+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy
notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3
summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.
HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR
itoshi sae knows you like him.
you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?
of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.
even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.
throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.
maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.
“you need to bend your knees a little more.”
frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.
after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.
sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.
the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.
which does happen. because you’re just like that.
“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.
nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.
HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR
sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.
you get him all to yourself.
the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.
it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.
“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?
sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?
he tries to find out.
sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”
for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.
and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.
somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”
it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.
yeah, you’re really quite pretty.
“any plans for the summer?”
it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.
“soccer. you?”
“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”
usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”
“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.
so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.
“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”
and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.
sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.
(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)
when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.
and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.
you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.
okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.
winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.
by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.
in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.
“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.
then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.
“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”
(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)
on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.
one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.
sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.
he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.
feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.
by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.
“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.
“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”
when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.
you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.
neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.
there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.
except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.
you wear it throughout winter.
when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.
“itoshi sae, you can smile?”
sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”
you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”
so you notice him a lot then?
sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.
UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR
of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.
at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.
to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?
if anything, he’s even closer.
somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.
but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.
being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.
it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.
he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.
“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.
your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.
mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.
you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.
sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.
“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.
the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.
that night sae asks you to send him the picture.
yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.
freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.
but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.
one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.
wanna get supper?
both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.
“why’d you wanna get supper?”
sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”
“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”
he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”
if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.
“what’re you up so late for anyway?”
sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”
you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?
(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)
“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.
he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”
so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.
“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.
sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.
so he keeps it to himself. for now.
he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.
UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR
the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.
but you did.
he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.
to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.
“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”
it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.
“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”
oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.
especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.
“hey there, pretty.”
startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.
“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.
“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.
and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.
but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.
“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.
he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”
you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?
“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.
“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.
sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.
when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”
you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.
that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?
the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.
“sae, what was that?”
he plays coy. “what was what?”
you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”
sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”
“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.
“so what if i was?”
this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.
“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.
you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.
but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.
when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.
“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”
is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.
to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”
things after that change just a little.
you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.
but you think you figured him out.
sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.
both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.
most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.
you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.
UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR
you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.
she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.
apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.
“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”
and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.
lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.
“hey, you okay?”
trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.
but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.
the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.
and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”
that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.
“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”
sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.
“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”
you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.
“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.
sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.
“shut up, sae.”
he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.
“what’s that for?”
sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.
“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”
and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.
it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.
but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.
still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.
sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.
meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.
and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.
sure, see you!
you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.
his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.
your handwriting fills the piece of paper.
i think you’re cute and i really really like you
you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.
it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.
someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.
“you have me as your wallpaper?”
sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”
you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.
“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.
“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.
sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”
you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.
“sae… why are you telling me this?”
screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.
“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”
your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”
“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”
he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”
“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”
“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.
sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”
he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.
many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.
“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”
and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.
you don’t have to hear any more to know.
“i love you too, itoshi sae.”
the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.
UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR
six years.
it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.
whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.
“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.
sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”
“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”
sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”
you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”
it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.
does his question have something to do with that?
“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”
oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.
“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”
sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”
after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.
“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”
he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”
you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”
sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.
maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?
he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.
*Jumps into your inbox*
May I request: Betrayed by her boyfriend and stepsister, Reader agrees to the marriage alliance to Valko.
Tone: hurt-comfort
Trigger warning: cheating
Author's note: I was proved right in my assumption that writing a fanfic about Valko with so limited information would be difficult. 😵💫 That being said, I hope my interpretation does him justice. 🫣🙏
@sailorstar9 Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed bringing it to life. Happy reading! 💖
Synopsis: After catching your boyfriend in bed with your stepsister, you think your life can't possibly get any worse.
You're wrong.
Blackmailed into a forced marriage with a complete stranger, you expect nothing more than a loveless relationship.
Instead, as resentment slowly gives way to trust and affection blossoms, you discover that fate may have chosen you long before you ever had a choice.
Pairing: Valko x (Female) reader/non-MC
Content: All "in-game" information about Valko is considered canon, with the exception of his evol ability and the existence of wanderers.
Trigger warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Forced Proximity (Forced Marriage), Fated Mates, Cheating (not Valko—don't worry), Mentions of Blackmail and Manipulation, Suggestive Content (Non-Graphic), and Mentions of Death (Non-Graphic).
Word count: 5,898
The Orchid and the Wolf
This wasn’t how the day was supposed to end.
Not with you sitting alone in the secluded corner of a booth, nursing a cocktail despite barely drinking, in a nightclub far too luxurious for your bank account, tears silently streaming down your face.
You were supposed to be in a cozy restaurant, celebrating your boyfriend's birthday over a nice dinner. You had planned everything weeks in advance.
You'd requested the day off work so you'd be free as soon as your classes ended. The moment your last lecture finished, you rushed home to get changed before stopping by a local bakery to collect the cake you'd ordered. Nothing extravagant - just a small cake, enough for a few slices. Your boyfriend had never been much of a fan of sweets anyway. It was more symbolic than anything.
His present had been wrapped neatly in a gift box, complete with a ribbon and birthday card. You'd bought him a tie from one of his favourite luxury designer brands.
A brand far beyond the budget of a broke college student.
You'd spent months saving for it, surviving on instant noodles.
But this was your boyfriend.
He deserved the best.
With cake in hand and the gift tucked safely inside your handbag, you'd made your way to the upscale apartment building where he lived. You greeted the receptionist on your way through the lobby before stepping into the elevator.
Once upstairs, you entered the code and let yourself into the apartment.
You knew he'd still be at work, which was exactly why you'd come early. You wanted to surprise him.
You placed the cake in the refrigerator to keep it chilled. You planned to give him his present later at the restaurant where you'd already reserved a table.
Needing to use the bathroom, you headed upstairs.
Halfway down the hallway, you stopped.
Muffled sounds drifted from the bedroom.
A breathless moan.
The bedroom door stood slightly ajar.
You stepped closer and slowly pushed it open.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Your chest tightened.
There, tangled together on the bed, lay your boyfriend...
...and your stepsister, Elizabeth.
Completely naked.
They both looked up at the same time.
Shock spread across their faces.
You didn't scream.
You didn't cry.
You simply closed the bedroom door and rushed out of the apartment.
…
You wandered the streets of Linkon City aimlessly.
Your vision was blurred by tears.
Your mind numb.
Your body was moving on autopilot.
You never noticed the afternoon fade into evening.
Eventually, a bright neon sign caught your attention.
Without thinking, you walked inside.
…
And that's how you ended up here...
You and your boyfriend hadn't even been together for very long.
Just under two years.
The two of you had met during one of the darkest periods of your life.
Not long after your father passed away.
The doctors had warned him that if he didn't change his lifestyle - if he didn't reduce the stress in his life - he wouldn't survive another heart attack.
Your father had been the only parent you had left.
Your mother had died from cancer when you were so young that you could barely remember her.
For most of your life, it had been just you and your father.
That changed when you were fourteen.
He remarried.
You never truly liked your stepmother, Miranda.
Nor did you get along with her daughter, Elizabeth, who was a few years older than you.
Still, for your father's sake, the three of you maintained the illusion of being one happy family whenever he was around.
The moment he wasn't...
...you simply stayed out of each other's way.
You always knew Elizabeth was spoiled, selfish, and accustomed to getting whatever she wanted.
You just never imagined...
...she'd decide she wanted your boyfriend too.
…
Valko senses something unusual the moment he steps inside the bar.
He makes his way to the counter and settles onto one of the stools.
“Welcome, sir,” the bartender greets, polishing the inside of a glass with a cloth. “The usual?”
Valko gives a distracted nod, his gaze sweeping across the nearly empty club.
“Quiet tonight,” the bartender remarks as he sets a glass in front of him. “To be expected on a weekday.”
Valko hummed absently.
His nostrils flare as he draws a slow breath.
A scent lingers in the air.
Soft.
Sweet.
Floral.
Orchids...perhaps.
A scent that stands out more vividly than anything else.
His pulse quickens.
Picking up his drink, he wanders through the club at an unhurried pace, though his sharp eyes scan every corner like a predator stalking unseen prey.
Then he stops.
His head turns slightly.
In the secluded corner of a booth sits a lone woman.
Her shoulders are slumped.
Her head hangs low.
A half-finished cocktail sits forgotten in front of her.
His feet carry him toward her until he comes to a stop beside the table.
Sensing the shadow that has fallen over you, you slowly lift your head.
Your eyes meet.
A shiver shoots through Valko's entire body, racing from the base of his spine to the tips of his toes.
He's found you.
The one his family has been telling him about since childhood.
The one destiny has chosen for him.
His mate.
You sniffle quietly before wiping at your tear-stained cheeks, only succeeding in smudging the remains of your mascara even further.
Something dark stirrs inside him and his jaw tightens.
Who had made his mate cry?
“Who hurt you, flower?”
The words - and the endearment - leave his lips before he has the chance to stop them.
You simply stare at him too numb to answer.
A storm of emotions rage inside Valko.
He wants to hunt down whoever has reduced you to tears and tear them apart with his bare hands.
He wants to take every ounce of your pain and carry it himself.
More than anything...
...he wants to pull you into his arms, hold you close, and promise you that no one will ever hurt you again.
Instead...
...he does the only sensible thing he can think of.
He takes out his phone.
“You look exhausted,” he says gently. “It's late.”
After a brief exchange, he slips his phone back into his pocket.
“I've arranged a ride home.”
You don't take his outstretched hand.
But you slowly raise to your feet.
Valko steps aside, allowing you to walk ahead while he stays close behind, his hand hovering just behind your back.
Moments later, a sleek black sedan pulls up outside the club.
He opens the rear passenger door for you.
Without a word, you climb inside.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asks politely through the rear-view mirror.
Valko waits patiently until you quietly give your address.
Only then does he close the door.
Leaning down to the open driver's window, he meets the driver's eyes.
“Make sure she gets home safely.”
Valko remains where he stands, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.
Only then does he retrieve his phone once more.
“There's something I need you to investigate.”
“I want everything there is to know about her.”
——————————————————————
It's been a few days since you caught your boyfriend cheating.
And the bastard hasn't contacted you even once.
No calls.
No texts.
No explanation.
No apology.
No desperate plea for forgiveness.
Nothing.
As you approach the front gates of your college, your stomach sinks.
Of all the people you could have run into...
It had to be her.
You instinctively take a few steps back, hoping to slip away unnoticed.
No such luck.
You decide it's easier to walk straight past her than acknowledge her existence.
“Giving me the silent treatment?” Elizabeth calls after you. “How mature.”
“If you've come to gloat or rub salt in the wound, don't waste your time,” you reply without slowing your pace.
The sharp click of her high heels echoes across the pavement as she falls into step beside you.
“I kept telling him it was only a matter of time before we got caught.” Her voice drips with smug satisfaction. “I mean, he'd been sleeping with me for almost as long as the two of you were dating.”
Your footsteps falter for the briefest moment.
Then you keep walking.
“The only reason he asked you out in the first place was because of your daddy's money.” She lets out a mocking laugh. “But once he realized there wasn't any..." She shrugs dramatically. “He moved on.”
“He just didn't have the heart to dump you.”
You stop so abruptly that Elizabeth nearly walks into you.
You turn to face her.
“Did you really come all the way here just to tell me that?” you ask, your voice flat.
“Oh.” Elizabeth taps a finger against her lips as if she'd only just remembered. “I almost forgot.”
“My mother wants to see you.”
“It seems you've been ignoring all her calls.”
Your brows knit together.
“What could Miranda possibly want with me?”
Elizabeth merely shrugs, inspecting her manicured nails.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Then a smirk spreads across her face.
“I can give you a lift to the company.”
Without waiting for an answer, she spins on her heel and saunters away, her hips swaying exaggeratedly with every step.
Miranda would never summon you over something trivial.
And knowing the kind of woman she was...
Refusing wasn't an option.
…
A few days ago, Miranda had welcomed a most unexpected - yet no less welcome - guest into her office.
“Mr. Valko.” She greeted him with a polished smile as she stepped forward to shake his hand. “It's an honor to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”
She gestured toward one of the armchairs.
Valko sat, though his broad frame was far too large for it to be remotely comfortable. Miranda settled into the chair opposite him, crossing one leg over the other with practiced elegance.
“May I offer you something to drink?”
“That won't be necessary.” His voice was businesslike. “I'd prefer to keep this brief.”
The moment he'd stepped into the office, a sharp scent had assaulted his senses.
Unpleasant.
It lingered so heavily in the air that every instinct urged him to leave as quickly as possible.
“I'll get straight to the point. I understand your company is seeking investment from EonCore Tech,” Valko said.
“I don't know how much you know about this company, Mr. Valko, but we devote our resources to improving the lives of society's less fortunate - the disabled, the unfortunate souls who must rely on others just to get through everyday life.”
Miranda smiled as though expecting praise.
“To continue our research, expand our facilities, and develop new technologies, we require funding.”
She gestured toward the thick proposal folder resting on the coffee table between them.
“I've prepared all the necessary documents.”
“If EonCore Tech is to invest…” Valko said at last, “...I have one condition.”
He raised a single finger.
Miranda smiled confidently.
“I'm sure we can reach an agreement.”
“I intend to marry your daughter.”
Miranda clasped her hands together, delighted.
“How wonderful!” she exclaimed.
“Elizabeth will make an excellent wife.”
Valko frowned.
“Elizabeth?”
A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
“I'm referring to Y/N.”
Miranda's smile vanished instantly.
Her gaze turned considerably colder.
“...Y/N?” she repeated.
“I'm afraid you've been misinformed. She's merely my stepdaughter.”
She gave a dismissive little laugh.
“Mr. Valko, believe me when I say that girl is nothing but a constant disappointment... and, quite frankly, an embarrassment.”
Valko's hands curled into fists.
Oblivious, Miranda continued.
“If you're looking for a wife worthy of your status, Elizabeth would be a far more suitable choice.”
Valko calmly reached for the proposal folder.
He picked it up and rose to his feet.
“My condition is final.”
He held up the file.
“I will marry Y/N before EonCore Tech signs these documents.”
“If that condition isn't met…”
“...there will be no deal.”
…
——————————————————————
“Enter!” Miranda's voice comes, muffled through the thick wooden door.
You push it open and quietly close it behind you.
Miranda glances up from the paperwork spread across her desk, peering at you over the rim of her glasses.
“About time,” she says sharply. “Must I send someone to hunt you down every time I need you?”
“Nice to see you too, Miranda,” you mumble.
She removes her glasses and places them neatly on the desk.
“I'll get straight to the point.” She folds her hands together. “A chairman has finally agreed to invest in the company.”
You blink.
“...Congratulations?”
“What does that have to do with me?”
You had nothing to do with your father's company.
After his death, ownership had passed to Miranda, just as he'd stipulated in his will.
“The chairman has one condition,” Miranda continues.
“And he has made it abundantly clear that he will not negotiate.”
“He wants to marry you.”
You stare at her, convinced you'd misheard.
Judging by the look on Miranda's face...
...you hadn't.
“No.”
The answer leaves your mouth immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
“I refuse to become a pawn in one of your business deals.”
“And why me?”
“If he's a wealthy, successful chairman, surely Elizabeth would be a much more suitable match.”
Miranda's jaw visibly tightens.
“He rejected Elizabeth.”
For the first time since entering the office, you smile.
Elizabeth had spent her entire life believing every man would fall at her feet.
Knowing someone had rejected her...
...was satisfying.
“My answer is still no.”
Miranda lets out a soft laugh.
“How adorable.”
She rises from her chair and slowly walks around the desk until she's standing directly in front of you.
“You seem to think this is a request.”
She leans one hand against the desk.
Her smile is cold.
“You will marry him…”
“...or you can say goodbye to your apartment.”
Your eyes widen.
“You can't do that!”
“My scholarship and my part-time job are barely enough to cover my living expenses. I'm graduating with my bachelor's degree this year.”
Your father had rented an apartment close to campus before your first semester began.
After his death, Miranda had agreed to continue paying for it...
...on the one condition that you stay out of her way.
“What a shame,” she muses.
“It would be unfortunate if the last two years of your education went to waste.”
She already knew she'd won.
Reaching into a drawer, she slid an envelope across the desk.
“Everything has already been arranged.”
You slowly pick it up.
Miranda smiles sweetly.
“Try not to be late for your own wedding.”
——————————————————————
You'd always imagined getting married one day.
At least...
...you'd hoped you would.
Just not at twenty years old.
Not to a man you'd never met.
And certainly not without your father there to walk you down the aisle.
You smooth the front of the off-white dress.
You'd even attempted to style your hair into a bridal updo.
Part of you had hoped you'd wake up before any of this became real.
You didn't.
Step by step, you walk down the aisle toward the man waiting at the front.
Valko.
The only thing you know about him...
...is his name.
The wedding is small.
Held inside the town hall with barely anyone in attendance.
There's the officiant.
Miranda, wearing her usual polished business smile.
Elizabeth, glaring at you with poorly concealed resentment.
An unfamiliar man standing beside Valko, presumably someone close to him.
And Valko himself.
The moment you stop beside him, he turns to look at you.
Then he smiles.
A genuine one.
Overflowing with happiness.
If he were a dog...
...you swear his tail would be wagging.
The officiant begins reading.
You barely hear a word.
Instead, you steal curious glances at the stranger you've agreed to marry.
He's young.
Probably somewhere in his twenties.
Incredibly tall.
Standing beside him, the top of your head barely reaches his chest.
Broad shoulders.
A solid build.
Striking amber eyes unlike any you've ever seen.
Crimson hair with a violet sheen beneath the light, brushed back from his forehead.
“...I do.”
Your voice is scarcely louder than a whisper.
Moments later...
...it's over.
You're married.
——————————————————————
The drive passes in complete silence.
At least on your end.
Valko tries to make conversation, but his words barely register.
You simply stare out the window.
Eventually, the car rolls into the driveway of a mansion.
It reminds you of the house you once called home before your father died.
So, this was your new home.
Valko eagerly offers to show you around.
You barely pay attention.
Finally, he opens a door.
“This will be your bedroom.”
Relief washes over you.
Your own bedroom.
Not a shared one.
Without a word, you step inside.
You slam the door shut in Valko's face.
A second later, you turn the lock.
——————————————————————
Days had passed since the wedding.
And you'd avoided Valko completely.
He could hear you moving around the mansion.
He could smell your scent lingering in the hallways.
Yet you refused to see him let alone speak to him.
So tonight, Valko stands by the front door, arms folded across his chest, his foot tapping impatiently against the marble floor.
He glances down at his watch.
Where are you?
Are you even coming home tonight?
His ears perk up as he hears footsteps crunch across the gravel outside.
A moment later, fingers tap in the security code.
The front door swings open and you step inside, looking exhausted.
The moment you close the door behind you, Valko speaks.
“Where were you? I was worried.”
You nearly jump out of your skin.
“Good grief!” You clutch your chest. “Why are you standing by the front door in the dark like some kind of serial killer?”
“I asked first.”
You sigh.
“I was at work.”
He uncrosses his arms.
“What happened at the company that kept you there this late?”
“...Company?”
You frown.
“I work at the cinema.”
“The cinema?”
His confusion is genuine.
You stare at him.
“For the same reason everyone works.”
“Money.”
Valko reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Speaking of money…”
“…I've been meaning to give you this.”
He holds out a sleek black bank card.
“The account is in your name,” he explains. “You're free to use it whenever you need. If the balance ever gets low, just let me know. I'll transfer more.”
“Are you serious?”
Your voice echoes through the entrance hall.
You throw the card straight at his chest.
It bounces off him before clattering onto the marble floor.
Oh no.
His mate is angry.
At him.
“It's bad enough I was forced into this marriage because of some business deal,L you snap.
“And now you're treating me like I'm some kind of gold digger?”
You shove past him.
Valko hurries after you and steps in front of the staircase, blocking your path.
“I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention.”
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
“…Please.”
His shoulders sag.
“Just... don't shut me out.”
There is something almost puppy-like in the way he looks at you.
“Please... give me a chance.”
“Have dinner with me.”
“We can talk.”
“Get to know each other.”
The desperation in his voice catches you off guard.
Perhaps...
...you’ve been taking your frustration out on the wrong person.
If anyone deserves your resentment...
It is Miranda.
——————————————————————
“Please tell me this isn't the restaurant we're eating at.”
You stare out the window as Valko pulls up to an elegant, high-end restaurant.
In the end...
...you'd agreed to dinner.
“Is something wrong?”
“Places like this have a dress code.”
You glance down at your outfit - a simple oversized sweater, jeans and worn boots.
Valko looks you over before smiling.
“I think you look lovely.”
“Don't blame me when they turn us away at the door.”
You reach for the handle.
“Don't.”
Before you can open the door yourself, Valko is already out of the car.
He hurries around to your side and opens the door for you before offering his hand.
You hesitate before taking it.
His hand is warm.
He helps you out before gently offering you his arm.
Together, you make your way toward the entrance.
To your surprise, the hostess doesn't so much as glance at your outfit.
She greets you and leads the two of you onto an outdoor terrace.
Your table sits beneath strings of fairy lights overlooking the city.
Valko pulls out your chair before sliding it in once you've sat down.
At the very least...
...he's undeniably gentlemanly.
A waiter approaches with two menus.
“What would you like to drink?”
After taking your order, he leaves you to look over the menu.
“...I don't know what half of these dishes even are,” you mutter.
The menu may as well have been written in another language.
Valko chuckles.
“I’ll handle the ordering.”
You lean forward.
“...Everyone's staring at me.”
“I stick out like a sore thumb.”
Valko glances around the terrace.
Then, in a much louder than necessary, he says,
“Excuse me.”
Several nearby guests and servers look over.
“I know my wife is absolutely stunning…”
Your eyes widen.
You hurriedly try to shush him.
“...but could everyone please stop staring at her?”
“You're making her uncomfortable.”
When he finally sits back down, you can't help giggling.
“You're ridiculous.”
Valko's face lights up.
He'd made you laugh.
“I'm glad you agreed to have dinner with me,” he says softly.
“...I'm sorry…For yelling at you yesterday.”
Valko smiles.
“It wasn't all bad.”
“In fact…”
A mischievous glint appears in his amber eyes.
“You being angry with me was strangely attractive.”
He gives you an unapologetic wink.
Before you can respond, the waiter returns carrying several beautifully presented dishes.
As soon as the waiter leaves, Valko speaks again.
“I meant what I said earlier.”
“I'd like to get to know you.”
You look down at your plate.
“I'm not very good at talking about myself.”
You shrug.
“...Why don't you just ask me whatever you want to know?”
“The problem is…”
He smiles sheepishly.
“I want to know everything.”
Seeing your uncertainty, he quickly adds,
“How about you ask me something first.”
“I'm an open book.”
Setting your fork down you meet his eyes.
“Why would someone like you…”
“...handsome…”
“...successful…”
“...wealthy…”
“...choose to marry me?”
A smug grin spreads across his face.
“Soooo…”
“…You think I'm handsome."
“...Of course that's the part you focused on.”
“I would never lie to you.”
The teasing disappears from his expression.
“But the real reason…”
“...is complicated.”
He pauses.
“And…”
“...you're not ready to hear it yet.”
You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
“Let me guess.”
“Your parents left you a trust fund that you can only inherit if you're married by a certain age.”
Valko lets out an amused laugh.
“A classic.”
“But no.”
He shakes his head.
“I promise I'll tell you someday.”
He holds your gaze.
“Until then…”
“...just trust me.”
Strangely...
...you do.
You just aren't sure why.
…
To your surprise, the evening turns out to be far more pleasant than expected. The conversation flows with surprising ease. Valko is cheeky and playful, constantly teasing you, but you find yourself strangely drawn to that side of him.
“I had a really nice time. Thank you,” you say genuinely as he drives.
“In that case, you won’t have any objections to me taking you shopping tomorrow,” Valko says, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I can’t tomorrow. I have work.”
“Not anymore.”
“I don’t remember my shift being cancelled.”
“It wasn’t. I resigned on your behalf.”
You stare at him.
“You did what?”
Before you can properly react, Valko quickly continues.
“Before you get angry, I’m not trying to control you. You’re free to work if that’s what you want.” He glances at you. “But I refuse to sit back and watch my wife spend her days scrubbing toilets and cleaning up popcorn spills when she’s capable of so much more.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he continues.
“You’re studying business. Come work at EonCore Tech if you’re interested.”
You want to be angry at him. You probably should be.
Yet, deep down, you know his intentions aren’t cruel.
“I’ll think about it,” you finally say.
——————————————————————
“Welcome. How may I assist you today?” a saleswoman greets cheerfully the moment you enter the department store.
“My wife needs a new wardrobe,” Valko says confidently. “I’ll leave her in your hands.”
She leads you towards a fitting room that is practically the size of your old apartment.
Valko takes a seat on the couch outside.
You quickly lose count of how many outfits you try on.
And every single time, Valko insists on seeing them.
Every single time, he compliments you.
It becomes less like shopping and more like a personal fashion show where Valko is your most enthusiastic audience member.
“I’ll take everything my wife has tried on,” Valko says, handing his card to the saleswoman.
“Valko, please don’t. What am I supposed to do with this many clothes?”
“Wear them?”
You give him a look.
“Then again...” His lips curl into a mischievous smile. “They might look even better on my bedroom floor.”
Before you can respond, the saleswoman speaks.
“Would you like to see our lingerie collection as well?”
“Please,” Valko agrees before you can even open your mouth.
You stare at him.
“If you think I’m putting on a show in lingerie, you are very much mistaken,” you say deadpan.
“But I’m your husband,” he says, giving you an exaggeratedly innocent look.
“You haven’t earned that privilege.”
Not yet.
But he will. One day, he will.
…
“What a lovely couple. Welcome.”
The jeweler greets you both as you enter.
“What brings you here today? A hunt for wedding rings perhaps?”
“Already taken care of.”
Valko proudly holds up his hand, showing his ring.
“Speaking of wedding rings...” Valko glances at your hand. “Why do I notice you rarely wear yours?”
“I don’t wear it at school or work,” you explain. “I can’t risk people noticing and asking questions.”
“Are you ashamed of me?”
“No.”
You sigh.
“If people notice, they’ll ask questions. What am I supposed to say? That my evil stepmother financially blackmailed me into marrying a chairman who insisted on marrying me as part of a business deal for reasons he refuses to explain?”
Silence.
The jeweler awkwardly clears his throat.
“Perhaps I could show you some of our newest arrivals.”
You both follow him towards the display cases.
“Does anything catch your eye?” Valko asks.
You hum thoughtfully.
You’ve never really been someone who wears jewelry.
Then suddenly, a thought comes to mind.
You take out your phone and scroll through your gallery until you find the picture you’re looking for.
“Is there any chance of getting these earrings? The exact ones?”
The jeweler takes your phone carefully.
He puts on his glasses and studies the image.
“Give me a moment, please.”
He disappears into the back.
“What’s so special about those earrings?” Valko asks.
“My father gave them to me for my sixteenth birthday.”
“I don’t have them anymore.”
“Did you lose them?”
“If only.”
Your voice lowers.
“I was in a difficult situation and had to sell them. Along with a lot of other things that had value.”
Valko’s hands tighten into fists.
Something about this doesn’t sit right with him.
The financial situation.
The small apartment.
The job at the cinema despite your father’s company.
And now this.
None of it makes sense.
“I need to make a call,” he says, stepping outside.
The moment he is out of earshot, he pulls out his phone.
“I need you to investigate my wife’s finances. Her father’s death. The company. Her stepfamily.”
“Everything.”
…
When Valko returns, the jeweler comes back from the room behind the counter.
“I’ve identified the earrings, Madam. Unfortunately, we no longer carry them. They were part of an older collection.”
Your expression falls.
“But don’t lose hope. I’ll make some calls. There may still be a chance of finding another pair. If you leave your contact information, I’ll notify you immediately.”
“Thank you.”
You write down your number.
“For now, I’ll take these.”
You point towards another pair.
“Excellent choice.”
As the jeweler prepares them, you stare at Valko.
He notices.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“The reason I chose these earrings is because they reminded me of your eyes.”
If he wasn’t standing in the middle of a store, he was fairly certain he would howl with happiness.
——————————————————————
“Valko?”
You rise from your seat at the kitchen table, surprised to see him home so early.
His eyes move from you to the unfamiliar woman sitting across from you.
About an hour ago, you invited your best friend Tara over to finally explain everything that had happened.
Up until now, you had been avoiding her.
Tara had gone through every possible emotion upon hearing your story.
“This is my best friend, Tara,” you introduce. “Tara, this is Valko. My husband...the one I told you about.”
You glance at him hesitantly.,
“I hope you don’t mind that I invited her over.”
Tara suddenly stands.
“You mean to tell me this is your husband?”
You barely have time to react before she smacks the back of your head.
“Ow!”
“When you told me you were forced into a marriage of convenience, I pictured some old, frail, ninety-year-old man who was halfway into the grave.”
Her eyes travel over Valko.
“Not a literal godlike hunk.”
She turns back to you, looking genuinely offended.
“You have absolutely no right to complain about being married to this.”
She gestures dramatically towards Valko.
“If you don’t want him, I’ll happily take him off your hands.”
Valko lets out a deep laugh.
“Tara, was it?”
“I like you already.”
Then he looks at you, his expression softening.
“But I’m afraid my flower here is the only one for me.”
——————————————————————
“What do you think?”
Valko had asked you to join him in his home office, presenting you with a page showing a luxury wellness retreat.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
“Let me guess. Since I refused to put on lingerie, you’re trying a different approach?”
“Are you trying for what? A bikini? A towel?”
“As much as I would enjoy seeing either of those things...”
He pauses.
“I wouldn't be going with you.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“I thought you and Tara could go together.”
Your suspicion grows.
“Why all of a sudden?”
He leans back.
“I just thought you might enjoy having a girls’ weekend. Or whatever it is you call them.”
Something about this feels suspicious.
Valko is hiding something.
But instead of pushing, you accept the offer.
Besides...
Tara would probably kill you if you turned down a free luxury wellness retreat.
——————————————————————
The weekend wellness retreat with Tara is relaxing and fun.
Yet, despite having a wonderful time, your thoughts keep drifting back to Valko.
The day you left, he had seemed... different.
Almost as if he was forcing himself to keep his distance.
Throughout the entire weekend, he never called. His replies to your messages were brief.
…
“Valko?”
Your voice echoes through the manor as you close the front door behind you.
“I’m home.”
Since he knew what time you were returning, you expected him to be here.
Actually, you expected him to pick you up from the hotel himself.
Instead, his secretary had been waiting.
When you asked about Valko, all you received was a vague response.
“Valko?”
You call again, stepping further inside.
The next thing you know, the world flips.
At impossible speed, you’re lifted off the ground.
A startled yelp escapes you as you’re carried across the room and dropped onto the mattress.
A large figure looms above you.
Amber eyes glow in the dim light.
And on top of his head...
Are those wolf ears?
“You scared me,” you huff.
“Also... what’s with the cosplay?”
You reach up, fingers moving towards one of his ears.
Valko's expression shifts from surprise to pure panic.
“Flower?”
He moves away, retreating to the edge of the bed as if he’s afraid of himself.
You sit up, concern replacing your amusement.
“Are you alright?”
“Why... why are you here?”
His voice is deeper than usual.
“What day is it?”
You frown.
“Monday. The weekend is over.”
Valko covers his face with both hands.
That’s when you notice the sharp claws extending from his fingertips.
The room is nearly dark, the curtains drawn shut, so you reach over and turn on the bedside lamp.
And finally, you see him properly.
The wolf ears.
The claws.
The sharper teeth.
The large, fluffy tail behind him.
“You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”
He slowly lowers his hands.
“I guess... it’s time I tell you the truth.”
…
“So let me get this straight.”
You stare at him.
“You’re telling me you’re a werewolf.”
“And I’m your mate, which basically means I’m your "destined partner".”
“And the reason you look like this is because I triggered your... heat.”
“Which, if I understand correctly, is basically your version of being extremely horny?”
Your eyes briefly flick down before quickly returning to his face.
Valko clears his throat.
“...Pretty much.”
You stare at him.
“I sensed something was wrong with you, but I have to admit... this was not what I expected.”
Your brow furrows.
“You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”
“It’s not exactly pleasant.”
“But how can you tell?”
“I don’t know.”
“For the past few days I’ve been feeling things. Emotions that don’t feel like mine.”
Valko’s expression softens.
“That’s the mating bond.”
“The bond lets mates sense each other’s emotions.”
You tilt your head.
“How does that work exactly?”
You pat the top of your head jokingly, as if checking whether a pair of ears have somehow appeared without your knowledge.
Because last time I checked, I wasn’t growing fur.”
“The stronger the connection between mates, the stronger the bond becomes.”
“I think, in your own way, you accepted me before you even knew the truth.”
You’re quiet for a moment.
“What can I do to help?”
“Let me hold you.”
The request is almost vulnerable.
You open your arms.
That’s all the permission he needs.
Valko buries his face against your shoulder and takes a deep breath.
“You smell like orchids.”
“So thattt’s why you call me flower.”
“I’m late to ask this, but... can I mark you?”
“Please tell me that doesn’t mean you want to pee on me.”
“That’s a weird kink.”
“I don’t have any kinks.”
You scratch behind one of his ears.
His tail immediately starts wagging.
You grin.
“Although... I may be developing a thing for werewolves.”
A low growl rumbles from his chest.
“Please don’t tease me.”
“It is taking all my willpower not to jump you right now.”
Most people would probably be terrified in this situation.
Panic
Run.
You’re confused, yes.
You have a thousand questions.
But those can wait.
…
Valko wakes to sunlight slipping through a gap in the curtains.
His wolf-like features are gone.
He feels like himself again.
Slowly, he looks down.
You’re still there.
Sleeping peacefully beside him.
You didn’t run.
You stayed.
He gently pulls you closer, careful not to wake you.
His beautiful mate.
He silently vows that he will spend every day making sure you never regret choosing him.
Request are OPEN! Is you are interested in submitting a request, please check ou how to do so here
If you enjoyed this fanfic story, feel free to check out my other work here -> masterlist
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
SUMMARY | When a weekend cabin trip traps you and Myungsoo in the same bedroom, ten years of forced normalcy and agonizing avoidance completely unravel.
PAIRINGS | Myungsoo (L) x Fem!Reader
RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked
GENRE | smut, angst drama, yearning
CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idols au, profanity, a lot of angst with happy ending, exes to lovers au, old flames, forced proximity, miscommunication, yearning, meddling friends, alcohol, storm, power outage, kissing, caressing, unprotective sex (wrap it up folks), lovemaking more than fucking, praising, creampie, teasing
AUTHOR’S NOTE | Hi folks! It's been a damn long time since I wrote for my loves Infinite. I haven't wrote for them since my AFF days and that was years ago. I had so much fun writing this! Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-reading this fic and I'm glad you loved it 💚 And for other writers looking to write for groups that aren't common on the blr, write that fic! I'm for sure going to start writing for the older groups because us old folks still exist haha. Hope you all love and enjoy it. And if you haven't, check out Infinite and/or check out Myungsoo's dramas (what a hearthrob that man is).
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Friends are Infinite (Group Chat)
Gyupa - "Weekend cabin trip!"
Kim Myungsoo looks at the text that Sunggyu sends in the friend group chat with a frown. Of course. Another chance for Sunggyu to make his single friends his targets. To be honest, he wouldn't mind it if was just the guys and their partners. But when he sees your name on the list, he slams the laptop shut, leaning back in his chair, suddenly wishing that he didn't have this Friday off and had made some excuse.
Myungsoo's spent the last several years purposely not thinking about you. He couldn't help it anyway. He knew as soon as he dropped you off for that overseas flight and got in his car to drive home, there was no coming back from it. After what happened that day, all that crying, fighting, the messy breakup, his mind couldn't handle any more memories. It would only make things worse.
So that’s what the last decade has been, pretending as if everything is okay. It’s even worse now. One of his best friends got married to your younger sister a couple of years back and it was even more impossible to ignore your name. He sees you often, sometimes with a boyfriend who never lasts very long.
"It's been like what, ten years, and you still can't get over her?" Dongwoo says, taking a gulp of beer.
"Shut up, will you?" Myungsoo groans.
"If you had stopped her from going on that plane, you'd already be married and have mini-Myungsoos and Y/Ns running around," Sungyeol smirks. Myungsoo could punch him right now.
"And how is things with your current girlfriend? The model, right? How's that going?" Myungsoo questions, in a childish voice.
"Jinkyung loves me, thank you very much." Sungyeol retorts.
"Okay guys, please, let's not argue," Dongwoo interferes, his voice pleading. "Y/N will be there no matter what. Eunha insisted that her sister be there."
Myungsoo still can't believe that Dongwoo got with Y/N's younger sister. They had never even interacted that much, not even at any parties or friendly gatherings. However, Dongwoo has always been a charismatic kind of guy. Everyone liked him, and when Eunha came into the picture, it was almost impossible to avoid it. You and Myungsoo couldn't avoid each other, no matter how hard you tried . You both just mastered the art of being "normal" in one another's presence.
He knew you were seeing other people, sometimes for just a few months, other times it seemed longer. He tried too, but no matter how many dates he went on or how much time he invested, he couldn't truly commit, They just weren't you.
"I'm heading out," Dongwoo waves, shouting to the male occupants in Myungsoo's apartment. "Eunha wants me home so that we can get packing."
"Yeah, yeah," Myungsoo waves, noticing that Sungyeol is grabbing his jacket and keys to leave as well. "See you guys in the morning."
Dongwoo leaves first, followed shortly after by Sungyeol who shouts that he'll call Jinkyung and convince her to come along. Sighing, Myungsoo lies across the couch, arms under his head, eyes glued to the ceiling.
Another get together with the guys and their girlfriends. Okay, he could handle it. He did it plenty of times over the years and survived. It sucks when he's the only single person, well apart from you, but hey, at least you're someone he can comfortable be around. Just a trip with friends, he could do this.
Right?
You drop your weekend bag when Sunggyu tells you that you'll be riding with Myungsoo since everyone else's cars are packed to the brim.
"Seriously, I can ride with Dongwoo and Eunha," you mumble as you hand your bags to Myungsoo, who wordlessly packs it along with his own things in his car.
Your sister elbows you softly before leaning in to whisper, "Stop that and act normal. You've been friends for all this time and now all of a sudden you don't want to be alone with him?"
Eunha knows how you feel towards your college flame. She was the only one you could turn to when things ended abruptly and without closure. It hurt, not knowing if the love you had shared was really real, or just a fleeting thing between two college students. You had both wanted different things and in the end it ended badly, not that you were expecting anything different. In those kind of relationships, that's what it was bound to be.
When you came back home from your overseas trip, she could see that something had changed, you were different, somehow, even if you were only gone for a a few years. It took weeks and lot of alcohol to confess about what happened with you and Myungsoo, how you both got into an argument on the drive to the airport, how you yelled at him that he wasn't supportive of your dream to study overseas and to travel, how he was holding you back and you were suffocating from being around him. Then, it just snowballed downwards from there and things that shouldn't have been said were thrown back and forth, and the next thing you knew, you were staring at your reflection in the plane window, trying not to breakdown while the plane taxied onto the runway.
You knew it was your fault. You should have never yelled at him in the first place, or accused him of not wanting the best for you. He loved you, after all, why would he try to stop you from doing what you had always dreamed of? Myungsoo had dreams too, and sometimes you felt selfish wanting him to choose you over it, but it still didn't change the fact that it was your dream.
When you asked him if he was going to choose you and come with you, you didn't expect the answer you heard. He didn't think about choosing, he couldn't put himself and his dreams before his family's, that's what it seemed like at least. They needed him back home, in that small town where they couldn't afford to have one less set of working hands, and it hurt so badly when he had told you. It wasn't that he wasn't supportive, it was more that he felt responsible for his family and their financial well-being. You were so wrapped up in yourself that it seemed like your own world.
Did you hate Myungsoo, after that happened? Maybe a little bit, at the beginning, but eventually, after time had past, you missed him and wished that things had been different.
You learned over time that life moved on and things happened for a reason, or for the worst. What happened with him made you stronger, or so you liked to tell yourself. You graduated school and went traveling as planned. You came back to Korea a few years later, landing a decent job at an upscale marketing firm where you stayed to this day. You learned that Myungsoo was working at a design firm in a separate part of the city, and you were happy that he was able to achieve something he loved. From what your younger sister had shared with you, he was doing well for himself and had finally bought a nice apartment. You both learned to co-exist around the others, remaining cordial and friendly, no signs of anger or tension around you or him.
Well, you aren’t cordial at this exact moment as your fingers grip the bag resting on your lap. Myungsoo stays relatively quiet throughout the first hour or so, save the few grunts and slight teasing comments. You sigh heavily, crossing your legs and arms.
"Seriously Myungsoo, can't we listen to the radio for something? This silence is kind of deafening," you whine. "Also, not sure if you remembered or not, but I'm a little prone to carsickness, so I need to stay entertained."
The raven-haired male side glances towards you before fixing his vision on the empty road in front of him. It would be another three hours until you got to the cabin and there was hardly any traffic, perfect weather to head there early. "Fine," he agrees quietly, switching the radio on. You sit for a little while, occasionally humming along with whatever song that played.
"Are you even into any idol groups nowadays or even into this sort of music?"
He lets out an exasperated laugh. "Excuse you, I keep myself updated. Actually, a friend of mine sings."
"Wow, never thought you to be the type," you mutter, stifling a laugh.
"Ha ha, so funny."
You feel anxious sitting together in the same vehicle with the person you had been avoiding for nearly a decade now. Not much has changed really, he still had those model like features, but they had matured into something sharper. The once lithe, slim frame had filled out quite a bit.
"What?" his voice fills the silence.
"Huh?"
"You were staring," Myungsoo glances sideways, giving you an awkward look, wondering why you were staring at him for so long.
"I wasn't!" You say, brushing the accusation off quickly, looking out the passenger side window. You can tell he doesn't believe you, but there’s no further comment. You hum along with the tune playing on the radio to help distract from the strange atmosphere surrounding the two of you, wishing you were already at the cabin with everyone else instead of trapped alone with Myungsoo in this car.
"Why are you nervous?" He asks, and the question comes out quiet, a little hesitant. His voice is softer than it has been the whole car trip. You swallow, turning to face the view out the windshield. It’s suddenly become difficult to put together a simple sentence.
"Me... nervous?" You swallow again, trying to get rid of the lump that had formed in your throat. "You seem a bit nervous though?"
Myungsoo does indeed seem a little fidgety, and it does seem a bit strange. "Am I?"
"Yes, you are," you nod your head. "Unless my intuition has finally lost it's touch and is just sending me false signals..."
"It's not false," Myungsoo agrees with a light laugh, as if trying to get rid of the extra tension between you. "Let's say it's real. Why would I be nervous?"
"I have no idea, but since when did Kim Myungsoo show his emotions like this? He used to keep everything bottled inside."
"You seem to know me rather well then."
"Was that a challenge?" You shoot him a challenging look.
"I know you rather well too." He flashes you a smirk. It's such an expression, one that is usually saved to throw a girl, or anyone really, off. And it works rather well.
"Okay, that is actually pretty true," you admit, trying to stay in control of your body. Control? You wanted to snort, there is no way for that when you had your first crush, on someone like Kim Myungsoo. It didn't help at all to add the fact that the man was hot, way too handsome for his own good. Even more so than his college self. "Anyways... how's life been, I know from Eunha it's been quite eventful." You struggle to think of something, anything to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Same-old, work has been good. Well... everything has been good." A small smile dances on his lips. "How about you?"
"It's been great. Work is good," you smile, placing your right leg on top of the left, playing with a loose thread on your jacket.
"Still... single?" The word rolls off his tongue easily as he watches your body language change a little, but it’s almost unnoticeable.
"Unfortunately," you laugh, hiding the growing pit in your stomach. "You? Seeing anyone? Last I heard, you and Haesol were on and off for quite awhile." You honestly tried to stay away from that part of news regarding him, but some things couldn't be avoided, especially when friends who shared similar mutuals knew of this information and wanted to gossip about their close friends with each other.
Myungsoo looks uneasy, probably because he doesn't enjoy the topic of past flings, but it was going to pop up sooner or later, why delay it any further? "I wouldn't call it 'seeing someone'..." he mumbles quietly, glancing from the road and back towards the empty road.
"So, fuck buddy? One-night stand? Whatever floats your boat," you answer back casually, shrugging. The reaction you were expecting was him gasping, spluttering, or choking on the air as the words flowed out, however, it was not the response. Instead, you watch his gaze return onto you, and a smirk decorates his otherwise expressionless face, eyes twinkling with mischievousness.
"Jealous?"
"Hell no."
You both stare, for who knows how long, until finally, Myungsoo clears his throat and faces the open road ahead. You wished you could say you were a hundred percent lying about the whole ordeal, but damn it, he caught onto the tinge of jealousy laced in that quick reply. "Haesol and I weren't really that compatible." he continues, ignoring the small jibe. "So we split up. It was no big deal."
You nod silently, relieved that the current conversation was shifting to a safer direction. For the remainder of the drive, there’s nothing but small-talk and a few random things said. Finally, Myungsoo turns onto a gravel and dirt road that leads towards the cabin. From the back, you could see a handful of vehicles parked, and a few figures gathered by the large deck outside.
"Here we go," he comments, coming to a stop, placing the car in park.
"Good luck," you reach over to pat him on the shoulder, "You're gonna need it when the girls roast you for being single."
He laughs, unlocking his door. "You're single too. Remember?"
"Fuck," you whisper, scrunching your face into an exaggerated grimace. He lets out a chuckle, hopping out of his car, going to retrieve both his and your bags. You give a weak smile, throwing a quick wave at the approaching couples that made it in first.
Sungyeol waves first, followed quickly after with the rest, then immediately stops and scrunches his face.
"What? No hug?" Sungyeol makes an exaggerated show of making himself bigger, spreading his arms out wide.
"Nope. Not doing this. No," you smile, shoving him aside, "you can hug Myungsoo."
"Is my love not enough for you anymore!?" Sungyeol fakes being offended, putting on a fake hurt expression.
Jinkyung, his girlfriend, scoffs. "Go hug that weirdo." She smacks him across the chest, shaking her head.
"That weirdo?" Myungsoo interrupts from behind, arching a brow. "Gee, thanks, love you too."
"Did anyone pack a can opener by any chance? Dongwoo and I wanted to cook something to pass the time," Eunha hollers from inside the cabin, followed by the sounds of rummaging through the kitchen cupboards.
Sunggyu and his wife, Jinhee, tell everyone to just relax and take it easy, no plans. The married couple had made it a yearly tradition have a cabin getaway with friends and they thought it would be the perfect time, seeing that both Woohyun and Sungyeol, being part owners of a restaurant chain, were in need of a little vacation.
"I packed one!" Hyoae, Sungjong's girlfriend, pipes up excitedly, putting her hand up like a student in elementary, searching her bag quickly. She produces a can opener and presents it to her boyfriend with the widest smile, grinning with pride.
"There! We should be able to manage," Sungjong returns Hyoae's smile, patting her on the head before handing it over to Dongwoo.
"Did we pack enough food?" Woohyun pipes up, noticing the duffel bag he was carrying is heavier than it was before. "Honey, what did you pack in here?" he looks at Jooyeon, his fiance.
"I kinda got carried away," she confesses, putting her face down, slightly embarrassed. Woohyun doesn't mind at all though, laughing at his over-enthusiastic partner, finding it rather cute actually.
You stand next to Myungsoo, the both of you looking at the lovesick couples before you, almost grossed out by how cute they could be. "Gross."
"Room assignments!" Sunggyu calls out, and you look at him like he's crazy. “Rooms will pair off as follows—”
Woohyun cocks an eyebrow. “We’re literally already paired off.”
Sunggyu glares at him. “LET ME HAVE THIS.” He clears his throat dramatically. “Woohyun and Jooyeon. Dongwoo and Eunha. Sungjong and Hyoae. Sungyeol and Jinkyung. And finally—”
"Myungsoo and Y/N!" Jinhee finishes for him, waving her hand around casually, as if she was mentioning the weather outside or something of no importance. Sunggyu pouts at his wife and she rolls her eyes. "Honey, you were taking forever."
You practically gape, giving both your heads of friends a surprised look, "Wait... what?! Seriously? You want us to sleep... in the same room as each other?!"
"I thought the cabin had 7 rooms?" Myungsoo tilts his head at Jinhee, brows crinkling together as if he was thinking about something.
Sunggyu quickly chimes in, "Oh right! About that, me and the missus stored furniture and junk in one of the rooms when we were renovating the cabin, we just haven't found the time to get the old things out so that's why there's no extra room this time.."
"This sucks..." Myungsoo voices your thoughts perfectly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'll just sleep in the living room then."
"Don't be an idiot," you smack his shoulder, giving him a deadpan look. "You'll freeze and probably catch a cold."
"But if I sleep with you..." he mumbles under his breath, more for him than anyone else, eyes diverting.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing."
You don't believe it for a minute but just let him be, pushing the matter aside.
"So now that's settled, let's just chill for a while," Sunggyu declares. The sun is still out, so a few people volunteer to make lunch. In the end, it’s Dongwoo, Eunha, Sungjong and Hyoae who make lunch with Hyoae also baking the cake for dessert.
"I brought a whole stash of board games, so pick whatever you want, and we'll set it all up later," Woohyun tosses the plastic bag of games to Sungyeol who digs around through the bag. "Did anyone bring extra alcohol? Truth or Drink would be a good game too."
Everyone gives a thumbs up, assuring they do indeed have their own stash, and with that, Woohyun clasps his hands together, nodding and deciding to lounge in the living room and catch up with everyone.
You find yourself zoning out during most conversations. You would have participated a lot more than usual had the idea of sharing a bed with a certain Kim Myungsoo not flashed through your mind constantly. Everyone knows that you and he had a past relationship, but honestly, it’s better to be stuck with him than someone you barely even know.
But your heart still feels weird, and you definitely can't concentrate fully. Maybe you should try and put distance between you and him? But that’s pointless. It’s just a harmless trip, friends going up for a short time away from civilization. So far, everyone seems normal, including Myungsoo, who’s engaging in an argument over something stupid. Yeah, just keep it together and it'll turn out okay. You mentally make up your mind and keep up a determined stare.
You’ll stick close to the girls for most of the trip and distance yourself from Myungsoo a little. You’ll remain friends, and there’s nothing else beyond that. You think that, but not even an hour later, you’re staring at Myungsoo's half-naked body while he frolicks with the guys in the creek behind the cabin.
"You're staring," Eunha's soft voice enters your ears.
"Huh?" You snap out of your haze, tearing your eyes from the raven-haired man, turning towards your younger sister. "No I wasn't."
"Girl," Jinkyung rolls her eyes, "even a blind person can tell you're still interested in him."
"I'm not interested!" You snap, before you catch your mistake and cover your mouth with one hand.
"Uh-huh," Jooyeon coos, rubbing her palm over yours, "If you're not gonna stare, I will."
"I'm telling Woohyun on you!" You retort.
She laughs, putting her free hands up. "Okay, okay!" she laughs, knowing you don't mean a word of the threat. "But there's nothing wrong with looking. I'm sure he worked hard for that bod being in the marines and whatnot during his enlistment service."
You find yourself stealing another glance towards where Myungsoo is. They are splashing water and pushing at each other, like a bunch of teenagers rather than grown adult men. But you find Myungsoo immediately, moving and pulling himself back up on the rocks, eyes immediately fixing on his abs. He was always muscular back in the day, but damn, Myungsoo is sporting a nice body that puts his younger self's to shame, especially with the light sheen of water droplets decorating his smooth skin.
"They look good, don't they? All wet and strong," Hyoae smiles, adding fuel to the fire, making a point of waving her finger over the six wet males. You watch as Hyoae wiggles a finger at Sungjong and laughs lightly. "My Jongie," she coos, beckoning him, and she runs straight into his arms as Sungjong holds his out and embraces his lover tightly in his wet body. You sigh to yourself, wishing you were the lucky one.
"You've been sighing a lot today. If we could translate those sighs..." Jinkyung puts a finger to her temple, "I would say something like... I really want a boyfriend, and for that boyfriend to be my hot, wet, naked crush out there, holding my body close. Oh the things I would do-"
You slap a hand to Jinkyung's mouth and narrow your eyes dangerously. "If you so much as speak another word, I will smack you."
"Oops..." Jinkyung places her hands up, but then grins wickedly. "But really though. What was Myungsoo like? Like in... bed and stuff, did he give-"
"No!" You slap a hand to your own mouth as the other girls dissolve into laughter.
"Tell me you at least got laid good when you two dated," Jinhee retorts.
"I am not going to talk about my sex life with you all," you groan and rub your face.
The ladies laugh in chorus, enjoying each other's company, unaware that the six soaked men have already exited the waters and are standing only a few feet away.
The others approach first, in various states of being dried off and Sunggyu waves, gaining the girls' attention. He wraps Jinhee in his arms, smacking a kiss on her cheek. "Oh! Ohohoho, here comes the wet, naked and hot, as promised."
"Gross," you feign a look of disgust, looking away only to catch Myungsoo standing directly in front of you, his six pack abs glistening with beads of water. You bite your lower lips, feeling your face heat up for staring way too long. "I'm going in," you quickly utter and rush inside the cabin before he can say a word.
The cabin door slams behind you, the sound echoing louder than it should. Your pulse is still racing from the sight of him — water‑slick skin, the curve of his waist, the way he looked at you like he knew. You lean against the counter, trying to breathe.
You hear the front door open behind you — heavy footsteps, the soft thud of someone drying their hair with a towel. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. His presence hits you like heat.
“Myungsoo, don’t,” you mutter, staring straight ahead.
The footsteps slow, stop behind you. The sound of him breathing is so, so quiet. He's so quiet.
Suddenly, you turn, and you're shocked to see him within reaching distance. If either of you take one step closer, the tips of your toes will touch, your chest will graze his. You lift your gaze up, catching his dark eyes with your own. The silence stretches out before either of you can dare to speak.
"Why not?" His tone is smooth and low. The air feels charged, and you inhale deeply, licking your suddenly dry lips. It feels wrong, seeing him so exposed, almost vulnerable. He continues his torture. "What's holding you back?"
It seems wrong, talking to him so seriously while his skin is mostly bare for your viewing pleasure. He shouldn't have those muscles, not the firmness around his middle, not the ridges that disappear under his pants. And those thick arms, the shoulders that look like they could hold up the entire universe, hold it all together, shouldn't be so... kissable.
Your throat goes dry, your cheeks burn, and all you can imagine doing is pressing your palms up the sides of his stomach, kissing him like he wants. You don't even hear the thunder roaring or feel the cabin trembling because everything seems so small and insignificant now.
"Go put on a damn shirt," you snap, shoving past him to walk briskly to the bedrooms.
"Were you staring?" He calls, laughter dancing through his question.
"That was not staring!"
He laughs again and you slam the bedroom door. The last thing you hear from him is: "Cute."
"Power’s out!" Sunggyu calls from somewhere in the cabin. There is a loud crash, a sudden wave of curses, and the sound of someone hitting the wall hard, followed by the cry of pain. It's pitch black and hard to move around. "There's some flashlights and candles in one of the closets. Myungsoo, Y/N, mind looking?"
"Sure," Myungsoo replies.
There is the shuffling of clothes, followed by footsteps. Suddenly, a cold hand wraps around your wrist, "I got you."
"How'd you know it was me?" You let him lead you forward, surprised by how quickly he can find his way around in the dark.
He shrugs, opening one of the closets before you and rummages through a box of items before producing a package of flashlights. "I could tell it was you."
"Yeah?" you ask.
"Maybe," he answers, flicking on the flashlight. It glows a dim light, before dimming just as suddenly. He frowns, checking the flashlight once again. "Dang. We need the good batteries."
Somehow, the door to the closet is shut, and suddenly his arms are caged on either side of you. The dim, flickering beam of the dying flashlight does nothing to illuminate the closet; it only casts long, sharp shadows across the planes of Myungsoo’s face. The space is suffocatingly small, smelling of old cedar, rain-dampened wood, and the intoxicating, clean scent of his skin.
"The batteries," Myungsoo murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark. "They're... up there."
He shifts, his broad chest brushing flush against yours as he reaches upward. You gasp softly at the friction, your back pressing hard against the shelves behind you. The movement brings him entirely into your space. Because of the cramped quarters, he can't just reach up; he has to lean his weight fully into you to stabilize himself.
"Myungsoo," you breathe, your hands automatically coming up to find purchase. Your palms land flat against his bare, warm chest. The contact is electric. You can feel the rapid, heavy thudding of his heart beneath his ribs, mirroring your own wild pulse.
"Hold still," he whispers. His voice is strained now, the playful confidence from the kitchen entirely gone, replaced by a thick, heavy gravity.
He stretches higher, his abdomen flexing hard against your stomach. Every muscle in his torso is defined, moving against you with agonizing slowness as his fingers sweep blindly across the dusty top shelf. Your breath hitches. To keep from stumbling backward into the shelving, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans at his waist, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer.
Myungsoo lets out a low, ragged exhale at your touch. He freezes, his arm still raised, his fingers just brushing the edge of a plastic battery pack. He doesn't grab them. Instead, his focus shifts entirely to you.
The silence between you is deafening, filled only by the sound of your synchronized, shallow breathing. In the shadows, his dark eyes lock onto yours, burning with a decade's worth of unsaid words, regrets, and starved affection.
Slowly, deliberately, his free hand comes down from the wall, his knuckles lightly grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. The touch is feather-light, a agonizingly slow caress that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. His thumb finds your jawline, tilting your face up just a fraction. He leans in closer, his lips hovering mere inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.
It takes you a moment to realize he had already reached up and plucked down the batteries needed, the very ones you came here in search for.
"You're shaking," he whispers, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on your cheekbone.
"It's cold," you lie, your voice barely audible and your hands tightening their grip on his waist. You shouldn't want this. You should push him away. But the sheer heat radiating from him is the only thing keeping you grounded in the dark.
"Liar," he murmurs softly.
He leans just a hair closer, his chest crushing softly against yours, his hips pinning you gently against the shelf. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you think he’s finally going to bridge the gap and kiss you—to obliterate the ten years of agonizing normalcy you both forced yourselves to endure. Your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting in silent invitation.
The plastic package on the top shelf crinkles loudly as his fingers finally hook around it.
With a sharp, sudden intake of air, Myungsoo pulls his hand back from your face, gripping the heavy pack of D-batteries. He doesn't step back immediately—he can't, and perhaps, he doesn't want to. His forehead rests against yours for one prolonged, agonizing heartbeat, his body still draped over yours, heavy and warm.
"Got 'em," he says, his voice rough and laced with a thick undercurrent of tension.
Before you can process the sudden loss of his touch, he shifts his weight, blindly reaching behind him to twist the closet doorknob. The door swings open, flooding the tight space with the cool air of the hallway and the faint, distant chatter of your friends.
Myungsoo steps out into the hallway first, the flashlight clicking completely dead in his hand, leaving him a dark silhouette. He clears his throat, calling out to the living room, "We found the batteries, Sunggyu!" He tosses two flashlights to Sunggyu and Jinhee who are still digging around through other cupboards in search of the spare flashlights.
"It is raining like hell out," Woohyun laughs, "Probably got struck with lightning. It would explain the power out."
"Fuck, it's so damn dark," Eunha announces, leaning against Dongwoo, squinting her eyes.
Dongwoo kisses Eunha's cheek and glances around the room, "I guess playing truth or dare or strip poker is out. The rest of the night will just be sitting in the dark."
Sungyeol holds a finger up, "Or, we can play 'Never Have I Ever'! We have plenty of alcohol and enough flashlights and candles going on, so why not?" He suggests, gathering the attention of everyone. "You can opt out any time or not join if it's making you uncomfortable."
"Works for me," Eunha replies.
"Me too," Dongwoo nods.
The whole room buzzes with murmurs of agreeing to the game. With everyone gathered around the living room, an array of bottles is set at the center, the circle of people forms as some opt for seats and the rest sit on the carpet floor. It wasn't anything new, and seeing how the game will proceed, most don't object when a bottle is grabbed and tossed in the center.
The usual beginning statements of rules are presented, and it isn't long after that the game starts up.
"Hmm..." Sungyeol squints his eyes, looking thoughtful. "Okay. Never have I ever gotten arrested for underage drinking!"
Everyone turned their heads towards Jinkyung who groans and grabs the nearest drink. Everyone bursts out into a series of 'ooh's and she tosses a pillow at Sungyeol, complaining the whole time.
A couple rounds pass with the questions not getting any deeper or provocative, which leads Sungyeol to getting frustrated with his questions getting called out. So then, the fun part starts up.
"Come on, these questions are so soft! Nothing naughty going on here," Sungyeol pouts his lips. He calls out with a devious glint in his eyes, "Never have I ever..." He takes a moment to think, finally his lips twitching into a smug smirk as he spoke, "been in a messy breakup!"
He totally directed that one straight towards you and Myungsoo and everyone was curious, watching the two of you grab the nearest cups and take a drink of alcohol.
"We don't talk about it!" both of you spit out.
Sunggyu claps his hands. “Okay, next—”
But Sungyeol cuts him off. “No, no, no. We’re not skipping past that. That breakup was legendary.”
You stiffen. “Sungyeol—”
“What? I’m just saying! You two were like… the couple. The couple everyone thought would get married. And then boom! Chaos, heartbreak, international flight—”
“Yeol,” Myungsoo’s voice is low. Warning. Dangerous.
The silence that follows Sungyeol’s forced retreat is heavy, suffocating, and punctuated only by the aggressive drumming of rain against the cabin windows.
You keep your eyes glued to your drink, your thumb tracing the condensation on the glass. The word legendary echoes in your head. Is that what a shattered heart looks like to everyone else? A spectator sport? They hadn't been there for the suffocating silence of the drive to the airport. They hadn't seen the way Myungsoo’s hands had gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, or heard the absolute finality in the sound of your suitcase wheels rolling away from him.
Across the dim, candlelit circle, you feel rather than see Myungsoo’s gaze fixed on you. You risk a glance up.
Through the flickering shadows, his dark eyes are burning, raw with a vulnerability he usually keeps locked in a fortress of indifference. He looks exactly like he had ten years ago—hurt, defensive, and fiercely protective of a wound that clearly hasn't healed.
"Alright, I think the alcohol is hitting me harder than I thought," you lie smoothly, putting your cup down on the carpet. You force a bright, practiced smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "I'm going to turn in early. Don't let me ruin the fun, though."
"Do you need a flashlight, Y/N?" Jooyeon asks softly, her eyes filled with sympathy.
"No, it's fine, I'll use my phone screen," you murmur, already pushing yourself up from the floor.
The bedroom is freezing. You don't turn on a flashlight. Instead, you curl up on your side of the queen-sized bed, pulling the heavy quilt tightly around your shoulders, staring out into the dark. Your chest aches with a physical tightness. Ten years, and a single comment from a friend can still make you feel like you were bleeding out on an airport terminal floor.
Ten minutes later, the door creaks open.
A shaft of dim light from the hallway cuts through the room before closing again. Heavy, familiar footsteps quiet as they approach the bed. You hold your breath, tensing, pretending to be asleep.
The mattress dips significantly. Myungsoo lies down on his side of the bed, keeping a strict, painful distance between your bodies. For a long time, neither of you move. The only sound is the howling storm outside and the ragged rhythm of your own breathing.
"I know you're awake," Myungsoo whispers into the dark. His voice sounds wrecked, stripped of the playful sarcasm he’d used in the car.
You don't turn around. "Go to sleep, Myungsoo."
"Did you mean it?" He asks, ignoring your dismissal. He shifts, the fabric of his clothes rustling against the sheets. "Back then. When you said I was suffocating you. Did you mean it?"
The question is an arrow straight to the chest. The angst of a decade's worth of unsaid words swells up in your throat, choking you. You roll over to face him, the darkness masking the tears welling in your eyes, though you know he can feel the shift.
"Why are you doing this now?" You choke out, your voice trembling. "It’s been ten years, Myungsoo. You didn't come with me. You chose your life here, and I chose mine there. We broke each other. Why dig it up?"
"Because I'm tired of pretending!" He bursts out, a sudden, fierce whisper. You hear him move closer, breaking the safe distance. In the shadows, you can see the outline of his face, mere inches from yours now. "I’m tired of being in the same room as you and acting like you're just Dongwoo’s sister-in-law. I’m tired of watching you date men who don't deserve you, and I’m sick to death of trying to find you in every single person I look at, only to come up empty."
Your heart hammers against your ribs so violently it’s dizzying. "Myungsoo..."
"I wanted to ask you to stay," he confesses, his voice dropping to a broken, desperate pitch. "Every single day you were gone, I woke up wishing I had crawled on my hands and knees and begged you not to get on that plane. But I was proud. And I was stupid. And I thought... I thought you wanted a world that was bigger than me."
You force yourself to meet his eyes. “I was scared. I thought you’d choose your family over me. And you did.”
His breath catches — like you hit something raw. “I didn’t choose them over you,” he says, voice low, pained. “I chose what I thought was right. I thought you’d hate me if I held you back. I thought you’d resent me if I asked you to stay.” You stare at him, stunned. He laughs once — bitter, self-directed. “I didn’t realize I’d lose you either way.”
Your chest aches. “Myungsoo…”
He leans forward slightly — not touching you, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You think I didn’t want to run after you at the airport?” His voice is barely a whisper. “You think I didn’t want to grab you and beg you to stay? I almost did. I almost ruined everything you worked for.” Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. “And now,” he continues, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second, “we’re here. In the same room. Ten years later. And I still—”
He stops himself. His throat works. His hands curl into fists on his knees, like he’s physically restraining himself.
You whisper, “Still what?”
He looks at you like the truth is tearing him open. “Still want you,” he says, voice rough. “Still think about you. Still feel everything I shouldn’t.”
The air between you goes molten. You inhale sharply. “Myungsoo…”
"I don't blame you," he whispers, his thumb catching another stray tear. "I never blamed you. I wanted you to fly. I just... I always thought that eventually, you'd find your way back to me."
"I am back," you breathe, your voice barely audible over the thunder outside. "I've been back for years, Myungsoo. But you never asked me to stay. Myungsoo, I never stopped wanting you.”
His eyes snap open. The candle flickers violently. The storm roars. And for a moment, neither of you breathe. He whispers, “Say it again.”
You do. "I never stopped wanting you.”
He exhales like he’s been underwater for years. He leans in — slowly, painfully slowly — giving you every chance to pull away. His forehead almost touches yours. His breath ghosts your lips. But he doesn’t kiss you. He stops a hair’s breadth away, trembling with restraint. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “Please. Because if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
Your pulse is a drum. Your hands shake. Your heart is breaking and healing at the same time. You whisper back, “I’m not telling you to stop.”
He kisses you. His mouth fits against yours, and the taste of him hits you like a blow to the chest. One hand grips your jaw, his fingers curling into the hair at the base of your neck. The other hand slides up the column of your throat until his thumb brushes over your lower lip. The movement forces your mouth open, and then his thumb is dragging over the sensitive flesh of your tongue. He inhales sharply through his nose as you suck on his thumb, and the way he looks at you with heat and hunger makes your cheeks flush.
Kissing Myungsoo is so achingly familiar and yet so different. He used to be gentler and slow, exploring, but this, the desperation, the need to just touch you is driving him wild and you respond with the same amount of desperation. Myungsoo shifts his weight so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping against yours. Your senses flood with him. Your fingers trail along his thighs as his other hand, the one that had been grasping your jaw, moves lower. Suddenly, your back is against the mattress as his body cages you. His warmth surrounds you as the kiss grows hot, hungry, as if he was ravenous for your mouth, and all you could think is, more.
He breaks away suddenly, panting, resting his forehead against yours. His breath is labored. His skin is warm and flushed. He stares at you with wild, unguarded, lust-blown eyes. All his restraints are gone, you think, and he is breathtakingly, breathtaking. Your hair is a tangled mess around your face and your lips are swollen. His shoulders flex with each panted breath. His voice is gravelly as he murmurs, "Y/N..."
His tone is questioning, soft. Almost loving and filled with a thousand things unsaid. He cups your cheek, his thumb stroking you so gently, his brows are scrunched together, concerned. His thumb is still resting lightly on your bottom lip, wet and hot, making you gasp, your knees weak.
"Yes?"
"Can I... do things I shouldn't do?" He breathes, his head lowering down, a brush against your lips. "Things that maybe..."
"Maybe?" You gasp.
"Just maybe," His breath is ragged, "...I've thought about them for a very, very long time." His hand slides along the curve of your body as he whispers in a strangled tone, "Things that I miss doing with you."
Your voice is raspy, his eyes fixated on your swollen lips. "Like what?"
"Kissing," he touches his lips lightly to the side of your mouth. His touch leaves your knees weak. "Holding. Touching," his fingers trail down your sides and make your body come to life. He touches your lips, and the world melts. He whispers, "Being with you."
A thousand sparks sizzle up your arms. Your gaze goes to the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulled taut, showing how perfectly toned he is. Myungsoo closes his eyes when he feels the warm tip of your finger tracing down his neck. "Like I said," you toy with his collar, voice lowered. "I'm not stopping you."
He opens his eyes slowly, only to find that your gaze is hot. So hot it causes his breath to hitch. Your nails dig into the front of his shirt and rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, making a series of sounds when hitting the hardwood floors. You part his shirt further and sigh at his muscles, finally on display, which flex with excitement at your reaction to seeing them, causing you to swallow audibly.
Your hands skim across his pectorals, trailing to his biceps and back up to his broad shoulders as they work to slide his shirt off, leaving his upper torso bare. He hisses through his teeth as you lean your upper body in, closing the gap between you as your chest brushes against his own, nipples hard and sensitive as the fabric caresses his skin. "I can't believe how badly I miss seeing you like this..." your lips meet his warm skin, just under his jaw, "you always had a gorgeous body, but even now... damn, it makes my mouth water."
He leans his head back as your kisses travel along his jaw to his lips and pull the fabric off, throwing his shirt on the floor. "Ten years..." his fingers twine themselves in your hair as he groans softly, "did you keep yourself busy?"
His breath is warm as it spills over your lips, and it makes you think of hot summer nights, of holding your breath in the dark with his naked, dampened skin against yours and the damp, sweat-scented air. Makes you want to hold him down and press your ear against his chest just to hear the thunder of his heartbeat.
"There have been men." Your hands travel along his shoulders, pressing and digging into his skin, mapping out the way he feels. "But none of them were you," you admit, words barely audible, almost like a confession as you smile against his neck. "It was never right. None of them could be you."
And like the sun after rain, your smile makes him smile too.
He steals your lips for another deep kiss. Your mouths are relentless as they connect. Breathy moans are lost in the confines of each other's mouths. The desire rises between you until the rest of the world fades out. There is just Myungsoo, the shape and feel of his body, his touch, his warm lips, his tongue, and you want more. So much more than what is possible to do in such a short period. You both have needs that cannot be quenched, the carnal desire for one another cannot be tamed even for a small amount of time.
"Myungsoo," you moan into his mouth, and your hips instinctively roll against him, earning a shaky groan. His hands find the hem of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric up before swiftly removing it and exposing your flushed skin. He rests one hand on the bed beside your head and lets his other hand smooth over the curve of your side as he captures your lips once again. With each movement, each sensual sweep of his tongue, every tender and forceful caress, his hand climbs higher, teasing the underside of your breast. It leaves you arching, wanting, craving. It leaves you a puddle of moans as your core aches with each sensual, intimate move, the tightness knotting and spreading pleasurable heat to each and every part of your body, electrifying your nerves and lighting your senses. You inhale a shaky breath as your hands work to take off your bottoms, leaving you in panties and a bra only.
You gasp sharply as the pressure of his pelvis is now heavy against your lower regions, and the anticipation makes you swallow anxiously in addition to the hardness straining his jeans against your center, causing him to smirk. But this is how it usually plays out, the tease and denial making you melt. Like old times, he loves hearing you beg for him, but the game has changed, because now you know you hold more power.
Your fingers hook beneath the waistband of his jeans, tugging down with a possessive ferocity that catches him off guard. A low, gravelly sound tears from Myungsoo’s throat as you push the heavy denim over his hips, your palms sliding down the hard, tense planes of his thighs, committing the rigid geometry of his body to memory. He kicks the trousers away, moving with a sudden, predatory agility that shifts him back over you. The sheer weight of him, solid and unyielding, settles heavily into the cradle of your thighs. The thin barrier of his boxer briefs offers agonizingly little protection against the thick, throbbing heat of his arousal, pressing firmly against your soaking panties.
"You think you hold the reins here, Y/N?" he murmurs against your jaw, his voice vibrating deep within your chest. His teeth graze the sensitive juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make you arch up into his touch, a broken gasp escaping your lips. "Ten years of waiting. Ten years of watching you look at other men. You don't get to dictate how fast we burn."
His hands descend to the clasp of your bra, releasing it with a practiced, fluid motion. The cool air of the room hits your bare skin for a fraction of a second before it is instantly replaced by the searing warmth of his palms. He cups your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tight, aching peaks, rolling them with a deliberate, agonizing friction that sends a white-hot current straight to your core. Your hips roll instinctively, seeking a deeper pressure, but Myungsoo pins you down, his thighs locking yours in place, denying you the completion you are visibly begging for.
"Myungsoo, please," you whimper, your fingers digging into the defined muscles of his upper back, leaving faint red crescents on his skin. "Don't tease me. Not tonight."
"Look at me," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a dark, primal hunger.
You open your heavy eyes, your vision blurred with tears of sheer frustration and desire. In the dim, flickering amber glow of the dying candle, his face is a mask of pure, concentrated lust. His jaw is clenched so tightly a muscle leaps in his cheek, and his gaze is fixed entirely on your face, reading every micro-expression of your pleasure.
"I want to hear you say it," he whispers, his breath hot against your swollen lips. He reaches down, his fingers sliding beneath the lace edge of your panties, finding the drenched, burning heat of your center. He doesn't insert his fingers immediately; instead, he circles your sensitive bundle, his touch light, maddeningly soft, tracing the slick folds until you are shaking beneath him. "Tell me exactly who is ruining you right now."
"You," you sob out, the sensation driving you to the brink of insanity. You tilt your pelvis upward, forcing his hand deeper, the friction causing a slick, wet sound to echo in the small space between your bodies. "It’s only ever been you, Myungsoo. Please, I can’t—"
He doesn't let you finish. With a swift, fluid motion, he strips the last remaining pieces of clothing from both of your bodies, discarding them to the floor. The sensation of skin-on-skin contact is overwhelming, a sensory overload that makes you both shudder. He positions himself between your thighs, his thick length pressing directly against your aching entrance, teasing the threshold.
He pauses, his chest heaving against yours, his heart hammering like a trapped bird. The yearning in his eyes is palpable, a decade-long drought waiting for a single drop of rain. "If I do this," he rasps, his fingers intertwining with yours, pinning your hands to the mattress on either side of your head, "there is no going back to being just friends. There is no more pretending. You are mine again."
"I was always yours," you whisper back, your voice raw with emotion. "I never stopped."
A ragged exhale escapes him, and he drives his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, unyielding thrust.
The fullness is staggering, a sharp, exquisite stretch that pulls a loud, uninhibited groan from your throat. Your eyes snap shut as your internal muscles clench tightly around him, welcoming him home with an intensity that makes Myungsoo’s head fall back, his neck muscles straining as he rides out the sheer wave of pleasure. For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves, simply absorbing the profound reality of being one again after a decade of separation.
Then, the rhythm begins.
It is not gentle. The years of pent-up frustration, the unsaid words, the jealousy, and the profound ache of separation fuel every heavy, bruising thrust. Myungsoo sets a relentless pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythmic, primitive force that makes the wooden headboard thud rhythmically against the wall. The sound is loud, dangerously indiscreet in a cabin full of your friends, but neither of you cares. The world has shrunk to the perimeter of this mattress, to the slick, friction-heated heat of your bodies colliding.
You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him closer, wanting every single inch of him. Every time he pulls back, nearly withdrawing completely, you whine, pulling him back in with the strength of your thighs. He rewards your eagerness with deeper, harder strokes, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to take the full force of his weight.
"You're so tight," he groans against your ear, his breath hitching as your walls pulse around him. "So perfect. You haven't changed at all."
The heat in your lower stomach builds rapidly, tightening into a hard, coiled spring. The sheer friction of his body against yours, combined with the deliberate pressure of his thumb pressing against your bundle with every thrust, brings you to the absolute edge. Your breath comes in short, ragged pants, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow.
"Myungsoo, I'm close…I'm going to…"
"Come for me, Y/N," he growls, his pace becoming faster, almost frantic, his own climax rapidly catching up to him. "Let me feel it."
With a final, devastatingly deep thrust, your body fractures. Your internal muscles convulse violently around him in a series of intense, rhythmic spasms. A loud, breathless cry escapes your lips, buried quickly in the crook of his neck as the waves of the climax wash over you, turning your limbs to jelly.
Hearing your release breaks the last of his iron control. Myungsoo lets out a low, animalistic roar, his body stiffening completely as he thrusts deep inside you one last time, holding himself there as he unloads his release inside you. The sheer force of his climax ripples through his entire frame, his muscles locking, his chest heaving as he pours himself into you, claiming you completely.
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, labored breathing and the steady patter of the rain outside. Myungsoo collapses onto your chest, his head buried in your hair, still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He doesn't move to pull away, and you don't want him to.
After a long while, he shifts, rolling onto his side but keeping you securely wrapped in his arms, pulling the heavy quilt over your damp, chilled skin. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his arm tightening around your waist as if fearing you might disappear if he lets go.
"We're going to have to talk to the others in the morning," he murmurs into the dark, a small, exhausted smile tugging at his lips.
You press your face into his bare chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. "Let them talk," you whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."
The morning sun filters through the wooden blinds of the cabin, casting sharp angles of golden light across the tangled sheets. You wake up to the heavy, grounding weight of Myungsoo’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, his chest flush against your bare back. For a few quiet moments, neither of you moves. The chaotic storm from the night before has completely cleared, leaving behind only the crisp, damp scent of pine and the profound reality of what has just happened between you.
Myungsoo stirs, a low grunt vibrating through his chest as his grip tightens instinctively, pulling you closer into his warmth. His lips press a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.
"Don't move yet," he mumbles, his voice thick and rough with sleep. "If you get up, I have to face the fact that we actually have to open that door."
You turn in his embrace, looking up at him. His dark hair is a messy nest, and his eyes are heavy, but the guarded, distant look he has worn for the last ten years is entirely gone. In its place is an intense, raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache with a fierce protectiveness. You reach up, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jawline.
"We can't hide in here forever," you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Sunggyu is probably already making an insufferable amount of noise in the kitchen."
"Let him," Myungsoo growls softly. He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before his eyes darkened with a sudden, renewed heat. He shifted his weight, pinning your hand above your head on the pillow, his bare thigh sliding between yours. The friction of his skin against yours immediately reignited the embers from last night. ""You're a heavy sleeper when you're exhausted."
"Whose fault is that?" you wheeze, your voice dry. You try to stretch, but a dull, deep ache in your core reminds you exactly how relentless he was in the dark. A flush creeps up your neck.
"Mine," he admits without a shred of remorse, his eyes darkening with a sudden, wicked flash. He slides his hand lower, under the heavy quilt, his warm palm settling flat against your bare stomach. "And I'd happily take the blame again."
Before the conversation can turn dangerous, a sudden, loud thud echoes from the hallway outside, followed by the muffled sound of Sungyeol’s voice.
"Are they alive in there? The kitchen is freezing, the power is still out, and I'm pretty sure I heard the headboard trying to break through the drywall around 3:00 AM."
"Shut up, Yeol!" Eunha’s voice hisses from further down the hall. "Give them some space."
"Space? They've had ten years of space!"
Inside the room, you freeze, pulling the quilt up to your chin with a gasp. Myungsoo, however, just rolls his eyes and lets out a low chuckle, entirely unbothered. He doesn't move away; instead, he deliberately shifts his weight, pinning your leg beneath his thigh, letting you feel the heavy, rigid length of his arousal pressing against your hip.
"Let them talk," he whispers, echoing your words from the night before. His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your face up to his. "We have a lot of lost time to make up for, Y/N. I'm not letting you hide from me anymore."
"Myungsoo, they're right outside," you whisper, your heart pounding as his thumb drags across your lower lip, pushing it open slightly.
"Then don't make a sound," he growls against your skin, his lips dropping to the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. His hand slides down to the crease of your thigh, parting your legs with a slow, unyielding pressure. The sheer earnestness in the way he holds you—like he’s terrified the last ten years were a dream and he’s finally waking up—melts away any remaining hesitation.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, breathless kiss, completely surrendering to the way back to him.
Thirty minutes later, dressed in oversized hoodies and trying your absolute best to look "casual," the two of you step out of the bedroom. Myungsoo holds the door for you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back—a subconscious declaration of ownership that he doesn't even try to hide.
The power is back on, lighting up the kitchen where the entire friend group is gathered around the large island. Dongwoo is pouring coffee, Jinhee is setting out plates, and Sungjong is leaning against the counter, a mug halfway to his mouth. Sungyeol, who is sitting at the kitchen island, slowly lowers his mug, a massive, cat-like grin spreading across his face when he sees you and Myungsoo.
"Well, well, well," Sungyeol purrs, breaking the silence. "Look who finally decided to join the living. And look at that... you both managed to survive the night in the same room without killing each other."
"Shut up, Yeol," Myungsoo says smoothly, walking past him to grab two mugs. He doesn't look flustered at all; in fact, there’s a distinct, smug satisfaction in the relaxed slope of his shoulders.
Eunha walks over to you, narrowing her eyes as she inspects your face. She looks down at your neck, where a faint, rosy mark is barely hidden by the collar of your hoodie. A slow smile breaks across your sister's face. "You look... rested, sis."
"I slept fine," you lie badly, coughing into your hand and reaching for the coffee Myungsoo hands you.
"Did you?" Jinkyung chimes in, wiping sleep from her eyes. "Because I could have sworn the cabin's foundation was settling last night. Kept hearing this rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the wall. I thought it was the storm, but..."
You nearly choke on your coffee. Myungsoo calmly steps up next to you, bumping his hip against yours, completely unfazed. "The headboard was loose," he says, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. "I fixed it."
"Oh, I bet you fixed it real good," Woohyun yells from the living room couch, throwing his head back in a loud laugh. Jooyeon smacks his arm, though she’s giggling too.
Sunggyu snorts, holding a spatula like a gavel. He looks between you and Myungsoo, his eyes lingering on the way Myungsoo’s arm is naturally draped over the back of your chair as you sit down.
"So," Sunggyu says, pointing the spatula at Myungsoo. "Are we updating the group chat relationship status from 'Single' to 'It's Complicated,' or did you two finally get your brains screwed on straight after ten years?"
Myungsoo looks down at you. The teasing, playful energy of the room fades into something incredibly quiet and heavy with emotion. He reaches down, threading his fingers through yours right there on top of the table, in front of everyone. He doesn't care about hiding it anymore. The pining is over.
"It's not complicated," Myungsoo says, his voice firm and clear, looking straight at his friends. "We're done wasting time."
Dongwoo lets out a dramatic sigh of relief, dropping his head onto Eunha's shoulder. "Thank God. I couldn't take another year of you staring at her like a pathetic puppy at every holiday party."
"Hey!" Myungsoo protests, his cheeks finally turning a slight shade of pink.
The entire kitchen erupts into laughter and cheers. Sungjong raises his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To the loose headboard. May it never be fixed again."
You bury your face in Myungsoo’s chest, laughing through your embarrassment. The weight that had been sitting on your chest for the last ten years—the regret, the unspoken words, the lingering jealousy—evaporates entirely.
Myungsoo kisses the top of your head, whispering so only you can hear, "Let them tease us all day. Tonight, I'm locking the door, and we're picking up exactly where we left off."
You and Iwaizumi are on your way back from a meal out with friends, cruising through the quiet streets as he drives you home. It’s that in between hour where it’s not quite day, not quite night, where the sky is the colour of cotton candy and the sun is barely peeking out between the clouds.
You’re halfway into a rant about one of your friend’s questionable love life when something—or someone, rather—stops you dead in your tracks.
Literally, because Iwa brakes at the red light.
“So then I told her, why don’t you just dump his ass if he’s so—holy crap he’s cool.”
You barely register Iwa’s inquisitive hum when the low growl of a motorbike creeps up beside the car.
Damn. That’s hot.
He’s like the personification of an eclipse.
Black helmet. Black jacket. Black jeans. Slick black bike. You can’t even see this man’s face, but his demeanour alone is enough to do something to your pulse.
You bite your lip to contain the cheesy grin that’s about to break out onto your face and turn to Iwa. “He is so fine."
Iwa gives the stranger a quick side glance and huffs something close to a laugh. “You into bikers now?”
“Didn’t used to be. I’ve been getting a bunch of videos on my Instagram, though, and I’ve kinda been converted.”
Iwa shakes his head in either amusement, or bemusement—hard to tell. What’s clear is that he’s not fully grasping the appeal of this majestic individual, so you smack his arm like it might knock some sense into him.
“No, Haji, look. I’m serious.” You ball your hand into a fist and gnaw on your knuckles to contain a squeal. Your brain replays the time Maki and Mattsun called you a crazed lunatic and said Hajime was your carer—only to stomp the thought back down.
“What do I do?” you breathe.
“You can’t even see his face."
“Doesn’t matter,” you chide, ignoring Iwa's painfully typical male response. “It’s all about the body language. The aura, you know?"
"Can't say I do."
"Never mind."
You’re leaning forward now, peeking through the side mirror, heart kicking up as you admire the handsome stranger. Iwa’s right—you can hardly see the guy’s face through the helmet visor, but your imagination does all the work for you. Sharp jaw. High cheekbones. He’s got a lazy slouch that fits the brooding image you’ve painted of him perfectly. One hand rests on the throttle, the other tapping a rhythm on his thigh like he’s got nowhere better to be.
“Should I say something?” you whisper, rocking in your seat like a kid who just spotted a celebrity and is building up the courage to ask for an autograph.
“Want me to open the window?”
“No—“
Whirrrr.
You stare frantically at Iwa as the window slides down with a mechanical whir, and the purr of the biker's engine fills the silence.
"How could you do this to me—"
Iwa just clears his throat, gaze fixed on the road ahead as if to say, from now on, I am no longer present. Good luck.
Your stomach flips.
It's fine. You're overthinking. Maybe he didn't even hear. Maybe you can play this off. For all he knows, you just rolled down the window for some fresh air.
The biker turns his head.
Annnd you just made eye contact.
Well, you think you did. It's impossible to tell with his visor tinted so dark, but it definitely felt like eye contact. You realise you're still staring when the biker subtly jerks his chin at you in silent question.
Something wrong?
You’ve barely got time to think. The light will turn green any minute and it dawns on you that you might miss your chance.
And so—because you’re well-versed in the art of biker Instagram reels and see these kinds of interactions all the time—you lean out the window just a little and put on your best smile.
“I like your bike,” you call, only to immediately regret it because surely you could’ve said something better than that.
The man tilts his helmet slightly, like he wasn’t expecting the compliment. His voice is muffled, low, and amused when he replies:
“Thanks. You drive?”
Oh. Does he think you’re a fellow biker?
You snort at the thought. “God, no. I don't think that'd be safe for anyone." You wave a dismissive hand before adding, "I'm just the co-pilot."
He rolls his shoulder back, spine straightening just enough to give you a better look.
Hm. He’s broader than you imagined. Taller, too.
Guess being hunched over was hiding all that potential.
“Mm. The hard job,” he says—and if your ears aren't deceiving you, you'd say he was teasing.
Perfect. You can't help but grin. Now's your chance.
"The hard job," you echo. "Are you hiring?"
Iwa lets out a sound caught between a laugh and a groan.
The guy laughs—just a little. Deep and dry and unfairly attractive. Success, you think. At least you made him laugh.
Then, without looking away, he flips his visor up.
You try not to stare.
Dark, tired eyes. Green like freshly picked apples. Strands of messy brown hair falling over his forehead. It feels like a tease—one that has you impatiently wondering what the rest of him looks like under all that gear.
“What’s your name, passenger princess?”
You can hardly believe your ears. As if he's actually going along with this.
“(Y/n).”
“Suna,” he says. “You free Friday?”
Ohmygod. Ohmygod.
“You don’t even know what I like,” you goad, emboldened now that you've confirmed his interest.
He revs the engine once in response—slow and suggestive. “I know one thing.”
Your face warms.
Then he shifts forward slightly, one hand reaching into his jacket pocket. When it re-emerges, he’s holding a phone—already unlocked, already open on the “new contact” screen.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives a little tilt of his head as he extends it toward you through the window.
You take it and blink down at the screen.
Suddenly, you no longer remember your own name.
Your mind scrambles, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as your brain reboots. When it finally does, your thumbs fly across the keyboard. You add your name, number, and a cute little emoji for good measure (a bike and princess emoji), then you hand it back, biting back a grin like a kid in a candy store.
He glances at the screen. His shoulders bounce, just once, like he laughed under his breath. Then he slides the phone back into his jacket.
The light turns green just in time.
“See you Friday, (y/n),” he says. And somehow, you have a feeling he’s smirking.
He lifts two fingers off the handle in a lazy little salute, then peels off into the night.
You spin in your seat so fast the seatbelt locks in place. “Haji, did you see that?! I got a date in like under two minutes!”
He’s already turning the corner, half smiling at your success. “Sure did. Guess that means I’m dropping you off on Friday?”
You giggle into your palms.
Best. Red light interaction Ever.
thank you to everyone who likes, comments &/or reblogs! ☺️
Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.
Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!
A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!
This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.
You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.
It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”
Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.
You moved in two weeks later.
That was three years ago.
When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.
But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.
There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.
Little things, at first. But they stacked up.
Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.
You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.
He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.
This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.
It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.
Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”
You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.
“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.
He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”
You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.
“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”
“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.
“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.
You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”
He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.
“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.
Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”
“That bad?”
“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”
“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.
“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”
You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”
He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”
“To me.”
“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.
You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.
But now? Immunity.
Mostly.
It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.
He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.
Because it is.
***
“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”
Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”
Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.
You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.
He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.
And then, just your luck, you hear it.
“Oh my god, Y/N?”
You look up too slowly.
Hana.
You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.
“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”
“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”
You blink. “I... like this one.”
“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”
You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.
“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”
You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.
Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.
“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.
Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”
She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.
You freeze.
You know that face.
The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”
Your stomach drops.
“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”
Hana is still talking but her words blur.
You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:
“Actually, I’m dating someone.”
Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.
She turns.
Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.
“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”
You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”
“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”
She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”
Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.
Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.
Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”
You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.
He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”
You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”
“Tragically, yes.”
“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”
You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”
Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.
And then he grins.
Like really grins.
“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”
“Wooyoung.”
“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”
You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”
His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”
“She’s married to my ex.”
Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”
You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”
Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.
“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”
“Why are you happy?”
“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”
“Wooyoung.”
“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”
You groan. “This is going to kill me.”
“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”
***
Friday morning
He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.
“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.
You groan. “Please don’t start.”
“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”
You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”
He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”
You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.
“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.
He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”
“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.
“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”
You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”
“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”
You can’t help but laugh.
“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”
You make a face.
“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”
“Don’t.”
“-sentences.”
You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.
But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.
And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.
The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.
You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.
He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.
Because damn. He looks good.
His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.
Like fake dates, apparently.
And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.
And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.
You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.
You need a second. Maybe two.
You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.
You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.
Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.
He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”
Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.
It drops. Lingers.
Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.
You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”
“I knocked.”
You glare.
He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”
You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.
“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.
He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”
Your stomach tightens.
He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.
You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”
You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.
“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”
“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.
“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”
You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.
“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Your mouth is dry.
“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”
He grins. “I make no promises”
You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.
And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.
“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”
***
The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.
You didn’t mean to hold hands.
It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.
“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”
“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”
Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”
And there he is.
Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.
But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.
“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”
You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”
Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”
There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.
“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”
You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.
As if to say: I’ve got you.
But also…
Watch me work.
The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.
The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”
You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.
Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.
You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.
“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”
There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.
You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.
“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”
You blink.
Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.
But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.
The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”
You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.
Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”
Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”
You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.
“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”
Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.
His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.
The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.
The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.
“So how did you two meet each other?”
You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.
Wooyoung notices immediately.
He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.
"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.
He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.
“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”
Everyone leans in slightly, curious.
“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.
“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”
Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.
“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”
It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.
“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”
A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.
“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”
He looks at you then. Really looks at you.
“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”
Someone lets out a little aww.
“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”
The table is completely silent.
“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”
The table is enchanted.
For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:
“Oh my God,” someone breathes.
The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”
“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.
“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.
“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”
The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.
“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.
Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.
But not from everyone.
Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.
Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.
“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”
Your chest tightens.
The air feels heavier.
Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.
And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.
The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.
After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.
After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.
Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.
You swallow hard. “You scared me.”
“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”
“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”
“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”
You glance at him, eyebrows raised.
“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”
You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”
“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”
You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”
“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.
You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”
Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”
You blink. “What?”
“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”
You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”
Your breath catches.
“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.
You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”
“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”
Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.
You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.
You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.
You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”
You huff a laugh. “Like what?”
“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”
You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”
“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”
You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”
Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”
The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.
But it doesn’t last.
You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.
You turn your head and freeze.
It’s him.
Your ex.
He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.
You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”
He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.
His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”
You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m just saying.”
Another beat.
You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.
“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”
You don’t look at him. “What about him?”
He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”
You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”
He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”
You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”
“In my own house?”
“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”
He stares at you. Silent.
“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”
“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”
His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.
“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”
You step back. “You don’t know him.”
He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”
You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”
He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”
“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”
There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.
And then…
“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.
You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.
He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.
But his eyes?
They’re fixed on your ex.
And they could kill.
Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”
Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.
His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.
“You okay, baby?”
The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.
Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”
His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.
“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”
Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”
Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.
“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”
Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.
And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:
Try it again. I dare you.
When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.
Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.
His voice drops. Low. Controlled.
“You okay?”
You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.
His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”
“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”
Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.
His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.
“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”
There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.
You meet his eyes.
He’s not angry.
He’s present.
“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”
That part lingers. A gentle offering.
You smile faintly. “Thanks.”
He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”
Your heart skips a beat.
His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”
You smile. “Let’s go.”
Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.
The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.
But it’s there.
You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.
The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.
Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”
You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."
He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.
He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.
“Do you trust me?”
You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”
But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.
Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.
His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.
Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.
You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.
Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”
His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.
“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.
It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.
And then he looks up.
Over your shoulder.
Still smiling.
You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.
“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”
You blink, startled, then turn.
And there he is.
Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.
He’d been watching.
Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.
Your ex stares, jaw tight.
Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.
“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”
You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.
Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”
Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”
There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.
Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.
“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”
Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”
Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”
“Y/N! Wooyoung!”
Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.
“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”
You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.
“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.
Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”
“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”
Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.
But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:
"Success, baby"
He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.
The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.
Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.
“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”
The table quiets, interest piqued.
Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”
A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.
“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”
You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.
“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”
You freeze. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”
Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.
You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.
But he doesn’t.
You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”
“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”
You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”
Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.
You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.
And then...
“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”
And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.
Your breath halts.
There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”
Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”
“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”
He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.
“Her neck.”
A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.
You feel your body go still.
Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.
“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”
Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.
“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”
The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.
It’s weighted. Personal.
Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.
“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”
“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.
Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.
The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.
When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.
And everything in his face is different.
Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.
And then, another gaze.
You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.
Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.
But he doesn’t.
Because it’s not about him anymore.
After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.
You close your eyes.
Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.
Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.
“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.
You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”
He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”
“That was one time.”
“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.
“You look really pretty tonight.”
The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.
“I-, what?”
He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”
You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.
“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”
You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”
You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.
He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”
You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”
“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”
You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”
You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.
He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.
And somehow, that says more than the rest.
You try not to smile. You fail.
Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.
“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”
You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.
Your stomach dips.
Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.
“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.
You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.
“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.
Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”
That’s all you need.
Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.
When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”
You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.
This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.
You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l
You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.
His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.
It’s a performance. That’s how it started.
But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.
It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.
And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.
But then… it passes.
The air changes again.
You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.
You pull back first, just enough to look at him.
His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.
You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”
Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.
At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.
“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”
You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.
“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”
You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.
His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.
Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”
The door closes behind you.
The air outside bites cold against your skin.
And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.
Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.
The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.
You're both staring straight ahead.
The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.
The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.
Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.
Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.
You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.
“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”
No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.
You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”
He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.
You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”
Still nothing from him.
You nod quickly. “Night.”
You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.
“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”
You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.
“…you know where to find me.”
You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.
You don’t.
You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.
Then you nod.
Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.
The door clicks softly shut behind you.
And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.
You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.
There’s a knock.
A soft one.
You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”
The door creaks open behind you.
You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.
You manage a breath. “Not tired?”
His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”
Then silence again.
But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.
“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.
You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”
Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”
You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”
A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”
He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.
He’s letting the silence stretch.
He’s letting you squirm.
You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.
You don’t move.
You can’t.
He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.
“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”
You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”
He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”
You freeze just slightly.
"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.
“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.
“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”
You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.
“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”
You’re not breathing properly now.
“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”
You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.
And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.
You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.
“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”
Your breath hitches.
“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”
You swallow hard. “Like what?”
He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.
“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”
Your stomach tightens.
He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.
“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”
He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.
“I’d unzip it real slow…”
You hear the faintest shift of fabric.
“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”
Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.
You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.
“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”
You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.
“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”
"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.
“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”
You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.
He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.
“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”
You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.
His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.
“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”
You stiffen.
He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”
"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.
His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”
He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.
He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”
You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.
“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”
His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.
You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”
His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.
“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”
Your knees nearly give out.
He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”
You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.
“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."
His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.
“There she is.”
His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.
Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.
Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.
You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.
His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.
The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.
His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.
“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.
You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.
You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.
“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”
You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.
He chuckles under his breath.
“Thought so.”
You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.
The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.
“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”
You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.
And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”
He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”
His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.
He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”
You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.
His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."
Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.
Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.
“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.
His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.
“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”
You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”
Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.
“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”
He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”
When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.
You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.
“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”
His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.
“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”
And you do.
Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.
Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.
“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”
“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”
He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.
“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”
You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.
But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.
“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”
You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.
The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.
You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.
“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.
You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.
He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.
“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”
Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.
“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”
You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.
And when you see him… you go still.
He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.
Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.
“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”
You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.
His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.
“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”
Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.
Deep.
Possessive.
Claiming.
He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.
“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.
He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.
You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.
“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”
“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”
He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.
Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.
He kisses it once. Then again, slower.
“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”
“Yes-,”
But he doesn’t let you come.
Not yet.
Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.
You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.
“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”
A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.
“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”
His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.
“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”
You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.
Then his eyes narrow.
“Spread your legs wider.”
You do, instantly.
His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.
You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.
“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”
“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.
Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.
“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”
His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.
Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.
And then-
He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.
The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.
“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”
He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”
Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.
He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”
Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”
He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.
Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”
He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”
With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.
You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.
“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.
When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.
“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.
He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.
He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.
“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”
So you do.
His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.
You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.
“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”
He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.
“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”
“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”
He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”
You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.
“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”
“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”
And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.
Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.
“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”
You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”
That does it.
With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.
You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.
When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.
Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.
And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.
“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.
You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”
Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.
But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.
“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”
“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.
He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.
When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.
When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.
“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”
***
You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.
Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.
Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.
You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.
You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.
Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.
The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.
“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”
You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”
He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.
You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.
He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”
You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.
And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.
“Good morning, beautiful,”
Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.
It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.
His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.
You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.
“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”
You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”
He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”
“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.
“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”
You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.
It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.
And maybe… maybe it was.
“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”
“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.
He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”
You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”
“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”
You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”
“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”
You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.
You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”
“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.
He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”
You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”
He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”
You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.
You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.
And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.
And god, maybe it is.
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SYNOPSIS: sometimes the most important relationships are ones that teach you a lesson, other times they're ones that help you learn to love again
a/n: hi hi !! i was inspired by harry’s song to write this ! i used both the interpretation a relationship being special despite not lasting forever + taking a leap of faith when ur scared to love !! i hope you guys enjoy this i lowkey am ass at writing angst and it’s my first time writing smut (two lines but still LOL) so i really appreciate any and all feedback !!! comments and reblogs are held close to my heart <3 enough w the yapfest ty for reading !!!
tags/warnings: caleb x nonmc!reader, rafayel x nonmc!reader, fluff, angst, hurt/no comfort from caleb’s side, comfort from rafayel, insecurities (not feeling good enough), cheating, smut (a couple lines), raf is a rich little shit, caleb is an asshole, mc is not a girls girl, happy ending,, lmk if i missed anything !
wordcount: 7.8k
masterlist
You met Caleb in the spring, accidentally running into the colonel while avoiding a pushy man on a busy street. “Sorry,” you fumbled out, eyes teary and heart in your throat. Caleb took note of your state immediately, a wave of protectiveness overcoming him.
“Are you alright?” His arm reaches out to steady you, watching you closely. He sees your eyes widen when you take in his uniform.
“Yes I’m fine, sorry to bother you sir,” you glance behind you quickly, seeing the man round the corner, Caleb follows your gaze, putting two and two together quickly. Before you can continue your escape Caleb speaks up, loud enough so the man can hear him.
“Sweetheart you should know better than to keep a colonel waiting,” his features are much less tense than they were before. You furrow your brows at him for a second, quickly letting yourself melt into his chest.
“Sorry baby I got held up,” you bat your lashes at him, glancing at the man following you, he stares right back at you.
“Do you have business with the Farspace Fleet?” His voice is sharp around the edges, eyes narrowing as he addresses the man. He quickly shakes his head ‘no’ and turns on his heel. Caleb can't help but scoff, his arm swinging over your shoulder and turning the two of you to walk the opposite direction. “Are you okay?’ the colonel asks you, his voice gentle as he smiles down at you, soft violet eyes catching your own.
“I am now, I can't thank you enough,” you breathe out, willing your erratic heartbeat to slow down. “Sorry for getting all on you colonel,” you blush, smiling when the taller man laughs at your words.
“No worries, I'm glad to help,” he pauses for a second, “and you can just call me Caleb.”
“Thank you so much Caleb,” his name feels nice on your tongue, “I’m y/n, can I buy you a drink or something?”
Caleb’s mind short circuits for a second, his whole life he’d rejected everyone's advances, he always had MC by his side. But now she's in Linkon and thinks he’s dead, he's not the same Caleb she loved. His heart unclenches when he meets your shy gaze.
“Do you like coffee?”
Conversation seemed to flow easy between the two of you after a couple minutes, soft laughter leaving your lips, blushing when you see Caleb laughing alongside you.
Caleb frowns when you beat him to the bill. “This is my thank you for helping me out,” you shake your head, “no way you were gonna pay.”
“Alright, alright” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll just have to get the next one.” You cock your head slightly.
“Next one?”
“Would you wanna get dinner with me?” Caleb finds himself wanting to make you flustered more, cute he thinks.
You debate it for a moment, you didn't exactly put yourself in the dating scene as much as you wanted, what's there to lose?
“I would like that very much,” you finally say, your smile widening when Caleb lights up.
Months later the leaves turned shades of orange and pink, your hand in Caleb's as the two of you walked in the park, a small breeze brushes past the two of you making you shiver slightly.
“Don’t” you groan, seeing the look on your boyfriend's face. Caleb bites his tongue, a smirk on his face as he silently shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over you, pulling you in by your waist.
“Told you to bring a jacket,” he taunts, laughing when you launch yourself at him, a small ‘oof’ leaving him as you smack his chest.
“Caleb?” The feminine voice makes the two of you stop and turn to face them, she was gorgeous, and she matched the description Caleb gave you of his first love. You felt your blood go cold, head spinning as you looked at Caleb. His mouth was agape, eyes sparkling as he stared at her, hand dropping yours instantly. Your heart clenched.
“MC,” he breathed out, he said her name like it was something holy, had he ever said yours in that tone?
“Oh my god it's really you,” her eyes watered, she didn't hesitate to run into his arms, and Caleb caught her like it was second nature. His eyes closed, burying his face in the crook of her neck, memories flooding back.
You stood there awkwardly, he had explained the situation to you, how were you supposed to react? While, yes, it sucked seeing someone hold your boyfriend so deeply, she was also just discovering he was alive. You bit your lip, insecurities creep up on you, finding yourself comparing yourself to her when you hadn't even introduced yourself.
When they finally pull away, you stare at Caleb, he quickly moves away from her, clearing his throat, “pips this is y/n” he gestures to you. MC smiles at you, waving before focusing back on your boyfriend.
“What the fuck happened?” she scolds, smacking him roughly and Caleb smiles down softly at her, like you weren't standing a couple feet away.
You suddenly feel out of place, your throat tightens up as you shift your weight on your feet. “I’ll um- I’ll let you guys catch up,” you speak up, only then does Caleb tear his gaze from her and focus on you.
“I’ll text you, okay?” he gives you a tight lipped smile, the same he gives cashiers and kind strangers. You don't say anything, turning on your heel and wrapping the jacket tighter around you.
“Who was that?” you hear her say, ears twitching back to listen out for Caleb's response.
“Just a friend of mine.”
You let the stray tear fall from your eye when you finally reach your car, taking a deep breath before driving home, alone. You leave Caleb’s jacket in your car, stomach twisting as you imagine what they're doing, is he still staring at her like that?
“Just a friend of mine,” the words echo in your head, anger and sadness brewing in your chest, a bitter taste in your mouth as you try to eat dinner. The same dinner you and Caleb had cooked together earlier.
The buzzing of your phone tears your blank stare from the tv, a random show you didn't care for filling the silence of your apartment.
[new messages from caleb <3]
Sorry about earlier I get how weird that must've been for you :/
I appreciate how understanding you were, thank you so much
Shes pretty shaken after i told her everything so shes spending the night at mine
I’ll text you tomorrow ?
You stare at your phone, heart breaking further as you reread the messages. She's spending the night with him? A new message makes you focus on your phone again.
Wanna go to that bakery you like tomorrow ? my treat :3
Your heart softens, maybe things won't change, he's still your Caleb. With shaky fingers you reply to him.
its okay,, i hope everything works out between you guys
Bakery sounds good tomorrow :3
Get some rest i love you
Goodnight, see you tmrw :P
You wait for him to say I love you, but it never comes. You don't let yourself ruminate, instead you get off your couch and head to your bedroom, eyelids heavy as you try to sleep, ignoring the growing pit in your stomach.
The next morning you stare at the ceiling for a handful of minutes before finally getting up and checking your phone. Caleb always sends you a good morning text, he was always awake before you were. You bite the inside of your cheek when there's no new texts from him. It's fine, he must've been emotionally drained from yesterday, it's good that he sleeps in, you reason, shooting him a quick ‘good morning :)’ before continuing on with your day.
You deep clean your room, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you as you continuously glance at your phone. You’d made it to your living room when your phone buzzed, practically leaping at it to see the notification. Caleb.
meet at the bakery at 2? sorry i slept in
also is it okay if mc comes along ?
You feel nauseous as you read the second text. Were you being irrational? You had to be kind, you had to be understanding. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
It wasn't bad, it was worse. You smiled at Caleb, instinctively going to wrap your arms around him, he moved back slightly to evade your embrace, eyes shifting to mc. He caught the way your face fell, the way your smile wavered as you swallowed thickly before turning to the girl by his side. You ignored the way your eyes stung as your boyfriend pulled a chair out for her, sitting next to her. You sat alone across from them.
“It's nice to see you again,” you spoke, giving her a small wave, “are you doing okay?” Your genuine concern made Caleb's heart ache. You were so kind, and he knew you didn't deserve this.
Time seemed to pass terribly slow, your words were rare and movements careful as you picked at your favorite pastry, appetite reduced to nothing as you listened to MC and Caleb reminisce on their past.
“I had forgotten how good your breakfasts were,” she smiled, turning to you, “have you ever tried the fried eggs he makes? I had them this morning and god it was like a part of me came back to life.”
“Did you guys wake up early today?” your voice soft, glancing up from your plate and at Caleb. He opens his mouth to speak but MC beats him to it,
“Yeah, Caleb has always woken up before me, he woke me up with breakfast at like 9 this morning,” she gushes. “How long have you been friends for?”
Your stomach hurts, heart aching as you nod at her words, Caleb stares at you apologetically, eyes swimming in, remorse? Guilt? You couldn’t pinpoint it. “Only a couple months, I wouldn't know him as well as you,” you reply, "I'll be right back,” you excuse yourself. You hear Caleb's chair scraping the floor, heavy steps hot on your trail as you rush into the restroom, closing the door and locking it quickly before he can stop you.
“Baby please let me explain,” he pleads through the door. Your ears are ringing, eyes burning as you try to regulate your breathing. What the fuck was happening? How can someone who made you feel loved one day make you feel like day old garbage the next?
You send a text to your friend quickly, begging her to call you in two minutes as a way out. She replies quickly, asking where you were.
Caleb retreats back to the table with MC, a smile on his face when he sees her. “She’s fine, I think the coffee didn't sit well with her.”
“She’s your girlfriend, right?” It's not a question, MC wasn't stupid. Caleb lets out a deep sigh, running his hand through his hair before replying.
“I didn't think I would ever get you back, I thought you wouldn't love me for who I am now.” MC stares at Caleb, he can't help the way his gaze softens as he looks at her, he can't stop the flutter in his chest when she reaches for his hand and he doesn't even try to pull away. He lets his fingers intertwine with hers.
“I love even the worst versions of you,” she replies softly, squeezing his hand. Caleb almost leans into her, forgetting where he was. He’s only pulled out of his trance when you pull the chair out from the table and take a seat, making him quickly pull away from MC.
“Sorry about that,” you mumble, “was I interrupting something?” Caleb is quick to shake his head.
“Y/N dont you like cats? MC has a stray cat she feeds-” Caleb's words are cut off by your phone ringing.
“Sorry I have to take this,” you mumble, answering quickly, expression morphing into shock and faux concern. “You’ll be okay, I'll be there soon okay?” You hang up quickly, gathering your things before turning to the pair in front of you. “I have to go, my friend needs me, see you guys around,” you rush out, not daring to look back as you exit the bakery, rounding the corner and rushing into your car, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down the street. You pull over as your vision blurs, parking on the side of the road as broken sobs leave your body.
Your friends pick you up, taking you back to their place and having one of them drive your car to theirs. You don't answer any of Caleb's texts or calls for the next two days.
You go through the motions as you get home from work, heart empty as you toss your keys haphazardly on the entrance table. You barely make it to the shower, hot tears blending with the searing water on your skin. You're glad the steam has fogged up the mirror, pulling a large t-shirt over you, hair still dripping wet as you trudge out into the living room.
A knock on your door has your stomach dropping, you didn't need to check to know who was on the other side of it. With a deep breath you open the door, red rimmed eyes meeting Caleb’s purple ones.
Caleb’s breath caught in his throat as he saw you. “Can we talk? Please?” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, tulips. You didn’t like tulips, but he always got them for you.
Maybe it was how utterly emotionally drained you were already, but you opened the door further, stepping aside and letting him in. He doesn't hesitate to walk inside, setting the flowers down and letting his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You let yourself melt into his touch, body tensing when you smell her perfume.
“You wanna talk, so talk,” you state, voice shaky and cold as you sit on the couch, pulling your hand away from Caleb’s as he tries reaching for it.
“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting the last few days, everything has been so hectic. I care about MC so much, and having her back feels strange,” he fumbles out, “I care about you too, it's just there's a lot of stuff that she and I need to talk about and work through.” He scrunches his face up, pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath and speaking again. “I promise I’ll do better, I already set boundaries with her and she's staying somewhere else. I love you y/n, I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend and I am so fucking sorry but I promise I’ll do better.”
“You called me your friend,” you say softly, eyes focused on a loose thread of your t-shirt.
“What?” Caleb feels his heart pound against his chest, he can hear the blood rushing through his ears.
“When she asked who I was, you said I was your friend.” He had never heard your voice so small. You turned to look at him, bags under your eyes as you stared at him.
“I panicked, I didn’t know how she would react and-”
“What about how I would react?” You question, your eyes still focused on him, he breaks eye contact first.
“I cleared it all up with her, I promise you I’ll do anything for you to believe me.”
Would you cut her off if I asked? The question rests on the tip of your tongue, you don't ask it, too afraid of what the answer might be.
“I need you to prove it to me, I can't just be okay because you say what I want to hear,” you finally say. Caleb lets out a relieved sigh, he places his hand over yours cautiously, intertwining your fingers when you don't pull away.
“I will,” he whispers, “it's only me and you.”
You don't say anything, searching his face but only finding remorse. When he pulls you into him slowly you don't pull away, letting your lips move with his, relishing in the feeling of his body heat radiating onto your exposed thighs. You don’t pull away as he deepens the kiss, pushing away the images of them together as you tug his shirt off, fumbling with his belt buckle.
“Lillies,” you breathe against his flushed skin, “I’ve already told you before my favorite flowers are lilies.” You're both moving around, completely undressed as you look him in the eye.
“Okay, lilies” he mumbles, letting out a low groan as he slowly enters you, lips catching yours as he swallows your moans with his every thrust, eyes fluttering shut.
“I love you” you moan, your lips still pressed against his as he lets out a soft whimper, “I love you so much Caleb.” Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer against you, letting your nails leave deep red marks on his back, an attempt at claiming him as your own. You don't see the faint marks left by another that morning.
“Fuck baby, I’m so sorry,” he pants, “don’t deserve you.” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as he finishes with a soft groan, holding you against him tightly.
You stare at the ceiling, fighting back tears as he pulls out of you slowly. He didn't say it back. Caleb stands to get a rag to clean you up, but you give him a soft smile, “I got it.” He furrows his brows, about to protest when you close the restroom door in his face.
Two weeks, you’d decided. You’ll give Caleb two weeks to show you he’s choosing you.
But as the days pass you feel your resolve growing weaker and weaker. You noticed the way his eyes glimmered when staring at her, but never at you. You noticed the way his eyes had never crinkled as he smiled the entire time you’d known him, but they do with her. You noticed the way his ears would flush when they’d brush hands, the way he’d force himself to look at you instead. You noticed how he invited her everywhere, even when it was meant to be just the two of you. When was the last time you'd held his hand? The last time he kissed you with love and not lust?
You decided to surprise him one day, your feeble attempt at making him remember the spark you'd felt upon your first encounter. You caught a train to skyhaven and made your way to his place. You’d bought a new plane model, one he hadn't gotten yet, hoping to build it with him. The sun was shining brightly between the clouds, hope still burning in your heart as you knocked twice on the front door. You bounced on the ball of your heel, smiling as you recalled the fond memories with Caleb, having built a handful of planes with him as date nights, kissing him when he let you add the final piece, giggling as he praised you gently.
When his front door opened, MC’s eyes met yours, smile dropping the second they did. You felt your heart fall, your stomach twisting as you gave her a small smile. “MC, I didn't know you were here,” you hope she doesn't catch the tremble in your voice.
“I thought Caleb told you I was staying here for a couple weeks?” She cocks her head innocently, “I offered to get a hotel but he insisted I stay with him, isn't he so sweet?” You force a smile on your face, knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the model plane box.
“Must have slipped my mind,” you say quickly.
“Did you need something?” she asks, you realize she's wearing Caleb's shirt, you can see a hickey peaking out by her collarbone, your mouth feels dry. You shake your head, blinking quickly before taking a step back.
“No I was gonna tell him something but it can wait, don't tell him I stopped by.” You turn away before she can reply.
“Pips, who is it?” Caleb calls out, emerging with his sweats hung low on his hips, no shirt on. MC turns to him with a sweet smile, the one that always makes him melt.
“Some sales people” she responds, her hands sliding up his chest as she leaves a kiss on his adams apple, “where were we?” Caleb thinks he smells your perfume.
“Was that Y/N?” He mumbles against her lips, violet eyes staring into hers, she pouts as your name leaves his lips.
“Does it matter?” She grumbles, hands sneaking under the hem of his sweatpants, “You think she knows about us?” Caleb bites back a whimper as her hand wraps around him, languid strokes make him lose his train of thought.
“Maybe,” he breathes out, “she won't break up with me anyway,” he moans out, head thrown back as she presses a wet kiss to the sensitive spot on his neck, "she's too nice to do that- cares about me too much.”
You gave the model plane to the first kid you saw, sitting on the train and staring out the window as the scenery flew past you in a blur. The last bit of hope in your heart had been extinguished, stomped out until no embers remained. He loved her in a way you knew he would never love you. Nothing would change that.
Three days later he picks you up for a date, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, tulips. The same kind as always. They weren't your favorite. You put them in water nonetheless, forcing a smile on your face as the two of you drove to the restaurant he’d made reservations at. Caleb tried to make small talk with you, giving him short responses and only half listening to his words. When he mentioned MC you turned your attention to him, listening to him gush about how she was promoted at her job.
“What are her favorite flowers? Does she like tulips?” You ask, hoping you were wrong. Caleb's smile seems to grow as he nods.
“They are! How'd you know that?” He doesn't see your face steel over, oblivious as he changes the topic to something a rookie said at work today.
He was never going to choose you. It was never going to be you. Your mind blanks for a second, a shooting star catches your eye as he parks the car, getting out and opening the door for you. You don't move.
It's a funny thing when someone gets an epiphany, some jump for joy while others scramble to take action, lest their idea slips their mind. You seem frozen in place as your mind seemingly resets.
“What the fuck am I doing?” you laugh dryly, eyes meeting Caleb's for the first time this evening. You can't stop the incredulous laughter that leaves your mouth, “Oh my god what the fuck am I doing?” You repeat yourself, a hand covering your mouth as you smile in disbelief.
“Baby? Are you alright?” Caleb’s face contorts in panic, reaching out to you only to pull away when you smack his hand “Hey what-”
“You were right,” you say, a smile still on your face as you turn to him, getting out of the passenger seat and standing next to him.
“Right about what? You're scaring me, you need to calm down, you're not thinking straight,” He glances around, grateful no one is around to see the state you were in.
“I deserve better.” You state, your voice wasn't small and apologetic, there was no kindness left in your words. “I don't know why I stayed when I realized you were choosing between me and someone else.” You shake your head, “I deserve to be the only choice, I deserve someone who wouldn't even think about entertaining another while they're with me.” Caleb opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off before he can. “I should have never been a choice, I should have been the only one,” you spit out. “Only me and you right?” venom drips from your words, Caleb flinches slightly.
“Did you say that to her while you fucked her too? After you lied to me about her staying somewhere else?” Caleb’s blood goes cold, face paling as the words leave your mouth.
You held out hope, you tried harder, he did nothing to change. He prioritized her the second she came back, he ran to her the moment she let him. He made a fool out of you, played you in plain daylight, and you all but let him. When did you become okay with being second best in your own relationship? When did you settle for less than you deserve?
“You were a good boyfriend for a bit there, but I don't deserve this shit.”
Caleb feels his throat tighten, he never thought you would actually leave him. He wants to tell you that you aren't a second choice, but he can't bring himself to lie to you any longer. He wants to convince you to stay, tell you he’ll do better, but he knows you deserve better. He knows he can’t let go of MC, he needs her, he loves her; It will always be her.
He doesn't try to chase after you when you walk away from him, hailing the first cab you see. Caleb thought he would feel relief, knowing he and MC didn't have to sneak around anymore, but as he watches your cab drive away he feels sick. A sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes you weren't coming back.
It took you a while to get over Caleb, countless nights spent sobbing in your pillow and picking yourself apart. You’d go through the motions everyday; Go to work, come home, cry, sleep. It was a never ending cycle of you and your insecurities.
Your sadness slowly turned to anger, going out drinking with your friends as you worked through your emotions. Your friends were there to pick you up and piece you back, reminding you of your worth. It took three months for the memories to not leave a bitter taste in your mouth. You even found yourself feeling a bit grateful for the experience, vowing to never lose sight of your worth.
Slowly you’d reintegrated back into the world, hanging out with friends and visiting new bakeries and restaurants. It felt nice feeling free, knowing you didn't have to worry about anyone betraying your trust.
The AC feels nice against your skin, walking slowly around the art pop up your friends had invited you to. You’d heard the artist's name in passing, familiar with a couple of his more famous pieces. When you pause in front of a particularly interesting one you feel someone’s presence next to you.
“Seems kinda pretentious doesn't it?” The man stares at you, a playful smile on his lips. You smile back at him, focusing back on the painting before humming.
“I like it,” you reply, “kinda reminds me of a seagull choir or something,” a small chuckle escapes your lips. “You’re pretty harsh on yourself, don't you think?”
The artist's smile only widens as he follows you to the next painting. “I should've known better than to try and be mysterious,” he sighs out, you laugh. “Well since you know my name I think it's only fair I get to know yours, don't you think?”
“You saying I owe you something just because you're famous?” you quip back, biting back a smile as his eyes widen, waving his hands quickly.
“No! God no!” your laughter makes his panicking cease, jaw dropping slightly as he laughs in disbelief. “Oh you’re evil,” he smiles. You half expect him to thank you for attending and leave, but he follows you to the next painting.
“I’m y/n” you finally say, leaning closer to the painting and humming in appreciation, “I really like this one, my compliments to the artist.”
Rafayel smiles, chest puffing out in pride as he moves closer to you. “You can have it if you want, it'll only cost you a date with me.”
You scoff at his words, there was no way that was happening, you weren't nearly ready for a relationship. “Right,” you reply. Rafayel pauses, did he just get rejected? At his own art show?
“Was that a yes?” He asks, walking quickly to catch up next to you, leaning against the railing and staring at you when you grab a brochure and look at him. The painting he’s willing to give you is worth a couple million.
“I don't have room in my apartment for a painting that big,” you evade, flipping the brochure open before moving onto the next installation. “It was really nice meeting you, I love your work” you smile sweetly, Rafayel feels his knees buckle.
“What if I made you a smaller painting? One of a kind, one that fits in your apartment?” He stands in front of you, it's the closest you've ever seen him. You're suddenly aware why there's so many people swooning at his very move, his blue eyes stare into yours, you can see flecks of red in the lower half of them.
“One of a kind painting by Rafayel himself?” you gasp, “I could buy a house with that kind of money” you tease.
“I’ll give you all the money from this exhibition if you agree to go on a date with me.”
“Yeah okay” you say, the playful smile on your face slowly drops as he smiles back at you.
“Okay done, what bank do you use? I don't know exactly how much I'll make, it can take days for people to negotiate- I'll just send you the higher ballpark number,” he replies, not missing a beat as he pulls out his phone, typing away. “Also what’s your favorite flower?”
“Wait, no I was just joking!” Now it was your turn to panic, quickly running to his side to try and stop whatever he was doing on his phone. Your eyes narrow at him when you see the screen, it wasn't even on. “You’re evil” you echo his words from earlier.
“I’d say we’re even, cutie” the term of endearment has your face flushing, “your favorite flower?” he questions again, head tilted to the side as he awaits your response, the motion causes his purple bangs to cover his eyes ever so slightly.
“Lilies,” you reply, a pang in your chest as memories flood in.
“What time should I pick you up?”
You finally don't have a remark for him, mouth opening to protest, only to close it as his eyes glimmer at you. It must be from the lights shining on the paintings, you reason, there’s no way he's looking at you like that. There’s a reason you hadn't thrust yourself onto the dating scene, heart still fragile, insecurities still waiting to pounce.
“I can’t,” you finally say, tearing your gaze from his and placing the brochure in his hands, “I’m really sorry.” Rafayel furrows his brows, watching as you walk towards the exit. He takes a step forward, ready to chase after you, Thomas grabs his arm, pulling him towards the patrons who he’d kept waiting while he flirted incessantly with you.
A week later your phone buzzes while you're at work, casually sneaking a glance at it before your eyes go wide, slapping a hand over your mouth as you quickly excuse yourself outside.
[RAFAYEL QI has sent you $10,000 dollars]
your daily limit is only 10k, i’ll send you the rest tmrw or i can give it in cash when we go on our date?
You’re scrambling to try and contact him, calling his office number and being greeted by an exhausted voice. “This is Thomas, what can I help you with?”
“Hi, is there any way I can speak to Rafayel? It's urgent,” you bite your bottom lip, frowning when the man on the other side of the line laughs at you.
“And who is this? His long lost lover I presume?” His condescending tone makes your fists clench.
“Tell him it's y/n,” you snip back, bouncing your leg as you watch the cars drive past. There’s a brief pause on the line and a minute later you hear Thomas’ voice.
“Are you still there ma’am?” He seems much more respectful now than before. When you respond he lets out a sigh of relief, “Apologies for my attitude, Rafayel has asked me to give you his number so you can contact him directly, do you have something to write it down?”
You dial the number right after hanging up with Thomas, knee still bouncing anxiously as it rings once before being answered.
“Did you get your money, cutie? I can give you the rest cash if you'd like, it'll take a couple days for me to send-”
“Are you insane?” you hissed, “I thought you knew I was joking! How did you even get my bank information?” Rafayel is smiling on the other line, leisurely brushstrokes on his canvas as he listens to your scolding.
“I’m a man of my word, I don't intend on letting you slip away from me so easily,” he pauses for a second, “it's not everyday that someone sees the seagull choir inspiration behind my painting y’know.” You can't stop the scoff that leaves your lips, it only eggs him on. “One date is all I'm asking, please?”
“Why do you want to go on a date with me so badly?” You question, confidence wavering since the first time you'd met him.
“You’re beautiful, witty and funny, what more could a guy want?” He laughs.
His first love, you think, pushing the thought to the back of your mind. You let out a sigh, staring up at the clouds before biting your lip. He got his happy ending, what's stopping you from finding yours?
“You can pick me up tomorrow at 6 o’clock, I hate when people are late” you finally say, “I’ll text you my address.” You bite your bottom lip when you hear Rafayel thank you.
Rafayel shows up the next day at 5:59 PM, knocking on your door the second the clock hits 6 pm. You can't help but roll your eyes, smiling as you open the door. He's holding a bouquet of flowers, pink and white lilies.
The date goes well, much to your dismay, falling for his charms more than you anticipated. The two of you sit on the hood of his car, parked by the side of the highway overlooking Whitesand Bay. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, the ocean breeze makes Rafayel's purple hair seem model-like, like he was made to be by the ocean.
“Can I ask you something?” His voice is soft, eyes focused on the waves breaking on the shore. You let out a hum for him to continue. “Why did you say you couldn’t come on this date with me?” There’s a brief pause, “you don’t have to answer, I’m just curious.”
You debate not answering, figuring it was much too soon to trauma dump and bring up exes. His index finger brushes against where yours rested on top of the car's hood. You steal a glance at him, his ears are flushed.
“My ex was in love with someone else,” you say plainly, sitting a little straighter, “He told me he only loved me, it was obviously a lie seeing as though he fucked her a couple days after telling me that.” You don’t tear your gaze from the ocean, letting its rhythmic sounds keep you grounded.
“As embarrassing as it is, I tried to make it work, let myself believe his empty words. My insecurities were eating me alive and it was just a bad situation. When I finally realized how stupid I looked I left, realized I deserved better than that.”
Rafayel turns to look at you, dumbfounded on how someone could treat you so terribly. “I didn’t want to rush into anything and make the same mistakes, I’d like to think I know my worth now, but you know how it goes.” You shrug, as if you hadn’t just bared your heart to him.
His hand finds its way over yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a soft squeeze, his eyes flickering to your hands before settling on your face, unwavering when you look at him. “Give me one chance and I’ll show you the kind of love you deserve to know.”
The moonlight illuminates his features beautifully, the slope of his nose, curve of his lips, the color of his eyes. Your breath hitches as his gaze intensifies, honing in on you. “Please, let me be the one to show you,” his voice is gentle but firm, it sends a shiver down your spine in the best way possible.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat before speaking up, “okay,” you whisper, “one chance.” Rafayel smiles softly, using all of his willpower to not kiss you on the hood of his car.
You’re greeted by a bouquet of lilies the next day at work, a note in cursive sitting between the blooms.
“Thank you for last night, I hope to see you again soon- Rafayel”
The gesture makes your cheeks flush, your phone buzzing in your pocket.
[1 new message from Rafayel]
Did you get my gift? :3
yes they’re beautiful thank you so much
I’m shocked you remembered i like lilies lol
how could I not? they’re your favorite flower <3
Your cheeks burn as you lock your phone, embers of hope burn in your chest. What if it’s different? What if it’s worth a shot? You know your worth now, you won’t let yourself be treated as second best, not anymore.
Rafayel romances you hard. He takes you to dinner, sends you packages, and flowers to your home and at work, and shows up when you’re about to take your lunch break in his fancy sports car. “My horoscope said to appreciate the beautiful things in life, can I take you to lunch?”
You try to fight it, try to keep your words sharp and tone light. Slowly you find yourself wanting to let your guard down, letting your eyes linger on him for a second longer, embracing the flutter in your chest when he takes your hand in his to lead you through a busy street.
It’s scary to let yourself be vulnerable after being hurt viciously. But how beautiful is it to be loved? How wonderful does it feel to know you will be chosen over and over again?
And so you stop fighting it, heart pounding in your ears as Rafayel talks about a painting he was working on, telling you he’d found a new muse to inspire him.
“Someone new?” You feel the familiar pit in your stomach, eyes scouting the beach to see which way would be better for you to leave him. The sense of impending doom creeping up your spine, you should’ve known better, you would never be enough.
“Yeah, met them at an art pop up, I’m totally head over heels for them,” he smiles, eyes moving from the moon to your face, his smile morphing into a frown when he takes in your panicked features. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry- I think I just got the wrong impression about this” you shake your head, blinking rapidly and moving to stand up. Rafayel grabs your wrist and pulls you down, causing you to lose your balance and land on top of him.
“You’re my muse,” he states, “it’s only you.” His eyes glance at your lips, you notice. Your heart is still pounding, your ears ringing. “Can I please kiss you?” His breathing is shaky and you respond with your lips on his.
It’s electrifying to be kissed like you’re someone’s lifeline, to be held like they never want to let you go. His grip on you is bruising, like he’s finally letting himself free of any restraint as his tongue moves against yours.
“Been wanting to do this since our first date,” he growls between kisses, lips still pressed against yours, pulling you impossibly close to him. “Please be mine, only mine,” his voice is desperate, whiny almost.
When you finally pull away from him your face is flushed and gasping for air, hair messy as you stare down at him. Your cheeks burn, hyper aware of the growing hardness beneath you.
“I had something more romantic planned out next week,” he admits, shyly looking to the side, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. “Would you do me the honor of letting me be your boyfriend?”
And when he’s looking at you like the greatest treasure in the sea, like you hold his heart in your hands, how can you say no?
“Yeah,” you breathe out, a smile on your lips as you place a gentle kiss to his nose. Rafayel can’t contain his happiness, a grin on his face as he pulls you against him, the two of you laughing loudly as you roll around in the sand.
You’re still a bit guarded around him at first, grateful with how patient he is with you, never once pushing your boundaries or pushing you for answers. Instead he shows you how much he cares about you, still buying you flowers (always lilies), taking you on surprise dates and buying you the things you mention in passing.
You open up to him about Caleb after your two months together, and it all seems to click for him.
“Last name Xia?” he asks, you nod, brows furrowed.
“How did you know that?”
“The girl he cheated on you with, was her name MC?” You feel your blood go cold, you give him a slow nod. “She’s supposed to be my bodyguard,” he chuckles dryly.
You go quiet, maybe you should’ve stayed cautious, you should’ve moved cities or countries, or-
“I’ll fire her, I can get the information I need some other way,” he shrugs, taking his phone out and sending an email before you can even process his words.
“I don’t want to get in the way of your work,” you finally sputter out, you suddenly feel small, the evil voice in the back of your head growing louder.
“It makes you uncomfortable for me to work with her, yes?” He watches you carefully, only continuing when you nod ever so slightly, opening your mouth with a rebuttal, he cuts you off before you can. “She played a part in hurting you in the past, yes?” You bite your bottom lip, nodding once more. “Then why would I want someone like that to work for me? I would do anything to make sure you’re comfortable, cutie.”
Your eyes burn, your bottom lip wobbles as you wrap your arms around him. Rafayel is stunned for a second, quickly reciprocating your embrace and rubbing your back.
“I love you,” you whisper, face buried in the crook of his neck as you say the words, half hoping he didn’t hear you.
Rafayel holds you tighter, you feel his body relax beneath you. “I love you so much,” he breathes out, neither of you daring to move. When you finally pull away you feel lighter, your heart seems fuller as you look at Rafayel. He giggles and blushes when you press a myriad of kisses on his face, a sloppy wet one right on the mole on the apple of his cheek.
You let your walls down, showering him in love and allowing yourself to be clingy. You let yourself love to the fullest, it’ll be scary, but you’re willing to try.
When you bump into Caleb two years later you don’t hold any resentment towards him.
“Y/N?” the familiar voice makes your head whip around, Rafyel turns and looks as well.
“Caleb? It’s been a while!” you smile softly at him, he looks tired. “How have you been?” His colonel uniform is just as pristine as it was the last time you’d seen him.
“I’ve been alright,” his eyes flicker to the man next to you, a pit in his stomach when he notices the two of you holding hands. It should’ve been him, he should’ve fought harder, he should've been better.
“Oh this is my boyfriend, Rafayel!” your eyes sparkle when you say his name, the purple haired man puffs his chest out a bit, holding his hand out, Caleb puts his hand in Rafayels, biting his tongue when your boyfriend's grip is bone crushing.
“Nice to meet you,” Rafayel smiles, Caleb notes the way his eyes narrow at him momentarily.
“Likewise,” before he can say anything else you speak up.
“How are you and MC?” your eyes hold no ill intentions, and Caleb’s knees buckle as he remembers how kind you were, kindness he used against you.
“We aren’t-” he pauses, eyes flickering over your face. You were so happy. Caleb’s eyes catch the necklace you’re wearing, a starfish and the letter ‘R’ dangling off a chain. He notices the cardigan you're wearing is a size or two bigger than what you usually wear, it must be his.
You were doted on, you were first choice, loved unconditionally. You deserved that.
So instead of telling you the truth, that he and mc didn’t work out and he regrets his decision every night. Instead of telling you he’d do anything to get you back, he’d do whatever it took for you to give him just one chance, he swallows his words and gives you the best smile he can.
“We're doing good, I’m glad you found someone you deserve,” he hopes you can’t hear the waver in his voice, his eyes don’t dare glance at Rafayel. He can feel the daggers being sent his way without looking.
When you say your goodbyes Caleb has a bitter taste in his mouth, his head spinning as he watches you walk away, forcing himself to tear his gaze from you.
You smile up at Rafayel, giggling when he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Raf!” you gasp as he picks you up, carrying you to the car before setting you down gently in the passenger seat. His eyes soften as they look at you, face flushed as you hold his gaze, “I love you,” he mumbles. You smile widely at his words, kissing his lips gently, laughing softly when he melts into the kiss.
You were thankful to Caleb. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be settling, you’d brush off your hurt for the comfort of others and never put yourself first. It wasn't forever, but you found yourself and your worth.
Rafayel talks about a new exhibit he was putting on, every painting inspired by you. His words seem to fade into the background as you stare at him, a soft smile on your face. You found your forever, and you’d never have to worry about settling again.
