, you reluctantly help the girl recover. and over time, you find yourself liking her more and more.
warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, college!au, lacrosse player!megan, sports medicine major!f!reader, angst included, one sided enemies to lovers, bf megan >>, chaewon & kazuha sserafim bffs, eric tbz mention, happy ending, lots of food mentions, ginger megan!!!
wc જ⁀➴ 12,9 k
now playing જ⁀➴ open hearts by the weeknd
1k event
despite majoring in sports medicine, you didn't care much about sports. sure, you would watch whenever there was a football or basketball game, mainly because your friends would drag you along, but you didn't really care about the games. you didn't bother trying to understand the rules, you just watched the players and how they moved. it was nice at the same time, being able to watch how the players moved and try to guess the injury while they got pulled off the field or court. it was like your own game, being able to spot if a player was strained, if they were limping, trying to hide they were hurt.
you didn't even know your school had a lacrosse team until your best friend, chaewon told you about the new girl she was talking to and that she was on the team. that’s how little you cared about sports in your school. she looked at you like you were crazy, but neither of you knew there was a team until then.
chaewon asked multiple times for you to tag along and go to one of the games, that it's actually more interesting than she thought it would be and that you would probably enjoy it. but you never did.
then came megan skiendiel.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you were looking down at your phone while walking through the hallway, not paying attention when you felt someone tap your shoulder. pulling out one of your earbuds, you turn around and a taller girl stands in front of you.
“hello?” you say.
“you're yn, right?” she asks, looking down at you with a smile on her face.
“yeah?” you respond. “sorry, do i know you?”
megan’s smile falters for just a second, deflating a bit. were you being serious? everyone knew her. she was the star of the lacrosse team, everyone in the school knew of her. you just stare at her, and she realizes you're serious.
“uh i’m megan. y’know, the lacrosse star.”
you blink. “lacrosse?”
“yeah.” megan nods. “i’m uh, i’m a midfielder.”
“right.” you nod, not having any idea what that's supposed to mean. “can i help you?”
“uh,” megan pauses. “well i guess i was gonna ask if you wanted to see the match this thursday,” she says.
you look at her confused. then you sigh and shake your head. “oh my god don't tell me chaewon told you to talk to me.” you groan, covering your face with your hand.
megan’s face drops. “what?”
“look, megan?” you move your hand and look at her. “i’m sorry for whatever my friend told you, but i'm not interested in whatever midfield position you play, because i don't know what lacrosse even is about. and to put it frankly, just because i major in sports medicine doesn't mean i care about sports.”
megan just stares, her mouth slightly agape trying to figure out what to say when you interrupt her.
“well i can–”
“let me stop you there,” you interject, holding your hand out to stop her. “you said you're ‘the star’ of the team, right?”
“yes?” megan sounds confused as she replies.
“then i’m sure you have plenty of other girls to ask to watch your game,” you say, emphasizing ‘plenty’. “sorry, but i don't get affiliated with athletes.”
megan can't even get a word out before you're walking past her, leaving her standing there confused and dumbfounded at the same time. did she really manage to fumble the first time she tried? that couldn't have gone any worse! she lets out a groan and drags her hands down her face.
“what the fuck…”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
megan skiendiel, the star midfielder of the lacrosse team. the girl who supposedly played with hearts like she did the game — controlling, entitled, insensitive. but also prone to injuries, self-absorbed, and egoistic.
at least, that's what everyone said when they spoke her name.
you’d be lying if you said you didn't hear her name fly around on campus. apparently she was the only thing good about the lacrosse team, so you weren't that surprised when she randomly spoke to you. with chaewon suddenly enamored with the sport, you unfortunately kept hearing things about the team — and megan.
then came the day. the day you actually went to a match. and also the day megan tore her acl. the day everything changed.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“isn't this exciting?” chaewon asked you, practically jumping in her seat. “the first match you've seen and dani is starting!”
“right.” you nod. you know she only cares because this girl — daniela, she's been talking to was on the team, but you wouldn't say that out loud. all you’ve heard for the past three weeks was lacrosse. so you reluctantly went to this match after chaewon begged you to come with her.
your eyes are scanning the field, watching the players warm up and get ready before starting the match, and then you spot her. you don't even notice the way your eyes stay on her as she trots across the field like she owns it, but chaewon does.
“oh, i see what you're looking at!” she leans closer to you so she can see who you're looking at. “y’know, i think you two would be cute together.”
“what?” you let out, finally looking away and at your friend. “oh my god, no. i don't hook up with athletes.”
“true.” chaewon nods. “she’d probably cheat on you with some cheerleader anyways, no offense.”
“none taken,” you respond, but there's a tightness in the way you say it.
as if it couldn't get any worse, megan spots you on the edge of the bleachers. even with her helmet on she can see you, holding her stick up and waving towards you while smiling.
“oh my god is she dumb or something?” you grumble under your breath.
“what? did she say something to you?” chaewon asks.
“you didn't?–oh my god.” you groan, dragging your hands across your face. “i thought you told her to talk to me.”
“NO??? what did she say?!” chaewon exclaims, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you.
“calm down, jesus! fuck,” you tell her. “she just asked if i would come to see the game a few weeks ago. it's not a big deal.”
“what?!” chaewon yells, making people look over at you two. “and you didn't tell me or show up?!”
“obviously not.” you roll your eyes. “i thought she was just trying to hook up so of course i said i wouldn't go.”
“oh, well you're not wrong there.” chaewon nods, letting go of your shoulders. “still, it would be fun to brag that you managed to bag her.”
“i’m not here to ‘bag’ athletes, chaewon.” you scoff, the ‘tsh’ coming from the heart. “i’m here to get through school and not kill myself.”
“but it would be fun.” chaewon smiles.
“no.” you drag the word out. “plus–”
the whistle blows loudly on the field, signaling the game had started.
after watching the first half of the match, you can confirm you have no idea what the rules of lacrosse are. chaewon was terribly trying to teach you while the match went on, abruptly stopping every now and then when the team would score a point to cheer. but your attention was on something else. or rather, someone.
you don't know how megan usually played, given how you’ve never seen a match or her practice at all. but you could tell this wasn't her 100%. she looked like she was staggering across the field. being the midfielder meant she was essentially constantly running, either as offense or defense. but you could tell she was slowing down as the match progressed.
“something's wrong,” you murmur.
“huh?” chaewon looks over at you. “what do you mean?”
“her.” you point at megan. “something's wrong, she's not even keeping up with the others.”
chaewon’s mouth forms an ‘o’, and she notices it too after a moment. “huh, she's usually faster than the rest.”
you hum, nodding your head. your eyes don't leave the girl on the field, watching her every step until it happens.
one second megan’s running with the ball ready to shoot, and the next she's on the grass grabbing her knee letting out a yell that everyone could hear.
chaewon gasps beside you, her hand clasping over her mouth as paramedics arrive and take her out on a stretcher. you stare with wide eyes as they walk her off the field, her arm covering her face to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks.
a few days later came the news.
megan skiendiel, star of the lacrosse team, tore her acl and would be out for the rest of the season.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you lived with chaewon off campus in a little apartment. two bedrooms, two bathrooms, one floor. perfect for you two. as much as you would say you hated it, you did enjoy being in the same place with someone you actually enjoyed talking to rather than a roommate you hated. you loved that girl to the moon and back, and you were incredibly grateful for her and that the two of you were able to live together. but you couldn't even consider or imagine another person being added.
sure, chaewon would bring girls over but then they would be gone the next day, so that never counted. kazuha had a girlfriend and was here more than anything. so that made it a little odd. but nothing you couldn't handle.
then came the day that you heard the loud, hurried knocking on the front door waking you up.
you groaned climbing out of bed, slowly making your way to the front door that the knocking wouldn't stop coming from. when you finally made it to the door, you opened it and froze.
why the hell were daniela avanzini and megan skiendiel standing in front of your door?
“hey, yn.” daniela smiles. “so uh, chaewon told me that you major in sports medicine and that you could tell this idiot was going to get hurt before she did. so, chaewon is gonna be hanging with me for a while and she said it would be a good idea to ask if you could help megan recover.” she finishes.
you blink twice. “excuse me?”
“it’ll just be for the recovery process,” daniela tells you. “all i’m asking is that you take care of her.”
“i’m not a babysitter.” you deadpan.
“you're literally the only person we know taking sports medicine,” daniela says.
“find someone else then,” you grit through your teeth.
“she tore her acl,” daniela prys.
“and do you know how long that takes to heal?” you ask. “si–”
“six to twelve months,” megan interrupts, making you finally look at her. “they told me i’d have to stay out for the rest of the season.”
“that's what happens when you strain yourself,” you tell her bluntly.
“this is pointless,” megan mumbles under her breath. “let's just go, dani.”
she shifts, and you finally see the crutches holding her up and the technical knee brace around her right leg, the swelling evident just from here. you feel your chest twist, and you're not sure why. you're also not sure why the next words came out of your mouth.
“wait. i’ll help you.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“okay, let's establish some rules here.” you stand in front of the couch megan is sitting on.
“rules?” megan says, looking at you confused.
“yes.” you nod. “one, you aren't allowed to practice at all while you're here, excluding the physical therapy exercises that you have to do. if i see you go near that stick, i'm gonna beat you with it. two, do not bring any girls over. i don't give two fucks how you have to do it, but they aren't allowed in this house. i’m not going to deal with that. three, you can do what you want, just don't bother me with useless shit. i’m only here to help you make sure you don't hurt yourself more.” you tell her.
“cool uh except one thing,” megan says, clearing her throat. “where uh, where am i sleeping?”
her question makes you pause. you were just going along with this, you didn't think this far yet. “well…” you take a glance around. “i guess you can sleep in my room for now.”
megan raises an eyebrow. “are you sure? i don't mind sleeping on the couch or–”
“it's fine,” you cut her off abruptly.
megan eyes you for a moment, being able to tell you weren't totally for it. but she ends up nodding her head. “okay.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you hadn’t slept on the couch since you moved in. you forgot how uncomfortable it was. you were tossing and turning all night, getting maybe an hour or two of sleep before you woke up to the sound of things crashing.
your body jerked up straight at the noise, staring straight into the kitchen where megan was standing, staring back at you with wide eyes.
“sorry!” she quickly apologizes, her face pink with embarrassment.
“it's fine.” you shake your head, rubbing your eyes and getting up. “what are you doing?”
“uh.” megan glances around. “making breakfast?”
you bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying something you shouldn’t, walking into the kitchen. you see the eggs out along with bacon and sausage, a scattered mess.
“go sit down.”
“what?” megan looks at you with wide eyes.
“sit. down.” you reiterate. “i’ll make something to eat.”
megan blinks, staring at you before realizing you're serious. “okay.” she nods, grabbing her crutches and moving over to the couch.
rolling your sleeves of your hoodie up, you start cooking. megan watches you from the couch, her eyes watching your every step as you move around the kitchen with perfect grace like it was second nature.
“you cook a lot?” megan asks randomly.
“huh?” you glance over at her. “i mean, i guess.” you shrug. “i’d rather cook than eat takeout, as much as chaewon despises that.”
megan hums, nodding her head, her fingers tapping her legs. “you think you could teach me some recipes?”
“what?” you pause. “yeah, sure.” you answer, not really paying attention as you put the food onto two plates and grab forks.
you head over to the couch and hand over the plate to megan, who takes it after staring for a second too long.
“thank you,” she says softly. shy, almost.
you just hum and sit down next to her on the couch, a reasonable amount of space between you two as you both eat in silence for a few seconds.
“this is really good,” megan tells you.
you pause mid-bite, not knowing how to even respond. “thanks.” is all you end up saying. you expect her to stop there, but she continues.
“what's your favorite food?” she asks, still eating.
“what?” you look over at her.
“‘m just asking,” megan shrugs.
you aren't sure what you're more confused by. her randomly asking questions, or her response being so nonchalant? ‘just asking’. but why?
you take a moment to think of actually answering her question. and you're not sure why you answer with the truth. “kimchi jjigae.”
megan hums, nodding her head while continuing to eat. “you get it a lot?”
“no.” you shake your head. “i haven't had it since.” you pause. “in a while.” you finish, looking back down at your plate and poking at the food.
megan nods again, glancing over at you. she notices you’ve hardly touched the food, while she's finished with it all like it was a mere snack. you're poking at it with the fork more than you’ve been eating it, but when she opens her mouth to speak, you stand suddenly.
“i got to get ready. can you give me five minutes?” you ask, grabbing the plate from her and walking back to the kitchen.
“yeah,” megan answers with a nod, watching you put the dishes in the sink before you head into your room.
walking into your room, you're surprised it's not as much of a mess as you thought it would become with megan staying there. you quickly get dressed, before you look at the picture taped to your vanity mirror. you mentally curse, grabbing it and opening one of the drawers to put it in, but stopping when you actually look at the image.
the last time you looked happy in a picture, going to disneyland with your family, only for your mother to up and leave by the end of it. tears form in your eyes without realizing, little droplets hitting the drawer and the edge of the picture.
“are you okay?”
you jump at the voice, quickly wiping away your tears and putting the photo away. you turn to see megan standing there, a worried look on her face that makes her look like a puppy as she stares at you.
“i’m fine,” you reply.
megan’s lips purse into a thin line, being able to tell the lie you're telling, but not being able to tell why. she hadn't even noticed the picture, being so exhausted she just laid down and fell asleep, she didn't even look around at the little decorations that you had on the wall or strung up over the bed.
“what's your first class?” you ask, trying to change the subject.
“trig,” megan answers.
you look over at her with confusion. “you're taking trigonometry?”
“yeah,” she mumbles, nodding her head. “my counselor convinced me.”
“wow.” you don't know what else to say.
“yeah.”
there's a silence that fills the room, and neither of you know what to do about it. your eyes are wandering around, but never quite staying on megan for more than a second. and megan hasn't taken her eyes off you.
“well, let's get going, then.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“so, how was your first morning with the star of the lacrosse team?” chaewon asks you in the middle of your english literature class.
you grimace just thinking about how the morning went, not wanting to talk about it. “well, she woke me up trying to make breakfast so i had to make it myself, and when i tried to peacefully eat my food in quiet she keeps asking me questions like she actually wants to know shit about me,” you answer in a grumble, not even looking at chaewon.
“you cooked breakfast for her?” chaewon smiles, leaning closer to you. “what did she ask?”
“dumb shit,” you murmur. “if i cook a lot, if i could teach her some recipes, what my favorite food is.”
chaewon hums, nodding her head while tapping her pen on the table. “seems like she's interested in actually getting to know you.”
“ugh don't even say that.” you shake your head.
“what? it could be true!” chaewon argues.
“i don't care!” you retort. “i’m not doing this to make friends. i’m doing it to make sure she doesn't fuck herself up more like the idiot she is.”
“mhm.” chaewon hums, smiling. “you know maybe–”
“don't.” you point at her.
“i’m just saying, maybe hypothetically this will be good!” chaewon says.
“no, it won't.” you shake your head.
“uh-huh, whatever you say.” chaewon laughs.
you look back in front of you, your pen tapping irritatingly on the table.
you were doing this to just help, nothing more. just help. then she’ll probably never talk to you again. you could live with that. you didn't need her in your life anyways. athletes never stayed long, you knew that well enough.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“okay, try moving your leg.”
megan sits in front of you on the couch, her leg brace taken off as you attempt to help her with the physical therapy they told her to do every day. had she been doing it? of course not. when you asked her and saw she was very clearly lying, you decided to enforce it and make sure she was doing them.
she lifts her leg barely a few inches before her face scrunches up in pain.
“okay, put it down,” you tell her, and she immediately does, letting out a little sigh.
“i hate this,” megan mumbles softly.
you feel a tug on your heart looking down at her. you can tell she's obviously still upset the whole thing even happened, and how terrible she feels having to deal with it. and it makes a feeling go through you that you hadn't felt in a really long time.
“i know,” you reply with a softness in your voice megan has yet to hear until now. “but you have to keep trying.”
megan looks up at you and nods. taking a breath, she slowly starts to raise her leg, managing to get it higher than the last time until she lets out a quiet whimper and her leg stops before falling back to its normal position.
“i’m sorry,” megan’s voice cracks, her hands balled into fists covering her eyes that were tearing up.
“hey, hey, it's okay.” you immediately reassure her. hesitantly, you reach for her hands, pulling them away from her face. “it’s okay. you are okay. this is just a little bump in the road. okay?”
megan nods, biting her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.
“what do you want to eat?” you ask.
“what?” she lets out.
“what do you want to eat for dinner?” you repeat. “i’ll make anything you want.”
“um.” megan sniffles, thinking for a moment. “any-anything is okay. i d-don't mind whatever. i-i’m allergic to cinnamon, though.”
“cinnamon?” you question.
“yeah.” she nods. “you can make whatever you want, though.”
you nod. “okay.”
and within the hour megan was sitting at the small dining table, her crutches leaned against the table next to her as you brought out the food and set the plate down in front of her. her eyes practically bulge out of her head at the sight.
“holy shit…” she murmurs to herself.
“what? you never get fed or something?” you say, sitting down on the opposite end of the table.
“uh, no. it's just,” megan pauses, trying to find the words. “i’ve never had anyone really cook for me before.”
her words make you freeze. maybe it's because you've been told those words to you before, or maybe it's because you’ve wanted to say it yourself. you’ve always been the one cooking for everyone, whether you were at home or in the apartment with chaewon and kazuha. you had done it since you were fourteen. it was just something you did. you always did.
you clear your throat, managing to get a response out. “well, get used to it. you need real food to recover properly.”
“yeah.” megan nods.
right, recovery. that's all this was. you were helping her recover, and then you would probably never talk to her again. it wouldn't be a surprise. the funny thing? she was already in far too deep.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
unlocking the front door, you open it and step inside with the grocery bags in your hands. closing the door behind you, you yell for megan.
and immediately you hear movement from your bedroom and the sound of crutches moving across the floor. within the minute, megan comes out and walks to you. “hey!” she smiles. “what is all that?”
“food. what else?” you reply, setting the bags on the table. “i thought since you keep bugging me about wanting to learn how to cook, we should start with something easy. and also baking. because i wanted to make a cake.”
megan blinks, surprised by the rambling from you as you go on about why you wanted to make a cake for no reason really except that you wanted something sugary, just with a lot of words. “yeah, yeah, okay.” she eventually says when you're done.
when you look up at megan, her breath hitches. just slightly. she finally sees an emotion in your eyes, rather than the same look that was always there. you were excited, and happy that she agreed. the kind of happiness she saw in that photo. the small smile on your face has her heart beating out of her chest. she doesn't even realize you're saying something until you snap your fingers in her face.
“megan? are you even listening?” you ask.
“huh?” she lets out.
“i said we should start with the cake, because it has to cook for a while,” you tell her.
“okay.” megan nods. “what type of cake are we making?”
“chocolate cheesecake.”
your smile grows bigger as you answer, and megan swears her heart stops beating for a second. for someone who rarely smiled, you looked even more beautiful when you did, megan thinks to herself. but then again, she thought you were beautiful in any and all ways.
“isn't cheesecake hard to make?” megan asks as you take everything out of the bags and set them on the counter.
“if you don't know how to, yeah.” you answer. “but i’ve made it every year. whether it's for christmas, a birthday, or something. so i'm fairly confident.”
“cool.” megan lets out. wow that sounded lame.
“alright!” you clap your hands together once everything is out and organized. “you ready?” you look up at her with a glimmer in your eyes.
“yeah.” she smiles.
megan didn't think making a cake would be difficult. had she done it before? no. but still! she didn't think it’d be hard. but she feels like she's been mixing the filling for hours, and when she looks over at you to ask if it's good, you tell her to continue, making her internally groan dramatically. she keeps glancing over at you as you make the crust for the cheesecake, gram cracker crust because that's what was “easiest” for you. she thinks you just wanted to show off, but she wasn't complaining.
“okay, i think it's good now.” you finally say, and megan’s arms and shoulders slouch as she finally stops mixing.
“thank god!” she groans.
“shut up.” you flick her forehead, making her yelp. “let's put it in so we can actually start cooking.”
“okay.” she mumbles while rubbing her forehead, looking like a puppy that just got scolded for getting on the couch. but the second a smile lights up on your face, she unconsciously smiles back.
“wait, what are we making?” megan asks, seeing the different ingredients on the counter.
“bolognese.” you answer. when you glance at her and see the confusion on her face, you explain. “it's an italian dish. it's a pasta noodle dish but with a different sauce. that's what makes it bolognese.”
“oh.” she lets out, nodding her head.
“it's not hard, like i said.” you reassure her. “it's just a simple pasta dish. and i won't have you make the noodles cause honestly i’m lazy right now.”
“you're capable of being lazy?” megan asks, a teasing tone in her voice.
“on rare occasions.” you answer in the same voice. “be glad i didn't start with something else.”
“oh how i am so grateful for you.” megan says dramatically, bowing to you.
“stop.” you shove her gently, laughing softly.
megan chuckles as she stands straight again. “i am, y’know.” she says, making you look at her confused.
“you are what?” you ask.
“grateful for you.” she answers like it's nothing. “you've been helping me a lot, and i’m really grateful for that, and for you.”
you can tell she's serious, and it has your face heating up the longer you stare into her soft brown eyes. you quickly look away, down at the ingredients. “well, you're welcome.” you murmur. “now let's get started.”
“okay.”
megan was cutting up the vegetables while you prepped the pots and pans, starting to boil the water and break apart the noodles. you told her to chop them finely, but she honestly didn't know what that meant. she figured you meant small, so she was cutting everything as small as she possibly could.
she didn't even notice you walk over and watch over her until you spoke up.
“those look really good.” you tell her, making her jump. “sorry.” you smile sheepishly at her.
“is it bad i didn't know what finely meant so i just assumed it meant small pieces?” megan responds, putting the knife down for a moment.
a giggle escapes your lips before you think. “that's alright. you're doing great. it goes in the sauce, so this is perfect.” you tell her, patting her head.
“really?” she looks down at you with her big eyes.
“yeah.” you nod, smiling. “just finish it and then we can start the sauce.”
“okay.” she quickly nods, going back to what she was doing.
another quiet giggle leaves your mouth at her reaction, going and starting to put the meat in a saucepan. you don't notice megan’s glancing towards you, either because she was wanting to make sure she did it right or purely because she just wanted to look at you so…free. you were moving around the kitchen like it was second nature, while she leaned against her good leg trying not to make it obvious that she kept looking over at you. thankfully, you were too busy getting the meat ready to realize that her eyes never strayed too far away from you.
“is this just fancy spaghetti?” megan asks once she's finished, putting the knife in the sink.
“no, it’s bolognese.” you answer.
“which you still haven't told me what that is technically.” she responds.
“it's…” you pause, not wanting to explain the small differences between the two. “yeah, it's basically fancy spaghetti.”
“wicked.” megan smiles.
you roll your eyes at her response, but the smile on your face remains there. megan notices, and her smile grows wider as you grab her by her sleeve and drag her over to the stove.
“okay, add everything.” you tell her.
she looks down at you with wide eyes. “everything?”
“yes.” you nod. “it absorbs into the sauce. that's why i told you to cut it finely.”
megan just nods, grabbing the cutting board of vegetables and sliding them into the saucepan.
“now, meat.” you slowly add the ground beef into the mixture. “some white wine.” you pour a splash of the wine in your pantry into it. “and simmer.” you put a lid on the top to cover the pan. “for two hours.”
“two hours?” megan’s jaw drops.
“yep.” you nod, clasping your hands together. “the sauce is the most important part. it's tedious, but it always turns out so good when it's finished. we could finish it in an hour, but i want you to taste it at its best.”
“oh.” megan lets out. “okay.” she slowly nods. “then what do we do now?”
“we wait.” you reply.
“cool.” megan nods again. “do you wanna sit down or?”
“yeah.” you say, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “the cake and sauce should finish around the same time. since you have to cool the cake obviously.”
“right.” megan nods as if she understands, but she doesn't at all.
a moment of silence passes between you two before megan speaks again.
“how long have you been cooking like this?”
“hm?” you look over at her. “oh, uhm. i don't know. since i was a teen, i guess.” you shrug, not telling the whole truth. “my dad didn't cook, so i took it upon myself to learn. i took home economics in school and that really helped me with the basics. the rest is really just following recipes and going through trial and error.”
“i guess.” you shrug again, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. “it's just always been this way since as long as i can remember.”
“well.” megan starts, making you look over at her. “i hope one day i can surprise you with a meal like this, just so you know it doesn't always have to be you.”
her words hit you harder than you thought they would. you don't know why, either. perhaps it was because this was the first anyone has said that to you, or maybe it was because it was megan saying it of all people. you weren't sure. but you could tell she's genuine, and that makes your heart rate go up, practically beating out of your chest. it would be nice, you think. to not be the one always cooking everything for everyone everyday. but, that's just how it was. that's how it always has been.
but maybe, you can let go a bit.
“holy fucking shit.”
megan swears tears form in her eyes when she takes the first bite of the bolognese after waiting over two hours just for it to be made. to say she was surprised would be an understatement, because she was far more than just surprised. “this is so fucking good, what the fuck?”
“don't be dramatic,” you try to act nonchalant about it, but you can't help but feel something at her enjoying it. “it's not that great.”
“shut up. i mean–don't take that seriously, i mean–it's just really good,” megan stumbles over her words. “i don't know how you did this.”
“it wasn't just me,” you reply. “you helped with it. you did a good job.” you smile.
megan’s cheeks turn pink at your words, the smile on your face making her quickly look down at the food in front of her. “thanks.” she murmurs.
“we’ll make something else next week.” you tell her.
“what?” megan looks back up.
“you want to learn other recipes too, right?” you ask, taking a bite of the food.
“i mean, yeah.” megan nods.
“then we'll make something else next week, deal?” you look at her expectantly.
“deal.”
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you never really celebrated your birthday or cared for it after your mom left. your father lost interest in everything, barely managing to keep himself together without giving two shits about you. so you stopped celebrating it. you cried every year, that was the only recurring thing that happened.
but you thought it would be different this year. you had chaewon and kazuha who were obviously trying to plan something judging by how they would go quiet when you would walk up to them only to say “nothing!” when you ask what they were talking about.
and then there was megan. you don't remember telling her your birthday, because to put it frankly, you didn't tell anyone. but you have a feeling she figured it out by how much she's been helping you around the apartment. you didn't want to ask her about how she figured it out, because what if she didn't and you were just overthinking that someone cared that much about you that they would go out of their way to find the little things you wouldn't show.
in the end, it didn't matter.
your birthday landed on a saturday this year, so thankfully you didn't have to go to any classes. but when you woke up, megan was already gone. it was odd, sure. but you weren't going to think about it too much. she probably didn't even know. so why should you be upset? you shouldn't be, but you still are. just a tiny bit.
you were alone for practically the whole day until kazuha showed up.
“you better be awake, yn!” kazuha’s voice echoes from your seat on the couch.
“obviously i am!” you retort loud enough for her to hear.
footsteps approach the living room, and kazuha stands there with gift bags and flowers in her hands.
“what are those?” you ask.
“gifts and flowers, obviously.” kazuha sets the items down on the coffee table.
“zuha–”
“shush.” she points a finger at you. “i wanted to do this.”
you just shut your mouth, leaning back against the couch with your arms crossed.
“oh! i have one more thing, too!” kazuha says before hurrying off back outside to her car.
and when she returns, she has a pot in her hands as she walks into the kitchen, making you look at her with furrowed eyebrows. you get up off the couch and walk over into the kitchen, and when you see what's in the pot, your heart stops for a second.
you look over at kazuha. “where did you get this?”
“i talked to your dad and he gave me the recipe for it.” kazuha answers, smiling.
“you made this?” you look back down at the food before going back to her.
“yeah.” she nods.
“this is amazing, zuha.” you say quietly.
“okay, let's open your gifts first before we eat.” she looks at you with a smile.
“fine.” you nod.
kazuha drags you back over to the couch where the gifts are, and you sit down beside her as she hands you the first one.
“this is from me.” she smiles.
you open the bag and reach inside, pulling out a polaroid camera, along with two boxes of film. “oh my god, zuha this is great!” you smile widely.
“i know you’ve been wanting one, and it was on sale so i got it.” kazuha smiles back.
“thank you so much.” you pull her into a hug.
“of course.” she says. “now, onto the next one.” she pulls away, and grabs a small box, handing it over to you. “this is from someone who didn't want to be named.”
you raise an eyebrow at her as you take the box. “is this just from chaewon and she wanted to be stupidly mysterious?” you question.
“no.” she shakes her head. “i won’t tell you who, though.”
“ugh, fine.” you roll your eyes.
you take the top off the box, and inside reveals a necklace. real silver, and it was two hearts entwined together in one. you carefully take it out of the box and hold it up, gazing at it for a few moments. “it's beautiful…”
kazuha smiles at your reaction. “i’m glad you like it. i’ll relay the message.”
“if it's chaewon–”
“it's not, seriously.” kazuha cuts you off.
“okay.” you mumble.
kazuha left a little later after you two ate dinner. which left you back alone in the apartment as the sun started setting down the horizon. you had a small bowl of the kimchi jjigae in your hands, eating it while watching a random sitcom that you were half paying attention to. you were honestly zoning out, taking bites of the food that was becoming cold from how long you had it out of the pot. not about one specific thing, but everything at once.
how many years had it been now since disneyland? how long had it been since you really celebrated your birthday? when was the last time you actually enjoyed your birthday? or just any day in general? you were starting to enjoy a few days — the days that megan was there. but she wasn't here now.
you grip the bowl tighter, not noticing the drops of tears landing in it the longer your mind wanders.
you didn't have anyone anymore. your dad didn't care anymore. he barely spoke to you, so you didn't even bother returning home for breaks during school. chaewon was busy with her love life and making sure she didn't fail out of her scholarship. kazuha was always doing something, whether it was practicing for a recital or something else. megan was there, but she wasn't at the same time.
you couldn't pinpoint your feelings on the athlete. you were starting to enjoy the days she was around. but then she would disappear, just like this. and you would hate her all over again. ‘she doesn't care’, you thought to yourself. you were just helping her recover, and then she would go back to being the star of the team, and you would be left behind. that's how it was going to go, you were sure of it. but you didn't want that.
part of you wanted her to stay, but part of you wanted her to leave. you couldn't tell if she was playing with your feelings on purpose or not, and that bothered you. did she even think before some of the things she said or did? or did she just do it without a second thought like you were any other girl?
you shake your head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts, wiping the tears off your face and getting up to put your bowl away. you then go to your room, putting on a hoodie, and lay in your bed, curling up into a ball. just like every other year, it ended in tears.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
sitting on the couch of the apartment, you stared at the time on your phone lockscreen that kept going dark only for you to turn it back on again. an hour. megan was supposed to be back an hour ago. she was the one who wanted to have this stupid movie night, and you were stupid enough to believe that she would keep her word.
your phone turns dark again, and you let out an exasperated sigh. you debate on what to do, and you end up trying to call her, only for it to go straight to voicemail. again. you set your phone down and shake your head, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes.
“fucking stupid,” you mumble to yourself.
you pull the blanket off of you, leaving everything still on the coffee table and going into your bedroom to sleep in your own bed. if megan wasn't back already, then she probably wasn't coming back for the rest of the night.
you lay down on your bed, facing the wall and pulling the blanket on top of you. you try to ignore the emotions you're feeling, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to not start crying.
“fuck you, megan skiendiel.”
when megan does return, it's hours later. she quietly walks in with her one crutch helping support her, and when she makes it to the living room, she stops abruptly.
fuck.
fuck fuck fuck.
you weren't on the couch, which meant you had to be in your room. megan glances around, guilt settling through her body and her throat closes up. she doesn't know what to do. you're definitely asleep by now, so there's no point in trying to talk to you and apologize right now.
she ends up just sitting there on the couch, staring at the black tv screen for a while, she didn't know how long until she fell asleep.
and when you wake up, you're livid seeing megan on the couch asleep sitting up. you just scoff quietly as you go into the kitchen and make your coffee, not giving a second glance to her. you grab your coffee and your bag, slip on your shoes and leave, closing the front door loud enough for megan to wake up startled.
megan realizes you're gone as the door slams closed, and she lets out a quiet sigh. “fuck,” she mutters.
she knew you were pissed, that was obvious. and she had no clue how to fix that. she knew she fucked up, and she didn't know what to do now.
in the end, she spent the day trying to figure out what to do. and only by the time it was an hour before you would likely be back, she started cooking one of the meals you taught her.
you walked into the apartment not wanting to talk to megan whatsoever. but the second you smelt something being cooked and stepped in seeing megan sitting at the small dining table with two plates on the table, you shake your head.
“is this your way of asking for forgiveness?” you ask, rolling your eyes and setting your bag down.
“i’m sorry about last night,” megan says, her eyes not meeting yours.
“so you cooked?” you say as you walk over, sitting down at the other end of the table.
“i tried.” megan nods. “it's the only one i remember completely.”
you hum, picking up your fork and trying a bite of the food. you're surprised by how good it tastes, even if you don't try to show it, it's evident in your eyes.
“it's good,” you tell her.
“really?” megan says.
the way she says it and looks at you with her big brown eyes has your heart racing as much as you would hate to admit it. she looks so genuine, like she actually values your opinion. and it has your anger slowly dissipating.
“yeah, really.” you nod, looking down at the food, trying to ignore what you were feeling.
she apologized, she made you dinner as a way of forgiveness, she seemed genuine. you can't believe just that managed to sway your mood and make you stop being mad at her. but you don't say anything else. you don't say how much you cried last night because of it. you don't ask what she was doing that was so important that it meant ignoring you like you were a second choice. you just sit there and eat, not noticing megan’s gaze on you.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you weren't one for parties. in all of high school you maybe went to a total of three. you just didn't see the appeal behind them. a bunch of drunk people in one house? hard pass.
yet here you were, getting ready for this stupid party chaewon convinced you to go with her. you're not sure why you even agreed, but that had been happening a lot recently. you weren't going to start questioning it now.
putting on your earrings, you look at yourself in your vanity mirror and let out a short sigh. “whatever,” you grumble under your breath.
when you walk out of your room, megan is on the couch with her legs propped up on the coffee table. after getting her crutches removed, you told her she could leave, but she insisted on staying longer. you didn't ask why.
megan looks up when she hears you walk out of the room, and her breath hitches in her throat.
“you look really good.”
“what?” you let out, looking at her with confusion, but your cheeks are pink.
shit, did she say that out loud?
“n-nothing!” megan quickly shakes her head. “where are you going?”
“this dumb party chae wanted me to go to,” you answer, waving your hand like it was nothing important.
megan tilts her head to the side in the way that makes her look like a puppy, her eyes big and wonderingly. “i thought you didn't go to parties?”
“i don't,” you reply. “but she convinced me.”
megan nods, her eyes following you as you move across the apartment. before you leave the living room, she speaks up again.
“call me if you need anything,” she says without thinking.
you pause. why the hell would she say that of all things? would she even answer if you tried? she didn't answer any other time, so why would she even say that?
in the end, you just nod and give a short response. “okay, thanks.” before leaving the apartment.
immediately once you reach the frat house you are met with loud music, smoke from cigarettes and joints mixed, and the smell of alcohol everywhere. walking inside, it's chaos. like. chaos. with the amount of people and limited space, it was a given this was going to be crowded. but you didn't think like this.
“yn!!”
you look over to see chaewon rushing towards you, enveloping you in a big hug before pulling away.
“you actually made it!” she grins widely.
“yeah,” you respond with a nod. “i guess.”
“let's get you a drink!” chaewon grabs your hand before you can answer, dragging you to the kitchen where the drinks were.
“chae i don't think i should–”
“shhhh!” chaewon presses her index finger against your lips. “this is a party! you're going to have fun!”
“okay,” you sigh.
you don't watch as chaewon makes your drink. mixing alcohols with soda before handing it over to you.
“cheers!”
you don't know what time it is, probably past one in the morning as the party was starting to slowly quiet down. but it was still far from quiet. the music was loud in your ears, people talking bundled in between, and the sound of your heartbeat rushing all throughout.
“hey, yn!”
you look up from the cup in your hands to see eric, a friend of megan’s who was on the baseball team. you had only met him a couple of times, but he appeared to always be nice to you.
“hey.” you reply, a small smile on your face.
“are you alright?” eric asks, looking over you and being able to tell you were drunk by now.
“peachy.” you answer, taking a sip of your drink.
he hums, nodding his head. “so no megan tonight? i thought you two were like, close now.”
“well,” you start, then take a pause. “i’m just helping her recover. she’ll probably forget i exist once she's fine.” you finish, looking back down at your cup.
“ah.” eric nods, finishing his drink and tossing the empty cup aside. “well, do you wanna know what it's like to not be a second choice?”
“wh–” before you can get the words out, eric has you trapped between the wall and him, his arms on either side of you as he peers down at you. “eric, what are you–”
“you and i both know she's just using you ‘cause you're convenient. how many times has she bailed on you since you started helping her?”
the question makes your mouth go dry. you don't even want to answer, but the truth comes out before you can think. “almost every time,” you answer quietly.
eric nods, his eyes dark but somehow soft as he looks at you. “exactly,” he says. “how many times have you tried, and how many times has she ignored it? almost every time. you don't deserve someone like that, yn.”
his hand moves to cup your cheek, and you realize what he's doing. the only thing? part of you believes it. it was true, you’ve tried over and over again and got nothing in return. and still, you couldn't let go of her.
shaking your head, you swallow the lump in your throat and respond. “i can't let go of her. i can't.”
“then let me show you how.”
it goes down within seconds. one second he's leaning in, one second his lips touch yours, one second he's off of you, and the last second you're met with the familiar soft brown puppy eyes staring into yours.
“yn? yn, are you okay?”
you blink a few times, knocked out of your haze when you hear her clearly, and you look up at her with tears in the corners of your eyes.
“megan.” your voice cracks as you say her name, the tears threatening to leave your eyes.
you throw your arms around the athlete, and she stumbles back a step, grabbing onto you as you cling onto her like she's the only thing keeping you from falling apart. her heart breaks at the sight of you, and she feels her chest tightening and twisting. she didn't hear the conversation between you and eric, but she saw enough. she couldn't think before her fist connected with his face, or maybe she didn't think to think before she did it. she just acted and did it.
“let's go home, okay?” she says in a hushed voice that only you can hear. “can you walk?”
“i-i-he-i-” you can't get any words out, and megan takes that as a sign that you aren't even sure what's going on completely, hearing you mumble incoherently and smelling the alcohol on you.
“okay, we're going. don't worry." megan takes her jacket off, hooking it over your shoulders along with her beanie, securing it on your head. she takes a breath before picking you up bridal style and slowly making her way out of the house.
the air is chilly and cold the second megan steps outside with you in her arms, and you instinctively wrap your arms around her neck and nuzzle against her. she holds you closer to her as she starts to walk back to the apartment. thankfully it wasn't too far, but she was staggering a little bit after having to walk this much with just getting the crutches off. she glances down at you every now and then, your eyes closed as you rest your head against her chest, but your grip on her tight, as if you were worried she would let go.
once getting to the apartment, megan unlocks the door and steps inside. the lights are still on from her rushing out after getting the call from changmin that you disappeared out of sight from everyone, and your face scrunches up at the brightness, making you burrow further into the girl. she goes straight to your room, laying you down on the bed and pulling the blanket over you. she turns to leave, but you grab her wrist, making her stop.
“stay with me?” your voice is so quiet, megan can barely hear you. “just this once, please.”
megan hesitates, her heart clenching at your words. after a moment, she complies, laying down next to you and pulling the blanket over you both. you roll over onto your side, draping your arm across her as she lays on her back, making her eyes go wide as she looks over at you. you don't even know what you're doing to her.
“yn?” she whispers softly.
“mm?” you hum, your eyes closed and your breathing finally even.
“i think i’m in love with you.”
megan waits, expecting you to suddenly become sober and kick her out. but you don't. you put your face in her neck, whispering against her skin.
“i know.” and you press a little kiss on her neck.
megan’s breath catches in her throat, and when she glances over at you again, you're asleep. she lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes not leaving you as you sleep peacefully.
when you wake up the next morning, you're hungover beyond belief. your head is pounding, you have bags under your eyes, you're dehydrated. you feel like you're dead.
the sun is peeking through the curtain, and you know you’ve already missed your classes. you move around, and that's when you notice the jacket around your shoulders. you take the beanie off your head and look at it, recognizing both items as megan’s. but she wasn't in the room.
what the hell happened last night?
you slowly get up and leave your room, seeing megan sitting on the couch seemingly oblivious to everything. her head turns when she hears you, and she smiles a bit.
“morning, or afternoon, i guess.” she chuckles lightly.
“what happened last night?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with your hand.
“changmin brought you back from the party i guess. i was already asleep.” megan shrugs, looking back at the tv.
“oh.” you let out.
part of megan is grateful you don't remember last night. and another part of her wishes you remembered so maybe you’d have a better liking of her. she just hopes that no one saw (everyone saw) and that no one tells you the truth. but she can't help but notice the tone in your voice when you respond. you sound disappointed almost, like you were hoping it was her who brought you back instead of changmin. but she couldn't admit the truth, she couldn't.
“do you want some coffee? i’ve already missed my classes.” you yawn, walking to the kitchen.
“sure.” megan responds.
you make the coffees without thinking of the party again. you don't entirely believe megan, but you would accept it. if it was changmin, at least you trusted him the most out of your guy friends. but that didn't explain her jacket on your shoulders or her beanie on your head. but you don't question it. you know better than to. questioning only led to arguments. you knew that. so you kept quiet. like you always do.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
you were going to lose your mind. or completely break down, whichever would come first. you were beyond stressed as it was heading into exams before winter break, and with your multiple classes, you were also exhausted.
you were getting snappy with people, or just straight up not talking. you weren't sleeping well, passing out on the couch whenever you would get back to the apartment as soon as your head would hit the pillow. you weren't eating much, either. all of which were noticed by megan.
despite telling her she could leave once her crutches were removed, she stayed. you don't know or ask why, but part of you likes having her around. even if it wouldn't last forever or much longer, it was nice for now.
you walk into the apartment with a long sigh, kicking your shoes off and putting your bag down. when you take a moment to breathe, you smell popcorn. with furrowed eyebrows, you walk into the living room and are met with megan on the couch, scrolling on her phone with a hoodie and sweatpants on, the hood over her head. you instantly spot the bowls of popcorn on the coffee table, and the tv is on netflix’s home screen.
megan looks up when she hears your footsteps, and she smiles, putting her phone down. “hey!”
“hey,” you respond. “what is all this?”
“well i noticed that you’ve been super stressed recently, and you clearly need a break. so to make up for it never happening, here is our movie night,” she tells you, holding her arms out wide.
you blink a few times, glancing around. “really?” you ask.
“yeah.” megan nods. “we can watch whatever you want. i also got some other snacks in these bags.” she holds up a convenience store bag.
you don't know what you expected, but it wasn't this. you didn't expect her to notice you’ve been stressed. you didn't expect her to do the movie night after she forgot the last time. but that was one thing about megan, she didn't do what you expected. because she wasn't like anyone else. she cared, even if she struggled to show it off. even if you couldn't see it.
“thank you,” you murmur, fiddling with the string of your hoodie.
megan doesn't respond for a moment, taken aback by you suddenly being quiet as you glance around the room once more. she can tell you're surprised, and she was hoping that was a good thing.
“of course.” she smiles. “c’mon, you can pick the first movie.” she pats the spot next to her on the couch.
you sit down beside her and she hands you the remote, and you begin scrolling through netflix as she opens the bags of candy she got. you quickly find a movie and press play before setting the remote back down and leaning back against the couch.
“what did you put on?” megan asks.
“scream six,” you answer, grabbing a bag of candy.
“there's six of them?” megan says genuinely.
“yeah.” you nod, popping a piece of candy in your mouth. “this one they're in new york.”
“what?” megan lets out. “i thought–”
“yeah, but this one is in new york because they wanted out of woodsboro.” you cut her off. “if you’ve seen five you would understand. it's the same four main cast from five. but hayden panettiere came back for this one. she ‘died’ in four, but i had a feeling she was still alive. i didn't think they'd get her back for it, though.”
megan blinks a few times, surprised. this is easily the most you've talked about something. something you obviously are interested in, and she just stares like an idiot as you continue to go on about the movie, essentially explaining the fifth movie so that she would understand this one. she doesn't even notice you’ve stopped talking now, realizing the movie has started when she hears the music, and she turns to the tv, hoping you didn't notice her staring.
roughly an hour into the movie you start feeling tired. it had already been a long day for you, but you didn't want to refuse megan when it was clear she put work into this. she was obviously trying to make you feel better. and surprisingly, it was working. you were distracted just long enough to make you forget about everything.
“you know,” you start, making megan look over at you. “the last time i did this was with my mom. we watched disney movies all night long. and then my parents took me to disneyland for my birthday ‘cause i loved disney so much. i thought everything was okay, but she was gone the day we were supposed to go back home.”
megan’s eyes go wide at your words, freezing in her spot. “yn…” she says softly. “i’m sorry, i-i wouldn't have–”
“it's okay,” you cut her off, shaking your head. “i’m enjoying this…a lot. i really appreciate you doing this for me.” your voice goes quieter the longer you speak. “no one else has ever done this.”
megan frowns, barely being able to hear your last sentence, but she does. she does and it makes her heart ache thinking that no one has even bothered trying, and how sentimental this was for you. hesitantly, she reaches her hand to yours, gently holding it. “i'm glad i was the first, then.”
you look over at her when she grabs your hand, her touch warm. you give a small smile, and move closer to her and rest your head on her shoulder. megan’s breath catches, and she prays you don't notice.
“thank you,” you whisper quietly. “i really needed this.”
“of course.” megan replies, squeezing your hand gently.
when megan looks down at you a few seconds later, you're asleep. head still on her shoulder, hand still holding hers. finally, you're sleeping after barely getting a couple of hours over the past two days. you look so peaceful like this, megan thinks to herself. it's the only time she didn't see your eyebrows scrunched together, or your eyes rolling every other sentence. you were content, and that hadn't happened in a while.
the movie isn't finished, but megan turns it off along with the tv. she glances down at you again, you're still sleeping soundly.
“guess i’m stuck here.” megan murmurs.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
okay, now you were going to lose it. if things could get worse, you would explode soon. you got through most of your exams, the only one left being the most important one. and you were not prepared for it in the slightest. you were going to fail, it was probably going to happen. you didn't have any optimism going into it.
to make matters worse, you found yourself distracted. distracted by megan. she was still in the apartment, and the longer she was there, you realized it.
you were in love with megan skiendiel.
it left a sour taste when it dawned upon you one day. you woke up late and she had made breakfast for you two, and insisted that you eat 'cause she knew you hadn't been eating a lot recently. as you ate in silence, you kept glancing at her. and when her eyes met yours, you quickly looked away, your face heating up. you knew then that you were too far gone.
but that didn't change the way you still hated her. you hated her for playing with your feelings. going from caring to disappearing at times. doing movie nights but forgetting half of them and not showing up until the next morning. not celebrating your birthday when you celebrated hers, making her a cake that was left untouched because she didn't show up. and when you found out she wasn't doing her physical therapy exercises and scolded her for it, she made the mistake of saying “you're acting like a mom, chill out.”
that was the final straw.
you never liked being compared to your mother, or any type of figure like that. your mom abandoned you and never came back. you were far from that. so what gave megan the right to even say that when you told her about your mom and how things went down? you weren't like your mother. you did everything to not be your mother. so when you were told it, it's as if everything came crashing down at once.
“where are you going?” megan asks from her seat on the couch as you walk out of your room, clearly dressed up for something.
“i’m going out,” you answer shortly, grabbing your phone off the coffee table.
“where?” megan continues.
“out.” you emphasize, finding your jacket in the dining room and slinging it over your shoulders. “i need out of this fucking house.”
megan’s eyebrows furrowed together at your words. you're upset. she can tell that much, but not what it's about. was it what she said earlier? she didn't think it would cause this to happen.
you're walking to the front door when you hear the quick footsteps behind you, and you feel a hand grab your wrist. megan swiftly turns you around and pulls you into her arms. and you freeze.
what the fuck is she doing?
“let go,” you grumble, trying to pry yourself out of her grip. but she's far stronger than you, easily being able to keep you in her arms like it was nothing.
“not until you tell me what's wrong,” megan says, her voice quiet and soft.
“let go, megan,” you try again. “fucking let me go!” you scream, starting to thrash against her.
megan stands there as you slap her chest trying to free yourself from her, seeing the tears already starting to trail down your cheeks.
“i’m not letting go again,” she says.
“you fucking–”
“i know.” she cuts you off. “just let it out, you’ll feel better.”
“fuck you,” you sob, finally breaking down and slouching against her. “fuck you.”
megan doesn't say anything more, just wrapping her arms around you and holding you close to her, pressing a little kiss on your head. the action only causes you to sob louder, staining her shirt with tears, but neither of you care.
“i can't do this,” you manage to get out through your cries. “i’m not–i can't.”
“it's okay,” megan tells you. “you're okay, i promise.”
“i hate you.”
“i know.”
you bring your head away from her chest, looking up at her with red, bloodshot eyes. “i hate you so much.”
“and i love you.”
you freeze. your eyes are wide now, looking at her with shock at the words that left her mouth and how nonchalantly she said them. did she mean that? or was she just saying it to get you to calm down? she didn't love you, she couldn't.
“no you don't.” you shake your head as your voice cracks, tears immediately building in your eyes again.
“i do,” megan says.
“don't say that.” you continue to shake your head. “you don't mean that.”
“i do.” megan’s hand cups your cheek, her thumb wiping away the tears gently. “i do. i swear to god, i do, yn.”
you stare back into her eyes that are practically pleading. she's serious. you know she is, but do you really want to go through what you did once already? could you handle it again?
“what about–”
“i don't give two shits about any of them,” megan cuts you off. “i wanted you. this whole time i have. this whole time i’ve been trying so fucking hard and you kept pushing me away–”
“you were running off to fuck other girls! how was i supposed to feel?!” you interject, more tears rolling down your cheeks. “you never showed up. i’ve done everything for you and i’ve gotten nothing in return. now you love me?”
“i made the kimchi jjigae on your birthday,” megan blurts out. “i talked to a friend and she gave me the recipe. i told kazuha to tell you that she made it.”
“what?” you blink.
“i-i remembered the first morning i was here and you said that was your favorite food but you hadn't had it in a really long time,” she says, starting to stumble over her words. “i-i got the necklace too, and t-the flowers. you told me that despite being cliche, roses were your favorite. fuck, i brought you home from that party and confessed but you were too drunk to remember and i left before you woke up because i knew you would never see me in that way.” she rambles.
you glance down at yourself, realizing you're wearing the exact necklace she's talking about. looking back at her, you take a shaky breath.
“you're serious?” you hesitantly ask.
“yeah.” she nods. “i totally get it if you think i’m lying or talking out of my ass but–”
megan’s interrupted by you kissing her. her eyes go wide and it takes her a second to process what's going on before she kisses back. your lips mold against hers perfectly, and she can faintly taste the lip gloss you put on beforehand, making her sigh into the kiss. your arms hook around her neck, pulling her closer to you as her hands slide down to your waist.
when you two pull away, you're breathless, looking up at her with bright eyes and a small smile on your face. megan stares down at you with wide eyes, making you giggle softly.
“you're like a puppy, you know that?” you say, tilting your head to the side.
“i’ve been told that before, yes.” megan nods.
“it's cute,” you mumble.
one of megan’s eyebrows raised, a smile forming on her lips. “you think i’m cute?” she asks teasingly.
“don't start.” you shake your head.
“sorry.” she smiles wider. a moment of silence passes over before she speaks again. “you still gonna go out?”
“no,” you answer. “i’m staying.”
“good.” megan pecks your lips, practically grinning now. “you wanna make a cake?”
“what?” you let out confused.
“well, i was originally going to tell you with a cake,” megan starts. “but i didn't get that far.” she laughs nervously.
“you were gonna make me a cake to confess to me?” you question.
“yeah.” megan nods, her face red.
“that's so sweet,” you murmur softly. “no one has made a cake for me, not even on my birthday.”
megan’s grip on you tightens slightly. “well get used to it,” she says, her voice genuine. “because i’m not letting you go.”
“you better mean that.” you respond, but looking into her eyes, you know she does.
“you know i do.” she smiles.
“yeah, i do.” you smile back.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“the queen has returned!”
chaewon bursts in through the front door, yelling like she owns the place. you and megan were asleep on the couch, until she busted in like the police.
“yn! where are–holy shit!” chaewon gasps dramatically when she spots you and megan cuddled on the couch laid down. she stares at you two with her jaw dropped, waiting for you to say something.
“chae, don't–” you start, but are cut off again.
“i knew it!” she exclaims. “i fucking knew it!” she laughs happily. “i don't want to say it but i told you so!”
“whatever.” you grumble, curling into megan more.
megan’s arms are securely wrapped around you, bringing you closer to her when you cuddle into her further. she just giggles lightly at your response. “hi chae! how's dani?”
“bored as hell without her ‘partner in crime’ she calls you,” chaewon answers, setting her bag down and kicking off her shoes. “but she's amazing!”
“don't start.” you tell the korean, already hearing enough over the past few months.
“you're just upset it took you way longer to get in a relationship than me!” chaewon retorts, sitting on the lounge chair. “you should be grateful! i set all this up!”
“...what?”
chaewon freezes, realizing what she just said. “uhm, well! you see–”
you lift your head off megan’s chest to look at chaewon properly. “are you saying you told daniela to bring megan to me?”
“yes.” megan answers for chaewon. “well, i-i technically asked.”
“what?” now you look at megan with confusion.
“i’ve had a crush on you for so long and then you didn't even know who i was when i asked if you wanted to come to the game so when i tore my acl i asked if i could be brought to you to help.” megan replies, mumbling fast.
you blink a few times. “wait. you're saying you’ve had a crush on me since before all this?”
“yeah.” megan mumbles with a nod, her fingers playing with your shirt.
“that is so sweet.” you say, making megan look at you. you cup her face with your hands, smiling at her. “you're so sweet, megs. you know that?”
megan just shakes her head, not trusting her voice to speak for her. your smile only grows bigger and you press a quick kiss on her lips. “i’m glad you asked.” you say.
“get a room!” chaewon yells.
“shut up!” you throw a pillow at her making her yell again.
megan just looks up at you with a smile as you start bickering with chaewon. she's glad she asked too. because then she wouldn't have officially met you, she probably would've recovered a lot slower, and you got to become hers. she will always be grateful for that.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“can you believe you first swore you would never see a lacrosse game?” chaewon laughs as she sits beside you on the bleachers.
“shut up.” you retort.
“hey, at least you bagged the lacrosse star!” chaewon shoved your shoulder gently.
“yeah.” you nod, rolling your eyes.
as if on cue, megan walks out onto the field. she scans over the bleachers for a second, and she grins when she sees you, waving her stick around like she did at the first game you went to. the only difference was the smile you had planted on your face rather than a scowl. you wave back to her, and her smile somehow grows wider before she hurries off to the rest of the team.
“losers.” chaewon says with a laugh.
“says you.” you reply. “you abandoned me with her so you could stay with daniela, loser.”
“and that got you what you have now.” chaewon just smiles.
“you–”
you're cut off by the whistle blowing, and the match starts. you still didn't completely understand the sport, and megan wasn't the greatest at explaining what her actual position was. ‘uh, everything kinda?’ were her words when you asked what she did as a midfielder. but, you knew enough to not be bored the whole time. that being said, it was also easy when you were only paying attention to one player.
every time megan scored a point, the crowd would cheer. but her eyes always seemed to find you past her helmet, grinning widely showing her whisker dimples. you couldn't deny it, she looked incredibly happy on the field. you could tell that this was her passion, what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. and a warm feeling radiated through your chest as the whistle blew signaling the home team had won.
you stand up along with chaewon, clapping happily as megan comes running forward to you. she takes her helmet off and leans against the bleachers, grinning at you.
“see? told you i’d play better with you watching.” she says to you.
“uh-huh.” you nod, cupping her face in your hands. “whatever you say, loser.”
you lean in and press your lips against hers. and despite the cheering and clapping around you, it felt like it was just you two in the moment. and when you pull away, you have a matching smile on your face.
“you wanna go and get something to eat?” you ask, fixing her messy hair from the helmet.
“like, out?” megan asks.
“yeah. my treat.” you respond, smiling at her.
“hell yeah.” megan smiles back.
“good.” you kiss her cheek.
megan hurries off the field to go to the locker rooms and change, which is when you part ways with chaewon as you head back into the school.
looking down at your phone while waiting for megan, you don't even hear her coming from behind until a pair of arms wrap around you and lift you off the ground to spin you around making you let out a yelp of surprise.
“sorry! i had to!” megan laughs before putting you down. “did you see me out there?”
“i saw everything.” you answer, putting your phone away in your pocket. “you were great, mei.”
“it's all ‘cause of you.” she says smoothly, her arms wrapping around your waist. “i wouldn't have done it without you.”
your cheeks heat up at her words, and you shake your head, hooking your arms around her neck. “i suppose that's true,” you pause. “you don't regret asking me and not someone else?”
“not one bit.” megan answers without hesitation. “i don't regret anything. except the dumb decisions i made, those definitely.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “yeah, i’m sure.”
“yn?” she says.
“hm?” you peer up at her.
“i love you.”
your eyes softened, a small smile curling on your lips. “i love you too, loser.”
In the relentless rhythm of comeback season, Sophia is everything she’s supposed to be : composed, tireless, unshakably perfect. But when the cameras go dark and everything else falls away, it’s Y/N who stays.
The lights were always too bright.
Not in a way that hurt Sophia's eyes, not quite. She had long since trained herself not to squint, not to blink too much, to hold her gaze firm and open no matter how harsh the glare from the stage rigging or the camera flashes. But it still got into her head, the brightness. Not exactly painful but lingering. It crept into her thoughts and clung to her skin, made her feel hollowed out after long days of being seen, always seen.
She sat now on the floor of the practice room, her spine pressed flat to the mirrored wall. Her arms rested across bent knees, fingers loosely knotted. The air was thick with heat and humidity, faintly tinged with the chemical scent of old sweat and rosin. Her body hummed with the ache she knew too well: the pinch in her lower back, the dull, deep soreness blooming in her calves, the tense, knotted line running from one shoulder to the other no matter how often she tried to roll it out.
Around her, the other girls were scattered, their laughter filling the space like birdsong in spring. Lara and Daniela were bickering playfully over choreography counts. Megan was lying flat on the ground like a starfish, arms splayed dramatically. Manon scrolled through her phone, humming something under her breath. Y/N was recounting a funny story, while Yoonchae was giggling into her water bottle, legs swinging as she perched on a bench.
Sophia didn’t join in.
The rehearsal had taken more out of her than she liked to admit. Her legs had trembled, just slightly, when she’d pushed herself up from the floor. A faint, betraying quiver at the knees. But she’d ignored it, told herself it was nothing. Just the practice. Over six hours spent drilling the same eight counts until the moves lost their shape and her muscles gave up remembering them on their own. Her body was just tired, that was all. All the girls were tired. This was what it took to be good.
She told herself these things like they were mantras.
When the music started again, sharp and familiar like a knife she knew too well, she stepped into formation without hesitation. Her limbs obeyed without thought, muscle memory guiding her through the angles and pivots like machinery built into her bones. But her mind had drifted. Not fully, not dangerously. Just enough for a hum to start in the back of her skull. A low, pulsing rhythm that didn’t belong to the song.
It was a warning. One she knew to ignore.
She was slipping. Slowly, quietly. In ways no one was supposed to notice.
And they couldn’t. Not when they needed her. Especially now, with the comeback looming like a deadline written in permanent marker. Management had been relentless lately, as if each of them were raw material waiting to be reshaped. Slimmer silhouettes. Tighter formations. More engagement. Cleaner visuals. Always cleaner.
Yesterday, the teaser had gone live. A fifteen-second flash of perfection meant to sell everything they were. And like a fool, Sophia had scrolled through the comments.
"The group would be great if their leader smiled more." "She always looks like she’s trying too hard." "How is she one of the oldest and still not the best dancer?"
And then the ones that cut deeper, not aimed at her directly, but through her.
"Their maknae’s clearly better than her already." "Does she even lead them?"
She had deleted the app by morning. Thrown her phone face-down on the bed and stared at the ceiling until her chest stopped aching.
She had to be better. Had to be everything they needed her to be. So when the choreographer’s voice rang out again with a flat, familiar "Five, six, seven, eight," she jumped.
Too late. A heartbeat behind.
The disappointment in their trainer’s face was immediate. Not anger, not frustration. Just the subtle tightening of the jaw, the way the clipboard lowered slightly, the absence of praise.
"Reset. Again."
She didn’t dare to make another mistake.
Not for the next hour. Not ever again. Not a single missed beat, not a single misplaced hand.
But the way she locked her jaw every time the music restarted, the way her arms moved like they were made of steel wires, too taut, too precise: it wasn’t from the fluid grace they had once praised her for.
It was survival.
When practice finally ended, and the others filed out around her, chattering about dinner plans and shared showers and who had borrowed whose hairbrush, Sophia hung back. She pretended to check her water bottle, to tie her shoelaces. She smoothed her hair back even though no one else was watching, kept herself believably busy with the small things, until the room emptied.
Almost.
She turned, reaching automatically for her bag, and froze when she saw Y/N still standing in the doorway.
Her figure was silhouetted, one hand gripping the strap of her gym bag, the other holding the straps of Sophia’s. Her gaze was steady, not asking anything. Just waiting.
Sophia’s throat closed.
“You don’t have to—” she started, already regretting the sound of her voice, too rough, too revealing.
“I know.”
That was all.
Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t approach. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there, quiet and patient, giving Sophia the choice to come or stay.
And somehow, it felt like the first time someone had given her a choice.
—
That night, in the dorm, Sophia barely made it past brushing her teeth before her hands began to shake.
She wrapped herself in a hoodie three sizes too big and padded into the living room on quiet feet, curling into the far corner of the couch. The lights were dim. A single lamp near the hallway cast a soft glow over the fabric, warm and golden, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her legs tucked under her, she gripped the hem of the hoodie sleeves and pulled them over her fists.
The others were still in their rooms. Someone—Manon, maybe—was playing music behind a closed door, something soft and old, with a gentle rhythm and watery vocals. Laughter filtered out from Lara and Megan’s shared room, bright and sudden, then faded again.
Sophia closed her eyes. Tried to breathe. Remember her rhythm. But her chest was tight in that way it always got when everything caught up to her too fast.
It had started after practice.
The message from their choreography trainer had come through while she was still on the van ride home. Not cruel, just clipped. Clinical.
Still too tight in the transitions. Watch your timing. You're always half a beat behind.
She already knew. That had been the worst part. She had felt it in her body, the slight lag, the slippage between mind and motion. Felt it in her chest, everytime she tripped up.
She didn’t respond back. Couldn’t scrape up the dignity to.
At the dorm, she had barely stepped inside when one of the managers pulled her aside. Yoonchae had frozen up before they could film a quick promotional video: some silly, throwaway clip for social media, a trend they were meant to jump on with pre-made choreography and a one-liner about the new album.
“She’s just a little homesick,” the manager said, glancing toward the hallway, where the youngest had locked herself in the bathroom. “Can you fill in? Just this one.”
Sophia said yes. Of course she did. Even though she had vocal practice in twenty minutes and hadn’t eaten since noon. Even though her throat was raw and her feet burned. She smiled for the camera. Hit every mark. Said the right line. Laughed on cue.
Then, later, after scarfing half a protein bar and washing it down with room-temperature water from her tote bag, she got the message she had been looking forward to all day. A missed call from her mother. Just one ring before it stopped.
She tried calling back, but management had double-booked her again. A one-on-one dance session they hadn’t warned her about, followed immediately by a briefing for a skincare CF. When she pointed it out, the reply had been simple: Just be quick. The rep can wait five minutes if needed.
She had rushed through both. Fumbled a transition in the solo run-through. Missed a small but important note in the product script. The staffer’s face afterward had been polite, but something in their eyes told her she had slipped again. That there was something else to fix tomorrow.
Failure after failure after failure.
Now, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
She didn’t cry. She never cried. Not where anyone could see. But her jaw was clenched so tight her molars ached, and she stared blankly at the weave of the cushion beneath her fingers, trying to remember what it felt like to be a person. Not a brand, not a leader, not a checklist of deliverables and rehearsals. Just a person. A girl.
A shadow passed over her peripheral vision, causing her to blink, slow and sluggish, as a mug of warm tea appeared in front of her held by steady hands.
Sophia looked up.
Y/N stood over her, dressed in a faded university sweatshirt and pajama shorts. Her hair was still damp, curling softly at the ends like she had just gotten out of the shower. She didn’t say anything. Just held out the mug, both hands wrapped around it like it was something she had warmed herself with first.
Sophia reached for it slowly, and their fingers brushed. A light touch, but it sparked something beneath her skin, small and electric.
“Chamomile,” Y/N said, voice low, almost lost in the rustle of fabric “It’s supposed to help.”
Sophia’s gaze dropped to the mug, and then back to Y/N. The implication wasn’t loud, but it was clear. Her throat tightened. She curled her fingers around the warm ceramic as if it could anchor her.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
Y/N didn’t go far. Instead, she eased down beside Sophia, settling in without a sound, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever held the moment in place. Their knees touched, but neither of them shifted.
The tea was warm in Sophia’s hands. Steadying. The steam ghosted against her face, carrying the faint floral scent of chamomile and something sweeter she couldn’t name. She took a careful sip, then another, letting the quiet stretch out between them.
On the coffee table, a half-folded blanket sat beside a remote and a phone charger. The room had that lived-in feel, cozy in a way that only came when everyone else was tucked away in their own spaces. Behind the closed doors, the dorm buzzed gently with muffled voices, humming water pipes, and the distant click of someone typing.
Y/N leaned forward slightly and grabbed the remote. She didn’t ask before flicking on the TV, and the screen lit up with the familiar blue-white glow of the home screen. A few clicks, then a pause, and the opening bars of Mamma Mia floated into the air.
Sophia blinked. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the mug.
Of course.
It wasn’t a secret that the filipino loved the movie. The others teased her about it sometimes, when she insisted on watching it for the third time on a tour bus, mouthing the lines under her breath. But she never really talked about why. There was something in the messiness of it, the sunshine and absurdity, the way things still somehow ended up okay, that made it feel like a safety net.
She didn’t say anything. Just let the corners of her mouth lift, barely, as the camera panned across the sea and the first few lines of “I Have a Dream” played soft and familiar.
Y/N leaned back, one leg tucked under the other. Her head tilted against the couch cushion, gaze relaxed. “It was just on,” she said, offhand. “Figured it was better than scrolling.”
Sophia hummed quietly.
A few minutes passed. The tea was half gone now, the warmth from the mug slowly soaking into her palms, loosening something she hadn’t realized was clenched in her chest. Her body was tired in the deepest way, like the exhaustion had reached her bones, but she still sat upright, shoulders held in their practiced, unshakable posture.
The light above them buzzed faintly. Y/N shifted.
“Too bright,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “I’m turning it off so I can see the screen better.”
She stood without waiting for a reply and crossed to the switch near the hallway. The room dimmed instantly, leaving just the flickering light of the TV to wash over them. Everything softened in its glow. The room felt smaller now, warmer, like a cocoon. Sophia blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting, the sudden absence of overhead light making the tight band behind her temples ease just a little.
Y/N returned without ceremony, but this time she brought one of the couch pillows with her. She sat down again, closer than before. The pillow ended up between them at first, but then she adjusted it, tucked it behind her back instead. The space narrowed.
“It’s kind of cold,” she said, as though that explained it. “It always gets drafty near the window.”
Sophia nodded, quiet. The words didn’t matter. She knew what Y/N was doing, even if they were both pretending not to notice.
She felt it when their shoulders brushed, then settled. When Y/N angled her body just slightly, so that her knee pressed more fully against Sophia’s thigh. When the slow pressure of a hand, gentle and unassuming, found its way to the small of her back.
It was barely a touch. More like a weightless presence, a loose curl of fingers that moved in lazy, rhythmic circles. But it steadied her. Like ballast. Like the pressure reminded her she was here, not performing, not holding everything together.
Sophia didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
Her eyes drifted to the TV. Donna was arriving on the island, the screen a blur of colors and summer heat: sunlight in hair, singing at the top of lungs, a mother dancing barefoot on old floorboards.
Y/N’s scent curled around her. Something clean, a little citrusy, mixed with damp hair and the faint, lingering sweetness of body cream. And underneath it all, the same scent that had clung to the mug of tea—chamomile and warmth.
Sophia’s grip on the cup loosened. Her shoulders dropped, just slightly. The tension she had been holding for days, maybe longer, began to ease away. Her heartbeat slowed, and she let her head tilt. Just barely. Resting against the space between Y/N’s shoulder and collarbone. And when sleep came, uninvited but not unwelcome, it came gently.
The mug, now empty, rested on the couch beside her.
—
Sophia didn’t mention the tea the next day.
She didn’t mention how she had drifted off to sleep in the living room, her head tilted softly onto Y/N’s shoulder, or how Y/N had stayed with her until the movie ended. She didn’t mention the gentle nudge that woke her, or the way Y/N had guided her to her bed with one hand resting lightly at the small of her back, no words, just presence.
She woke up still in her hoodie, her hands curled loosely like she had been holding something in her sleep even though she wasn’t.
The morning unfolded as it always did. The dorm was loud in its usual, comforting way. Megan wore mismatched socks again. Daniela argued cheerfully with Manon over who got to use the bathroom first. Lara braided Yoonchae’s hair from behind as she scrolled through her phone, never asking, just humming tunelessly. Y/N sipped her coffee in silence.
That afternoon, they were called into the studio to record harmony layers for the bridge, each girl vanishing into the booth one at a time. Sophia had done this so many times it felt like breathing. She knew how to place her voice just behind the melody, to let it bloom then disappear.
When it was her turn, she adjusted the headphones and stood in the dim blue light.
The producer’s voice filtered in through the headset. “Give us that first harmony line, soft. Breathier. You know the mood.”
She did. Of course she did. The song had lived in her for weeks. It was all breath and ache and quiet yearning. Something that sat under the skin and stayed there. She sang it three times. Each take lighter than the last.
“Almost,” the producer said, not unkindly, “Give us something more fragile.”
Sophia closed her eyes and tried again.
This time, something shifted. Not her voice, that stayed even, trained and unwavering, but something inside her chest. Not a collapse. More like surrender. Like she had loosened her grip on whatever she was holding too tightly.
The silence in her headphones was longer than usual.
Then, “Good. That’s the one.”
She stepped out of the booth and back into the dim-lit studio. Manon offered her a banana with one hand while balancing a notebook in the other. Sophia took it silently and sat down.
Y/N was the last to record. She didn’t say much, just moved with easy familiarity, tying her hair back loosely and rolling her sleeves up to the elbows. She adjusted the mic herself, tested with a small hum, her fingers brushing the stand like she was tuning something delicate.
Sophia watched her through the glass. She wasn’t pretending to check notes or scroll on her phone. She just watched. The shape of Y/N’s mouth forming each note, the slight furrow in her brow when she focused, the way her body leaned into the sound without performing.
Their eyes met once. Only for a second. Y/N looked up and caught her gaze through the glass. Not long. Not deliberate. But it stayed with her anyway.
Later that evening, after dinner and cleanup and the slow settling of the dorm into quiet again, Sophia found herself in the laundry room, folding towels just for something to do with her hands.
The fluorescent light buzzed above her. The dryer clicked as it spun down to silence. She hadn’t turned on any music. There was a kind of comfort in the hush, even if it was edged with the kind of stillness that asked too many questions.
She was down to the last towel when Y/N stepped inside, holding something in her hands.
“You left this in the living room,” she said, lifting Sophia’s hoodie slightly.
Sophia took it with a nod. “Thanks.”
Y/N didn’t leave. She leaned against the dryer, arms crossed loosely, her face unreadable in that way she had: not guarded, just... unoffered.
Sophia folded the last towel with care. She didn’t rush. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but full. Then Sophia said it, quiet, barely louder than the sound of cotton being smoothed flat.
“Are you worried about the comeback?”
Y/N’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was no hesitation.
“Yeah. I mean, how could I not be?”
Sophia gave a small breath of a laugh. It wasn’t bitter. Just real.
“But,” Y/N continued, her voice steady, “I think we’ve got it. We’ve been working hard. And it shows.”
Sophia looked at Y/N. Really looked. The soft line of her jaw, the calm in her eyes, the way she stood with her weight on one leg like she wasn’t afraid of stillness. There was no rush in her posture. No urge to fill the space. Just stillness, held without apology.
Y/N didn’t say the right things. She was the right things. Quiet and solid and warm.
It was like she knew Sophia didn’t need reassurance. She didn’t need praise or comfort or someone to tell her to slow down. What she needed, what she had, was someone who saw her. Who knew how hard she had been holding everything together and still chose to say nothing, to stand with her without trying to fix it.
Sophia nodded once, then tucked the hoodie under her arm.
“I’m going to start another load,” she said.
Y/N gave her a small smile. “I’ll help.”
And that was it.
Just the two of them in a too-bright laundry room, folding towels and sorting laundry, shoulders occasionally bumping as they moved. Together.
—
Sophia couldn’t remember exactly when the dizziness started. Only that it was always there now.
Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just persistent. A slow, creeping tilt beneath her feet, like the floor had shifted by a single degree and never settled back.
It followed her.
In practice rooms where the mirrors sweated and the music pressed like a second heartbeat under her skin. At night, when the hum of the dorm was too quiet to soothe her and too loud to ignore. During interviews, when her smile was so precisely shaped it left her jaw sore long after the cameras stopped.
She carried it like she carried everything else. Silently.
The weight, the expectations, the invisible calculations she performed daily to keep the others steady. Who needed more rest. Who hadn’t eaten. Who was nearing a crack in their veneer. She made herself the buffer without thinking, because that was what leaders did.
She didn’t resent it. Not really. She had made peace with the truth early on: people depended on her, so she didn’t get to fall apart.
But lately… she was slipping.
Not in a way others could name. Not in ways that would alarm anyone.
Megan handed her extra water bottles during practice without making it a thing. Manon joked louder near her, like joy could be volume-controlled. Lara would squeeze her hand before shoots, firm and grounding. Even Daniela wordlessly draped her jacket over Sophia’s shoulders on days when the heat didn’t reach her.
They noticed.
But Y/N, she saw.
And that was harder.
Because Y/N didn’t hover. She didn’t fill silences. She didn’t treat Sophia like a role to be performed. She simply existed beside her, quiet and steady — a stillness that never demanded, only invited. A stillness Sophia found herself drawn to more often than she ever intended.
It began with the small things.
A neatly folded packet of ginger candies, slipped by her bag on the day her throat burned after too many hours pushing her voice. A soft tug on her sleeve at midnight when she was still watching rehearsal footage on loop, eyes heavy and red, the tug saying clearly: enough for tonight. A subtle redirect during an interview when Sophia paused, words briefly caught between thought and phrasing, and Y/N filled the space with something warm and natural, giving her just enough room to breathe without anyone noticing she’d needed it.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t romantic.
And maybe that’s what made it dangerous.
Because if Y/N had made it obvious — if she’d reached out with concern etched on her face and said, I know you’re tired. Let me help — then Sophia would have known what to do. She would have smiled and said, I’m fine, and built the wall back up.
But there was never a wall to build. No grand gesture to reject. Just quiet. And warmth. And the way Y/N’s hand might press briefly to her back as they passed in the hallway, grounding her like gravity. The way her voice softened when she said Sophia’s name. The way she never asked for space, but made enough of it for Sophia to step into when she couldn’t find her own.
And now, with every moment she leaned into that space, every time she let herself rest in it, even just for a breath, something twisted faintly in her chest.
Because Sophia knew what it meant to rely on someone. She’d spent her whole life making sure no one had to rely on her too much.
But here she was. Letting herself be seen. Letting herself rest in someone else's shade.
And it was getting harder to pretend it didn’t matter.
Harder still to admit how much it did.
—
The guilt didn’t arrive with a bang. It crept in softly, like a tide. Barely noticeable until her feet were already wet. Until it was too late.
It found her one afternoon, during a rare sliver of downtime. The studio had gone quiet. No shoots. No back-to-back rehearsals. Most of the girls had drifted off for bubble tea or sunlight in the back stairwell.
Sophia stayed behind, claiming she had emails to answer. She sat in the practice room with her laptop open in front of her, the cursor blinking on a half-written reply to their stylist.
But she wasn’t answering emails. She was listening.
Y/N was just down the hall, her voice drifting through the slightly ajar door as she helped Yoonchae film a quick Q&A segment for socials. Light questions. Favorite snacks. Most-used emojis. Their laughter rang out, full and unguarded.
Sophia sat frozen, hands still, eyes on a screen she couldn’t see.
She didn’t want to be part of the moment. That wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was that she hadn’t even thought to be.
Y/N was always there. Always nearby. Never pressing. Never asking. Just quietly present, like a breath Sophia hadn’t noticed she was taking until the air got too thin. But that also meant that every quiet act of care — every mug of tea, every offered silence — came at a cost Sophia had never properly tallied.
And it made something bitter stir in her chest.
She closed the laptop and stood, suddenly needing air that wasn’t full of her own self-awareness. She grabbed her jacket and stepped outside the building, where the sky had gone faintly grey, spring light filtered through clouds.
She didn’t get far before she heard footsteps behind her.
“Skipping out on emails now?” Y/N’s voice was easy, teasing.
Sophia didn’t turn around. “Finished them.”
A pause. Then Y/N fell into step beside her.
They walked together for a while, not far. Just to the edge of the lot behind the studio where the pavement gave way to gravel and the smell of blooming grass lingered after the rain.
Sophia kept her arms folded. Not because she was cold.
Y/N said nothing for a few minutes. Just let the silence settle between them like breath. Then she nudged her shoulder lightly into Sophia’s. “You okay?”
It wasn’t intrusive. Wasn’t heavy. Just a thread cast out.
Sophia nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just needed a break.”
Another pause.
“Everyone does sometimes,” Y/N said.
Sophia didn’t answer.
She didn’t want to lie. She didn’t want to tell the truth.
Instead, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and said, “You’re good at that. Showing up. For everyone.”
Y/N tilted her head, like she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning. “I try.”
Sophia hesitated. Then, too quiet: “I don’t want to take advantage of that.”
Y/N blinked. The wind lifted a strand of her hair, brushing it across her cheek. “You don’t.”
“But I could,” Sophia said. And then caught herself. “I mean, it’d be easy to. You don’t—”
She stopped. The words turned sour on her tongue.
Y/N didn’t press her. She just looked at her, really looked. The way she always did.
And it was too much.
Sophia turned her face away, jaw tense, eyes fixed on nothing. She said nothing. She couldn’t.
Then, quietly, Y/N stepped closer, not quite touching, but near enough that their shoulders almost brushed again.
“I don’t offer things I can’t afford to give,” Y/N said, voice steady. “So if I’m here, it’s because I want to be.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. Her hands disappeared deeper into her sleeves.
The words were kind. Solid. True. And Sophia didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.
—
That night, Sophia laid awake.
She laid still long after the others had gone quiet, her body aching in every way it could: knees stiff, back tight, chest sore from holding too much. Her body longed for rest, but her mind ticked forward like a second hand gone haywire. Like if she didn’t move soon, she’d fall behind on something even if nothing was scheduled.
She rolled onto her side, the sheets whispering against her skin.
Across the narrow stretch of their shared room, Y/N lay in her bed, a soft silhouette framed by the silver pull of moonlight. Her blanket rose and fell in quiet rhythm, and even asleep, she faced Sophia, always curled that way, always toward her. It wasn’t something they talked about. It just... was.
Sophia stared at the shape of the other girl and felt like a thief.
—
The next morning, the rain came.
It started during their second run-through of the choreo: light at first, barely more than a whisper on the high windows. Then harder. Louder. Wind pushing it sideways. The rehearsal studio dimmed as the gray outside swallowed the morning. The mirrors fogged around the edges, and their reflections blurred into pale ghosts.
Everyone was dragging.
Manon missed a cue. Daniela’s ankle rolled slightly on a pivot. Megan kept rubbing her thigh between counts.
Sophia picked up the slack.
She shouted louder. Counted harder. Caught the missed formations. Cleaned transitions that weren’t even hers to fix. Her voice cracked halfway through, but she kept going. Her shoulder pinched. Her right knee gave a little shake at the end of a turn. But she kept going.
She always did.
Until she couldn’t.
Near the end of the fourth full-out, her balance slipped. It was not a full stumble, just a flicker, a shift in her center that made her land a beat late. She caught herself before anyone could say anything. Hit the final pose like always. Chin up. Core tight. Smile in place.
But she saw it.
Y/N saw it too.
When the trainer called dismissal, Sophia waited. Let the noise surge.
Someone shouted about fried chicken. Another cheered for bubble tea. The team took a blurry group selfie, everyone sweaty and radiant and too loud for how tired they were.
Sophia smiled, like it didn’t cost her anything.
Then she slipped out.
Not far. Just the hallway outside, dim and humming with rain still against the windows. She pressed her back to the wall, the tile cold through her damp shirt. Her hand was curled into the hem of her tank like she could press the tremor out of her fingers. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. The ringing in her head got louder as she did her best to stay upright.
Don’t fall apart. Don’t fall apart.
Her breath hitched. Sharp. Shallow.
And then there was movement.
Y/N.
Towel looped over her neck. Face pink from exertion, knee darkening with the start of a bruise. She didn’t say anything. Just came close. Closer. Until their forehead touched.
Just that. Nothing more. And it almost broke Sophia completely.
She clenched her jaw. Bit down on the inside of her cheek. Swallowed the sound building in her throat.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a scrape.
Y/N didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just stood there, breathing in tandem.
“I can’t—” Sophia tried, then stopped. Her throat worked around the truth. “I can’t keep needing you like this.”
Still, nothing.
Sophia turned her face slightly away, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t deserve it.”
This time, Y/N answered. Soft. Sure. “Why not?”
Sophia blinked hard.
“Because I don’t give back the same way. I can’t. Because you’re always—” She broke off. Her breath came faster. “Because you’re always the one who catches me. And if I fall too hard, and you’re not there... I won’t know how to fix it. I won’t know how to be okay.”
Silence.
Sophia’s fists trembled at her sides. “I’m scared. I’m scared of letting you in too far. Of what it means. Of what it makes me.”
Y/N stayed quiet.
And that silence hurt — not because it was empty, but because it was patient. Because it meant she was still here.
Sophia looked at her, eyes glassy, throat raw. “I don’t even know what this is. It doesn’t feel like friendship. But it’s not just romance either. It feels... more. Somehow.”
Y/N reached out, brushing her fingertips along Sophia’s arm. Shoulder to elbow.
Sophia flinched. Not away. Inward. Like the contact struck something buried deep. But she didn’t move.
Y/N stepped closer. Slower this time. She leaned in, not to kiss, not to claim, not to fix. Just enough to press her lips to Sophia’s shoulder. A soft, fleeting touch on the edge of her damp sweatshirt.
Just enough to be real, to say: I hear you. I’m here.
Sophia’s face crumpled. Her body sagged forward, surrendering inch by inch until her forehead found Y/N’s collarbone. Her whole frame shuddered once, then stilled.
Her hand reached blindly. Found Y/N’s. Their fingers tangled together, tight and desperate, a tether more than a hold.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Sophia whispered. “Not without ruining it.”
Y/N’s reply was soft, nearly lost in the fall of rain.
“Then don’t do it alone.”
Sophia trembled again. Once. Twice.
And finally, finally, she let go.
Not of Y/N.
Of the guilt. Of the fear. Of the weight she'd carried since the moment someone called her strong.
And in that small, rain-damp hush, they stayed.
—
Comeback week felt like a storm that never broke.
Everything happened faster now: call times, interviews, late-night rehearsals. Choreography on glossy floors that bruised their knees. Scripted soundbites. Smile for the camera. Blink. Breathe. Repeat.
Sophia moved through it like a machine.
Efficient. Composed. Dependable.
Her voice stayed level. Her shoulders didn’t slump. She waited behind when the stylists needed last-minute fixes. She smiled, even when her chest pulled tight with exhaustion so deep she felt it in her teeth.
She didn’t complain.
Because this — the exhaustion, the discipline, the price — was the job. And she was good at it.
It was only in the silence after that Sophia ever felt the cost.
One afternoon, after an especially exhausting day, she sat on the practice room floor after the others had gone. The overhead lights were off, just the glow of her phone casting long shadows across the mirror. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. She just sat with her knees drawn up, arms draped over them, as she stared into her reflection: Dim. Distant.
For the first time in what seemed forever, she let herself go. In this room, she didn’t need to hold herself upright for anyone else. She could just feel. All of it. The tremble in her fingers, the ache behind her eyes. The sinking pressure that didn’t quite have a name.
She didn’t hear the door open, but she knew who it was the second the silence shifted.
Like clockwork. Like a prayer.
Sophia didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.
And when Y/N reached over — slow, deliberate — and uncurled her hand from where it had been clenched into her hoodie, Sophia didn’t resist.
She simply let their fingers twine again. Familiar now. Sacred. And exhale.
—
Later, they would walk into the press event together, full makeup, styled hair, eyes bright like nothing ever tired them.
Sophia would smile with practiced ease. She would thank the interviewer, compliment the fans, lift Lara’s answer with a joke when the question got too deep. She’d stand in the middle of the group like she belonged there as if the foundation didn’t tremble beneath her feet.
And when it was over, when the cameras went off and the car doors shut behind them, she’d sit in the farthest seat in the van, head pressed to the window, and feel the ache return in silence.
But in the middle of it all, between the chaos and the pretense and the exhaustion so deep it hollowed her out, there would be that small moment from earlier.
The hum of the T.V.
Y/N’s steady shoulder against hers.
The shape of breathing, shared.
Not a lifeline. Not a cure.
But proof.
That somewhere inside the exhaustion, she could fall. And that even if she did, Y/N would catch her.
And that was enough.
___
was thinking about making this a hurt/no comfort piece, but then remembered that not everything has to be painful. sometimes, good things can simply be good. happy pride month, y'all. thank you for reading.
listen to. don't cry, put your head on my shoulder by tom odell
✦ ─── 𝓒hampagne 𝓒oast , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza
do you miss me too?
─── 𝓨ou think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you. but you don’t. not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to. and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.
❝𝓪ll my last strength against you,
𝓫aby tell me what you need.❞
౨ৎ 𝓹airing. predebut!sophia laforteza x female reader
౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff if u squint, undefined relationship, was it ever casual? no. angst (i tried) like a ton of it but i wasn't trying to drown u, hurt no comfort, wc. 3299
a/n. my exams js finished nd i thought id give yall sumn as compensation for the lack of mamma mia updates LMAO i was trying sumn new w this oneshot—writing style wise—nd im ngl it didn't quite go how i wanted to nd i ended up writing less bc of this experimental oneshot 😭😭😭 anyw, this is a long overdue angst from me i tried my best💔💔💔 i saw smn on tiktok say sophia is the type of person ud have a crush on high school nd that mainly inspired this so thanks random tiktok editor. this is mostly how i imagined champagne coast
❝𝔂oung as i want to know,
𝓲'll never let you go.❞
YOU REMEMBER HER BEST IN SHADES OF GOLD. not the kind that glitters, but the kind that glows. sun-warm. skin-close. the kind of gold that poured through her bedroom blinds every time you snuck in past midnight and stayed for as long as you could before school dawned, heart thudding, breath caught between wanting and wondering.
sophia.
sophia with the smile that felt like a secret sunrise. with soft pink polish barely clinging to her nails and the habit of humming songs she hadn’t written yet. her voice always held a lilt of laughter, like a secret being shared.
she had a laugh that caught sunlight in its rhythm, and a way of remembering everyone's name like it was the most important one she'd ever heard. she moved through the halls like spring after a long winter—bright, warm, impossible not to notice. her presence made lockers bloom and linoleum shimmer.
she’d offer a compliment with such genuine ease that it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. she held eye contact like she was seeing you for the first and last time all at once. sophia, who always smelled like vanilla chapstick and the faintest trace of gardenias after rain. you said her name like a prayer you didn’t believe in but kept whispering anyway. just in case it could save you.
she’s everywhere now. bigger than memory, louder than youth. katseye headlines every festival lineup, and her voice spills from every speaker like honey and summer. but back then, she was just a girl with stardust in her laugh and music in her fingertips. her family’s name opened doors and booked venues, but sophia walked through them like they didn’t matter. she made time slow down. she made you feel like you were being seen through a softer lens.
sophia’s world had always been lyrical. she moved through life like she was humming a song only she could hear. each step light, each smile like a melody lingering in the air long after she’d walked away.
everything about her felt improvised yet effortlessly right, like the first draft of a poem that didn’t need editing. she spoke in rhythm, thought in metaphor, lived in verses. there was music in her hands, in her laughter, in the way she leaned her head back when she was thinking—as if catching something only the sky could offer.
your world, on the other hand, was cinematic. made of still frames and silences. you didn’t move through life—you watched it. framed things, paused them, looked for symmetry in the ordinary.
you didn’t always speak, but you noticed everything: the flutter of her lashes when she was about to say something vulnerable, the exact tilt of her smile when she was hiding a bruise of sadness. where sophia saw a lyric, you saw a shot list. where she saw wonder, you saw composition. where she breathed melody, you caught meaning in the silences between.
she narrated the world in chorus; you captured it in light. you were opposites in the way a poem and a film are different ways of saying the same thing.
and somehow, in those precious months where your lives tangled and bloomed, you translated each other.
you met her in late march. spring still a whisper, flowers barely blooming, the sky bruised with indecision. your film teacher read names off a list, pairing students for the semester film project. you weren’t paying attention until you heard it: "y/n and sophia."
she turned to you with a smile that looked like it belonged to someone in a film already. sharp and soft at the same time. her voice was breezy, casual. "guess we’re partners."
you nodded, blinking, caught in her gravity already.
when you sat together to brainstorm, her notebook was full of lyrics—descriptions of faces in profile, sunflowers, waves crashing over shoulders.
she wanted to create something that felt like breathing. you wanted to shoot something that felt like dreaming.
so you made a film about nature and people. about how vines wrap around fingers like lovers. how wind braids hair. how skin glows in golden hour like the earth is passing its light into it. sophia became the muse. barefoot in tall grass. spinning in white linen. half-submerged in a creek, laughing. you directed and held the lens like it was a heartbeat.
"you make the world look softer," she said once in awe, watching a playback.
"it only looks like that because you’re in it," you replied. your voice almost cracked from saying it.
she didn’t say anything then. just smiled at the screen, her reflection flickering over her shoulder.
that project was the beginning. the spark. long editing nights that bled into morning. coffee shared from the same chipped mug. the camera always between you—until it wasn’t. until it was just her, and you, and the quiet understanding that bloomed beneath everything left unsaid.
it started, maybe, on the hill.
that nowhere hill behind her high-rise, just past the stillness of manicured parks and closed cafés, where city light softened into starlight. you called it your chapel. the place where time slowed down and everything else disappeared.
every summer night, you’d sneak into her room at twelve-oh-something. her window creaked like it missed you. sophia would be waiting in a hoodie three sizes too big, her braid unraveling like ribbon. sometimes she brought snacks. sometimes she brought a poem. sometimes she brought nothing but herself.
and that was enough.
you’d walk, fingers brushing, shoulders bumping. and when the world was quiet enough, she’d start to sing. something half-formed. breathy. beautiful. you never interrupted. just listened. memorized the shape of her in the dark.
you brought your guitar once. not to impress, not to perform—just to fill the quiet with something that wouldn’t spill over into words. sophia lit up when she saw it, eyes shining like she’d been waiting for this without knowing it.
"you play?" she asked, voice full of something like awe.
"just a little," you said, shy.
she grinned and sat cross-legged in the grass, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. "can i sing?"
and so you played. soft, simple chords beneath your fingers like the beat of a heart learning a new rhythm. and sophia—god, sophia—she sang like her voice belonged to the sky. high, clear, breathy in the way that made your lungs forget how to work. you caught her gaze mid-song, and she smiled at you—not the kind she gave to the world, but the one that felt like it was stitched from your name.
you harmonised by instinct, your voice falling in beside hers like it had always belonged there. no one told you how music could feel like holding hands in the dark. no one told you it could be the first time you really felt someone without the need for physical touch.
when the last note faded, you didn’t speak. just sat there, letting the silence gather around you like a blanket, the ghost of melody still hovering between your mouths.
she leaned her head against your shoulder.
"you think stars remember us?" she asked.
"i think we remember them enough to make it count," you replied.
she looked up at you, pupils wide, eyes full of summer and something softer.
"i don’t want to be forgotten," she whispered.
"you won’t," you promised.
because that was the night something began. not loudly, not clearly, but with a strum and a hum and a shared breath beneath stars.
you'd never play that song for anyone else again. not because it was sacred. but because it already belonged to her.
the first time you kissed, you could feel the earth shift beneath you.
her lips were soft, trembling against yours like they were learning how to be still. the air between you was thick, humming with the kind of tension that seemed too big for both of you, yet you moved closer, closer still, until it was only her and the night and the stillness of a world that didn’t seem to matter anymore.
her hands were on your face, fingers delicate as they traced your jaw, as if committing every contour to memory. and then her mouth was on yours again, and this time, the kiss was deep and slow, a kind of sweetness that burned hotter than you ever imagined. you ran your hands up her sides, fingers exploring the soft curve of her waist, mapping it to memory like it was the only thing you’d ever truly need to know.
you could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her hoodie, the heat from her body seeping into yours. it spread like wildfire, quick and alive, until every nerve inside you was set alight. you held her so close—so impossibly close—that her breath mingled with yours, her heartbeat a steady thrum in the rhythm of your own.
god, you thought, as you kissed her deeper like she was air and you were addicted, letting yourself succumb and drown in her warmth. i have never felt so close to heaven as i have now with my lips on hers, and holding her so close to me that her warmth spills and spreads over me in waves, lighting every nerve lining of mine on fire.
“i think..." you whispered, your voice shaky with something raw, something tender. "i think i like you."
she smiled at you, the softest, saddest smile you'd ever seen, as if she already knew that what was happening between you was fleeting even before the hushed confession, a fleeting thing that would burn bright and quick before it was gone.
but for now, it didn’t matter.
for now, it was just you and her and the kind of kiss that felt like everything.
and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was enough.
senior year rolled in with deadlines and early applications and the kind of weight that makes your bones feel older than they are. you and sophia partnered up for another media project. a short film. something dreamy, something about the in-between. something that felt like both of you.
one afternoon, everyone else had gone home, and it was just you and her in the empty classroom. she was sitting on the windowsill, the wind playing with the ends of her hair, painting her in soft light. you lifted the camcorder, pressed record. through the viewfinder, she looked unreal. backlit, untouchable. like something borrowed from a dream.
and it struck you again—how sophia's world was lyrical, and yours was cinematic. where she sat in that golden light, she looked like a line of poetry you’d never forget. but through your lens, she was also something else—framed, finite, fading even as you filmed. it hit you with a sharp kind of knowing: this would only ever be a memory. the footage would last, but the moment would not.
"what?" she asked, turning to you.
"nothing," you said, even though everything was happening all at once. because in that moment, with her framed by the sky and the silence, you knew. this wouldn’t last.
some people are moments. not destinations.
and sophia? she was a meteor. blazing. brief.
that footage still lives somewhere on your hard drive. you haven't played it in years. you’re not sure you could survive the sound of her voice saying your name in that soft, sun-drenched tone again.
some days, she was distant—her mind lost in melodies you hadn’t yet heard, her gaze turned inward, like she was looking at something beyond you. other days, she clung to you like gravity, as if the weight of her presence alone could pull you back from drifting too far into your own thoughts.
you started to learn the language of her moods: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was uncertain, how she bit her lip when she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, as if speaking them would unravel something fragile that was better left unsaid.
one night, there was nothing but the quiet between you. the hum of distant cars, the weight of the stars above. you could feel her next to you, close but just out of reach in a way that made everything feel too heavy, too raw.
"i wish i could keep this forever," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. the words fell from your lips before you could stop them, the kind of wish you didn’t know you had until it was already there, full and aching.
“this?” she asked, her voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
“you. us. this...whatever this is,” you murmured, unable to name it, afraid of the weight of what it could mean if you did.
she didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you, the kind of look that made you feel like she could see into the places you didn’t let anyone touch. her smile came slowly, tinged with something tender and sad, as if she already knew what was coming, what was always coming, but wasn’t ready to let go yet.
"you know some things aren’t meant to go on forever, even if they feel like they could."
you wanted to argue, to tell her that this—whatever this was—felt too big to be just a passing season. but the truth was, you didn’t know what it was. nothing about it was defined, and maybe that made it even more real.
"maybe," you whispered, the ache tightening in your chest. "but even a song gets stuck in your head for years."
and in that moment, with nothing else left to say, you both let the silence stretch between you.
when katseye began to bloom into the world’s consciousness, you watched her from the quiet. from the sidelines. where you had always been. tv interviews filtered through your screen late at night, their light flickering across your bedroom walls like ghosts you couldn’t name.
there she was—sophia—draped in gowns that shimmered like the sea on moonlit nights, lips painted the soft red of a closing day, laughter threaded with rehearsed charm. people loved her. how could they not?
but you listened closely—not to her words, but to her voice beneath the voice. and god, it still sounded like her. like the girl who once sang barefoot beneath the stars, who curled into your side with wind-tangled hair and asked if heaven could be a person. that voice hadn’t changed. it still held the ache of midnights, the tremble of wishes no one ever said out loud.
but her eyes—her eyes had learned something you hadn’t. they were no longer the windows that once opened only for you, soft and unguarded and impossibly full of wonder.
now they shimmered with something distant. practiced. eyes that had seen too much, learned how to hold just enough back to be adored but never known. she had become someone the world could look at, but never touch. someone who had learned how to let go.
you didn’t go to the farewell party that night of graduation.
you told people you were busy. that you forgot. but the truth was quieter than that, more fragile. you couldn’t stand the idea of watching her say goodbye to a place she always belonged to, to a chapter she had always meant to leave behind. you couldn’t watch her smile at the crowd and thank them for memories that brushed her skin.
so instead, you went to the hill. the hill that started it all.
alone.
the one you both used to sneak off to when the world felt too sharp. the one where you’d bring your guitar, and she’d bring her voice, and between the two of you, you created something unnamable. you didn’t bring the guitar this time. there was no need. even the silence was loud with her absence.
you lay on the grass and stared at the sky until the stars blurred, your throat aching with a name you refused to say out loud. but it was there. it always was. in the hush between crickets. in the wind brushing against your cheek like a goodbye you never received. her name lived in the quiet. in the stillness. in the ache.
and maybe that was love.
not the kind that stays, but the kind that marks you anyway.
and sometimes, on the loneliest nights—when the world feels too quiet, and the sky hangs heavy with all the things you never said—you still look up at the stars and wonder if they remember.
two girls.
a camera.
a song.
you wonder if the stars recall the softness of her voice beside you, how it curled into the night like incense smoke, how your name sounded different when she said it—more alive, more whole. you wonder if they remember how her hand brushed yours in the dark like it meant something, like everything unspoken between you was understood anyway.
one of you rose—like the crescendo of a chorus, like light breaking over a stage. the other stayed—quiet, still, holding onto the echoes.
you don’t talk anymore—an outcome that didn’t come as a surprise—not really. just likes on old photos buried beneath filters and captions that meant more at the time. sometimes a tagged memory surfaces from the past—a birthday, a laugh, a behind-the-scenes shot—and her username feels like a paper cut across your chest. she never shared it, and neither did you. a reminder. a timeline. a pause you never quite recovered from.
every once in a while, champagne coast plays—that damned song you’d both fought over whether to use for the short film or not, that cost hours of editing over something so petty you’d won anyway—. maybe in a café, maybe in the shuffle of a playlist you forgot you made.
the first few notes are enough. your breath stutters. and suddenly you're seventeen again, filming her by the window of an empty classroom, wind tugging gently at her hair, sunlight turning her into something god might’ve carved by hand.
you still remember the last day of filming. how she laughed at something you said. how you almost kissed her again, but didn’t.
how the golden hour touched her skin like it was saying goodbye too.
that day replays sometimes, in slow motion, like the final scene of a movie that never made it to theaters. you never really wrote an ending. just...stopped filming.
and maybe that’s the cruelest part. that there was no goodbye, no final bow. just the quiet unraveling of something too beautiful to hold.
you think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you.
but you don’t.
not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to.
and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.
and that’s what you carry. not the goodbye. not the could-have-beens. just the memory. just the thought.
the way she looked at you once, when the camera was rolling and she didn’t know it—blissfully unaware she’d changed your life for the better or worse or in between, if that even made sense. the way your name lingered in her voice when no one else was listening.
the stars. the song. the stillness.
her.
and you. forever changed.
not by what lasted—but by what burned bright enough to leave a mark.
even now, you still look up. you find the time to. and sometimes, she’s still there. in the sky. in the silence. in the memory. like light you never forgot how to follow.
masterlist.
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