SYNOPSIS :: The sight of the queen bee with the school’s loser was peculiar to everyone who had been witness to your constant bickering, but they don’t see how he seems to be the only person you can truly be yourself with. (skater!keonho x regina!reader)
WC :: 13.4k
CONTAINS :: arguing, both of them are kinda mean (especially reader), profanities, reader is rich, Keonho is poor (is insulted for it), kissing, skinship, pet names, description of injury, use of dollars, some cringe/cliché dialogue, time skips (choppy)
PLAYLIST :: She's kinda hot - 5sos; sk8er boi - Avril Lavigne; Cupid's chokehold - Gym Class Heroes; Dirty little secret - The All-American Rejects; Cherry waves - Deftones; Colors - Halsey
SPINOFF :: She looks so perfect (6.6k)
Keonho was currently lying on his front in your bed, the pink fluffy blanket pulled up around him like he belonged there. His head rested on his crossed arms, dark hair falling across his forehead, eyes half-lidded as he tracked you pacing back and forth across the massive room. You were on the phone, your voice clipped and sharp.
"Well, if she said that to you, she obviously doesn't care how you feel." A pause. A flurry of muffled words from the other end. "No, don't cry. Crying is what she wants. You cry, she wins."
Keonho pressed his smile into his forearm. You were wearing his hoodie. The black one with the ripped sleeve. You'd stolen it three weeks ago and hadn't given it back.
He wasn't going to ask for it.
The sight of you wrapped in his clothes while he laid on your bed was peculiar to say the least. Especially to your entire school, who had spent months watching you argue in hallways and courtyards, never realising you were toeing the line between hatred and something neither of you had a name for yet.
The first time you'd really noticed him, he almost hit you with his skateboard.
It was the second week of junior year. The leaves were turning, and you were walking across the courtyard with Hana, mid-sentence about someone's ugly backpack—"I'm just saying, if you're going to spend four hundred dollars on a bag, at least make it look like four hundred dollars"—when a blur of motion came flying around the corner.
Shhk shhk shhk. Wheels on pavement. Then a body slammed into your side.
Not hard enough to knock you over. Hard enough to send your phone flying out of your hand and skidding across the concrete, face-down, the sickening crack of impact echoing off the fountain your family had donated.
"Shit—sorry—"
You stumbled, caught yourself on Hana's arm, and whipped around.
A boy you'd never seen before was already crouched down, scooping up your phone. His skateboard had rolled several feet away, still wobbling on its side. He was wearing the school uniform, but barely. The tie was missing and the top button of his shirt was undone. His dark hair was a mess under a gray beanie, and there was a small scrape on his palm where he'd caught himself.
He stood up and held out your phone.
The screen was cracked. A spiderweb of fractures spreading from the top left corner, right through your home screen. Your perfect, carefully curated home screen.
"You broke my phone," you said. Your voice was flat and cold.
He looked at the screen. Then at you. Most people would have started apologising immediately, groveled, turned red, stammered, promised to pay for it, even got down on their knees if that's what it took.
He just shrugged. "It's just a screen. You can get it fixed."
Just a screen.
As if you hadn't spent hours picking out the perfect case. As if the crack didn't ruin the entire aesthetic of the phone you'd only had for three weeks. As if he hadn't just barreled into you like a human wrecking ball and then had the audacity to act like it was nothing.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" you asked.
He tilted his head, studying you with an expression that wasn't quite recognition. More like mild curiosity. The kind you'd give a mildly interesting bug on the sidewalk.
"No," he said. "Should I?"
Hana snorted behind you. You could feel her phone already out, probably recording or texting the group chat.
You snatched the phone from his hand, holding it up so he could see the full extent of the damage. "This is a thousand-dollar phone."
"It was a thousand dollars," he corrected. "Now it's a thousand-dollar phone with a cracked screen. Still works, probably."
"Probably."
"Did you check?"
"No, I was too busy being hit by a skateboard."
He didn't apologise and didn't even look sorry. He just walked over to his board, kicked it up into his hand with a smooth, annoyingly practiced motion, and slung it under his arm.
"You should watch where you're going," he said. "You walked straight into my path. I had the right of way."
"Right of way?" Your voice came out half an octave higher than usual. "This isn't a road. It's a courtyard. For walking. There's no such thing as right of way."
"There's always right of way. It's basic physics. Object in motion stays in motion. You were an object. I was in motion."
"You're not a physicist. You're a guy on a toy."
His jaw tightened, just a fraction. "It's not a toy."
"It's a board with wheels."
"It's transportation."
"It's a mere hobby."
"At least I have a hobby." His eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate. "What's yours? Judging people? Making lists? Seeing how many compliments you can fish for in one outfit?"
Your mouth dropped open. Actually dropped. Nobody talked to you like that. Nobody. Not the teachers, not your parents, not the other kids who whispered behind your back but smiled to your face. Nobody had the nerve.
"I don't fish for compliments," you said.
"Sure you don't." He nodded at your outfit: designer boots, perfectly pressed skirt, blazer that cost more than most people's rent. "You just dress like you're going to a brunch meeting with your publicist because it's comfortable."
"I like fashion."
"You like attention, that’s obvious."
Hana made a small, strangled sound that was either a laugh or a gasp. You couldn't tell. You couldn't think. Your face was hot, your hands were shaking, and this absolute nobody was looking at you like you were a puzzle he'd already solved.
"My family donated that fountain," you said, pointing to the marble monstrosity in the center of the courtyard. "My name is on a plaque in the main hall. I could make one phone call and you'd never eat in this courtyard again."
He looked genuinely unimpressed. "Cool. Doesn't make you immune to the walkway."
And then he just walked away with his skateboard under his arm and his beanie pulled low. His shoulders were loose, like he didn't have a care in the world, like he hadn't just committed social suicide in front of half the junior class.
You stood there, frozen, watching him disappear around the corner.
"Who the hell was that?" Hana whispered.
"I don't know." You were gripping your cracked phone so hard your knuckles went white. "But he just declared war."
The next day, you found him in the cafeteria.
He was sitting alone at the end of a table, eating what looked like a convenience store sandwich. The same gray beanie. The same frayed hoodie under his uniform blazer. His skateboard was propped against the table leg, and he was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone in the room was stealing glances at him.
Or maybe he wasn't oblivious and he just didn't care.
That made you angrier than anything else.
You walked straight up to him, dropped your bag on the table with a loud thump, and planted both hands on the surface before leaning in, making sure he couldn't ignore you.
"You owe me three hundred dollars for the screen repair."
He looked up slowly, still chewing on his sandwich before he eventually swallowed.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You broke it."
"You dropped it." He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. Arms crossed. One eyebrow raised. "I bumped you. You dropped it. That's on you. Physics."
"Don't start with the physics again."
"Why not? It's a solid argument. Cause and effect. Your hand let go of the phone. My skateboard didn't even touch you. I touched you. With my body. Which is flesh and blood, not a weapon."
He shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich, chewing with his mouth open just to annoy you. You could tell but you didn’t say anything, too shell shocked from someone actually biting back.
"You've been thinking about me all night, haven't you?" He said, gesturing at you with the sandwich. "Couldn't sleep. Just lying there, replaying it, getting mad all over again."
Your face heated. Because he was right. You had been up half the night, tossing around, furious at the memory of his stupid face and his stupid skateboard and the way he'd looked at you like you were nothing. Like you were just another person, instead of the person.
"I don't think about you," you lied.
"Sure you don't." He picked up his sandwich again. "That's why you tracked me down in a cafeteria with like two hundred people in it. Because you don't think about me."
"I didn't track you down. I'm eating lunch."
"You don't eat in the cafeteria. Everyone knows that. You eat in the courtyard with your friends." He nodded toward the window. "The courtyard you apparently own. The one with the fountain. Your fountain. The one your family donated."
Your nails dug into the table. "How do you know where I eat?"
He shrugged. "I notice things."
Something about the way he said it so casually made your stomach flip. A tiny, traitorous flip that you refused to acknowledge.
"Three hundred dollars," you repeated.
"Zero dollars."
"Two hundred, then."
"Still zero."
"One hundred and fifty. Final offer."
He set down his sandwich and looked at you properly for the first time. His eyes were dark and warm, with little gold flecks you hadn't noticed before, not that you cared anyways.
"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"
"Never."
He sighed theatrically and reached into his pocket. Pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Worn soft, the edges frayed. He slid it across the table toward you.
"That's all I have. Take it or leave it."
You stared at the twenty. Then at him. Then back at the twenty.
"You're serious."
"I'm a skateboarder, not a trust fund kid. Sorry I don't have a fountain donation in my back pocket."
The jab hit exactly where he meant it to. You snatched the twenty off the table and stuffed it into your blazer pocket.
"This isn't over," you said.
"I know." He picked up his sandwich again. "See you tomorrow, fountain girl."
"It's Y/N."
"I know that too."
He smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make you want to throw something at his head.
You turned on your heel and walked away, Hana falling into step beside you, already asking a million questions you didn't have answers to.
After that, the arguments became routine.
Every day, you found a reason to cross paths with him. Every day, he had a lazy comeback that made your blood boil. Every day, you walked away angrier than before, promising yourself that tomorrow you'd ignore him completely.
And every day, you never did.
"You're obsessed with him," Hana said one afternoon, watching you scan the courtyard for the familiar gray beanie.
"I'm not obsessed, I'm just dedicated like I always am."
"No, this is something else."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've been looking for him for ten minutes. We haven't even sat down yet."
"I'm not looking. I'm observing my environment."
Hana gave you a long, flat look. "Your environment is a courtyard full of people eating lunch. What exactly are you observing?"
You spotted him near the bike racks where he’d moved to eat lunch after your canteen run in, the same as every other day, lacing up his skate shoes, and your feet were already moving before your brain could catch up.
"Keonho!"
He looked up, and that small smile appeared. The one that made you want to scream.
"Fountain girl. Right on time."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay… princess." He said it under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch. Your jaw dropped.
"Princess? Did you just call me princess?"
"You heard me." He didn't even look guilty. Just went back to tying his laces, all casual, like he hadn't just committed a felony against your entire brand. "You prefer 'your highness'? Because that feels like a mouthful. Lots of syllables. I might get tired halfway through."
"I prefer my name."
"Right. Y/N." He drew out the syllables like he was tasting them. "Y/N, who crossed the entire courtyard just to yell at me about a twenty-dollar bill I already gave you. A transaction which we both agreed was final."
"That twenty dollars didn't even cover the tax on the repair."
"Not my problem."
"Everything is your problem. You're the one who hit me with your skateboard."
"You walked into me."
"I was walking. On my feet. Like a normal person."
"So was I. On my skateboard. Which is a form of transportation, last time I checked. Legally recognised. Some cities have lanes."
"Skateboards don't belong in lanes. Skateboards don't belong anywhere near people."
"They belong everywhere. That's the beauty of it. I can go anywhere. No rules or restrictions. Just me and the board and the open road."
"You sound like some lame commercial."
"You sound like you've never had fun a day in your life."
The words landed. You felt them land. Your face went hot, then cold, then hot again.
"I have plenty of fun."
"Name one fun thing you've done in the past month."
"I—that's—that's none of your business."
"That's what I thought." He stood up, grabbing his board. "No fun. Just school and social obligations and making sure everyone knows you're the most important person in the room."
"I don't have to make sure. Everyone already knows."
"Sure they do." He spun the board in his hand, a lazy, practiced motion. "That's why you're here. Talking to me. Because everyone already knows how important you are, and you're bored of it."
"I'm not bored."
"You're definitely bored. You're the most bored person I've ever met. You have everything, and you're still bored. That's kind of sad, actually."
Your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking. How on earth could he read you so easily?
"You don't know anything about me," you said quietly.
"I know you're still standing here." He tilted his head, those dark eyes boring into yours. "I know you could have walked away five minutes ago. I know you didn't. I know you won't."
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "But probably not."
He started walking, and you fell into step beside him without thinking. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"I've been eating lunch by the bike racks for two months since you banished me from the canteen," he said. "You'd never been here once before that. Not once. Now suddenly you're here every day?"
"Maybe I wanted a change of scenery."
"Maybe you wanted a change of someone."
You stopped walking. He stopped too, a few steps ahead, looking back at you with that insufferable half-smile.
"What is that supposed to mean?" you asked.
He turned to face you fully. The courtyard was mostly empty, everyone else already inside. It was just you and him and the sound of wind through the bike racks.
"It means," he said, taking a step closer, "that you're not as complicated as you think you are. You've got your perfect life and your perfect friends and your perfect little routines, and you're bored. And I'm the only thing in this school that doesn't bore you."
"That's not—"
"It means," he continued, like you hadn't spoken, "that you don't actually hate me. You just don't know what else to do with me."
Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. "And what do you want to do with me?"
The question hung between you, heavier than you'd intended. His smile faded, just slightly, and for a second he looked almost... serious. Almost vulnerable.
"I don't know yet," he said. "Guess we’ll have to figure it out."
He turned and kept walking toward the side door of the science building.
"Hey, Keonho?" you called out.
He looked back.
"You still owe me a hundred and thirty dollars."
His laugh echoed across the empty courtyard. "Keep dreaming, fountain girl."
"Stop calling me that!"
"In your dreams!"
You grabbed a pebble from the ground and threw it at him. He dodged it easily, grinning, and disappeared through the door.
You stood there for a long moment, alone in the cold, your left eyebrow doing something you couldn't control.
You don't actually hate me. You just don't know what else to do with me.
The worst part was, you were starting to think he was right.
Weeks continued like that. The arguments became the best part of your day.
It was strange, admitting it to yourself. You'd spent years building a life that was supposed to make you happy: the right friends, the right clothes, the right words at the right times. You were good at it. Everyone said so. You had everything anyone could want.
But nothing had ever made your heart race like stepping into the courtyard and spotting that gray beanie.
Some days you found him at the bike racks. Some days near the vending machines. Some days you'd round a corner and there he'd be, like he'd been waiting, like he knew you were coming before you did.
"You're late, princess,” he said one Tuesday, not looking up from his phone.
"I'm not late. Class ran over."
"Excuses."
"It's not an excuse. It's an explanation."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
He looked up then, and that small smile was there. The one that made your stomach flip.
"You always have to have the last word, don't you?"
"Obviously."
"So do I."
"Then we have a problem."
"We've always had a problem." He pocketed his phone and leaned back against the bike rack, arms crossed. "That's kind of our whole thing."
You hated how easily he said it. Our whole thing. Like there was an us to have a thing.
"There is no our," you said.
"Sure there isn't." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "That's why you're here. Every day. Like clockwork."
"I'm here because the courtyard is crowded."
"The courtyard is always crowded. You've been eating there for two years. You never left before."
Your jaw tightened. "Maybe I wanted a change."
"Maybe you wanted me."
Your heart stopped. Then restarted at double speed. "That's—you're—no."
He laughed. Actually laughed, his whole face lighting up in a way you'd never seen before. It was annoyingly beautiful. His nose crinkled and his eyes disappeared into crescents. He looked like a completely different person.
"Your face is so red right now," he said.
"It is not."
"It's the color of your bag."
You looked down at your pink designer handbag. You wanted to throw it at him.
"I hate you," you said.
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"Then why are you still here?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
He seemed to be the only person able to leave you speechless
The turning point was February. Valentine's Day, actually, which made it worse.
You'd been crying in the greenhouse behind the science wing. Not because you were sad, exactly. Because your mother had called and she'd reminded you, in that sweet, sharp voice she used when she was disappointed, that your "little art hobby"— the one thing you actually cared about, that made you feel like a real person instead of a performance—was "lovely but impractical." That you should probably focus on something that would "actually matter" in college applications. That there were expectations.
You'd thought you were alone.
You hadn't been.
Keonho was sitting in the corner, behind a rack of potted ferns, eating a granola bar. He had his beanie pulled low and his knees drawn up. He'd clearly been there first. Maybe he'd been there for a while.
"Go away," you said, your voice thick.
He didn't move. "No."
"I said go away, Keonho."
"And I said no." He took another bite of his granola bar, chewing slowly. "You're not gonna throw things at me, are you? Because you have scary good aim and I'm not trying to catch a rock with my face."
You stared at him, tears still wet on your cheeks, too exhausted to even be properly angry. "Why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you don't care about anything."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I care about stuff. I just don't care about the stuff you're supposed to care about."
Something about that, the simplicity of it, the way he said it like it was obvious, made something crack inside you.
You sat down on the dirty greenhouse floor. Right across from him. And you cried for real. Not pretty tears. The ugly ones that left your face blotchy and your nose running and every single wall you'd ever built crumbling into dust.
He didn't say anything. Didn't try to comfort you with empty words. He just handed you a crumpled napkin from his pocket and waited.
When you'd finally stopped, you looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and said, "If you tell anyone about this, I will end you."
"I know," he said. And then, so quietly you almost missed it: "I won't."
You sat there for a long time in silence. The greenhouse was warm and smelled like dirt and flowers, the ferns cast dancing shadows on the floor. Eventually you pushed yourself up, walking away without looking back.
After that, the hatred started to feel different.
Like a game neither of you were really playing anymore, but neither of you knew how to stop. The insults got softer. The fights got shorter. You found yourself seeking him out in crowds, just to see what he was doing, just to make sure he was still there.
"I think he likes you," Hana said one afternoon, and you laughed so hard you choked.
"He doesn't like me. He's messing with me."
"That’s the same thing sometimes."
It wasn't the same thing. It couldn't be. Because you didn't do boys like Keonho. You did boys with trust funds and family names and futures already planned out. Boys who understood the rules and played by them. Boys who would never dream of sitting on a dirty greenhouse floor or eating convenience store sandwiches or looking at you like they could see every single crack in your armour.
You didn't do boys who made you feel seen.
But maybe that was exactly the problem.
"Judging me again, princess?"
He was sat under the bleachers, back against the chain-link fence, knees drawn up with his skateboard across his lap. The afternoon light filtered through the metal slats, casting stripes of gold and shadow across his face. His beanie was crooked, his uniform shirt untucked, and he was looking up at you like you were exactly who he'd been waiting for.
You stood in front of him with your arms crossed, heels sinking slightly into the dirt. "I'm not judging. I'm wondering how you haven't been expelled yet."
"Charming."
"I'm serious. You don't do the work. You don't follow the rules. You show up late every single day. What's the point of even being here?"
He set his skateboard aside and leaned back on his hands, tilting his face up toward you. "Free wifi. Heated building. Sometimes they hand out granola bars in the front office."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't trying to be funny. Was trying to be honest." He shrugged. "You should try it sometime."
"I'm always honest."
"No you're not." His voice was flat. Certain. "You've never had an honest conversation in your life. You just say whatever keeps you on top."
Your jaw tightened. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you fake-laugh when your friends make jokes that aren't funny, which is all the time. I know you wait until everyone's looking before you do anything nice. I know you've never apologised to anyone for anything, ever, because that would mean admitting you were wrong." He tilted his head. "Should I keep going?"
"You don't know me."
"I know you better than your friends do."
"Stop."
"Why? Because I'm right?"
"Because you're insufferable." Your voice was rising now. You could feel the heat climbing up your neck, the tightness in your chest. "You think you're so smart. You think you've got everyone figured out. But you're just a guy with a skateboard and a chip on his shoulder who can't even afford—"
You stopped yourself. The words hung in the air, half-finished.
He stood up slowly. Brushed the dirt off his pants. His face had gone very still.
"Can't even afford what?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
"Nothing."
"No, go ahead. You were saying something. Don't stop now."
"Keonho—"
"Can't even afford what, Y/N?" He stepped closer. "New shoes? A car that isn't fifteen years old? Lunch that didn't come from a gas station? What was it? What were you about to say?"
You took a step back. Your heel caught on a rock. You stumbled, caught yourself, and hated him for making you stumble.
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"You were. You always are. That's your whole thing." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You walk around this school like everyone beneath you is a bug you might step on. You think I don't notice? You think I don't see the way you look at me?"
"How do I look at you?"
"Like I'm dirt." He jabbed a finger toward his own chest. "Like I'm something you stepped in and can't scrape off your shoe. And you know what? Fine. I don't care. I've been looked at like that my whole life. By people richer than you. By people meaner than you. By people who actually had a reason."
"I have a reason."
"What reason? Because I bumped into you one time? Because I didn't fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness when your precious phone cracked?"
"You called me fountain girl."
"And you’ve called me poor."
You flinched. He saw it. His eyes narrowed.
"I didn't mean—"
"You’ve meant every word. That's what kills me. You're not even pretending to be sorry. You just stand there with your arms crossed and your perfect hair and your perfect shoes and you look at me like I'm the problem."
"You are the problem!"
"How? How am I the problem, Y/N? Because I don't bow down to you? Because I don't laugh at your jokes? Because I won't pretend you're something you're not?"
"Because you won't just leave me alone!"
The words tore out of you. Loud and raw, echoing off the metal bleachers above.
He stopped. Blinked.
"You heard me," you said, your voice shaking now. "You won't leave me alone. You're everywhere. The bike racks. The vending machines. The greenhouse. Every time I turn around, there you are, with your stupid beanie and your stupid skateboard and your stupid eyes."
"So now I'm the problem because I exist?"
"Yes! No! I don't—" You pressed your hands to your face, breathed in, breathed out. "I don't know what I'm saying."
"Yes you do. You're saying you can't stop thinking about me."
Your hands dropped. "That is not what I'm saying."
"That's exactly what you're saying. You're just too proud to admit it."
"I am not—"
"You are. You're standing under a set of bleachers with me instead of eating lunch with your friends. You're shouting at me instead of ignoring me like you ignore everyone else. You're here, Y/N. You've always been here. You just don't want to admit why."
"Don't tell me what I want."
"Then tell me yourself. What do you want?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your temples.
"Nothing," you said.
"Liar."
"I want you to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop making me feel like—like—" Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. You hated him for making it crack. "Like I'm not allowed to just dislike you. Like I have to have a reason. Like I have to justify it."
"You don't have to justify anything. You just have to admit it's not dislike."
"It is dislike."
"It's not." He stepped closer. "You don't seek out people you dislike. You avoid them. You destroy them. You don't show up to them every single day with your arms crossed and your face flushed like—"
"My face is not flushed."
"Your face is so flushed right now." He laughed. Not the mean laugh from before. Something almost... fond.
You stood there, frozen, your arms still crossed, your heart still pounding, your face definitely still flushed. He was too close. He'd been too close for months. Too close in the hallways, too close in the greenhouse, too close in every argument that had somehow become the best part of your day.
"I hate you," you said.
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"Then why are you still here?"
The question hung between you. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.
"Because—" You stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Because I don't know what to do when I'm not here."
His expression shifted. The teasing faded. Something else took its place: something softer, something almost tender.
"Y/N—"
"Don't." You held up a hand. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you care."
"Maybe I do."
"Well, stop. People don't care about me. They're afraid of me. That’s how it’s supposed to be."
"Maybe," he agreed quietly. "But I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
"I'm not."
"Then you're stupid."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "Or maybe I just see something everyone else is too scared to look at."
Your throat was tight. Your eyes were burning. You weren't going to cry. You weren't. You'd cried in front of him once and you'd sworn you'd never do it again.
"What do you see?" The words came out smaller than you wanted. Quieter.
He stepped close enough to the point that you could smell him: cold air and soap and something warm underneath.
"I see someone who's exhausted," he said. "Someone who's been performing for so long she forgot there was a person underneath. Someone who's smart and talented and so terrified of being ordinary that she'd rather be hated than ignored."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me what I'm missing. Tell me what I'm saying wrong. Tell me you don't lie awake at night wondering what it would be like to just stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop performing. Stop pretending. Stop being the person everyone expects you to be." His voice dropped. "Tell me you've never looked at me and thought about being free."
Your breath caught.
"I've seen you," he continued, quieter now. "In the art room. When you think no one's watching. You make things; real things, messy things, things that aren't for anyone but you. That's who you are. That's who you could be all the time if you weren't so busy being who everyone else wants you to be."
"You don't know anything about my art."
"I know you're good at it. I know you care about it more than anything else in your life. I know you'd rather be in that room than anywhere else in the world."
"Stop."
"And I know," he said, stepping even closer, "that you feel more alive arguing with me than you do with anyone else."
"Stop."
"Why? Because I'm right?"
"Because you're—because you can't just—because—" Your voice was rising again, cracking again, falling apart in your hands. "Because you don't get to stand there and see me like that. Because no one sees me like that. Because if you see me like that, then I have to be real, and I don't know how to be real, I only know how to be her—"
"Then stop being her."
"I can't—"
"Yes you can." He grabbed your arms, not hard, just firm enough to stop you from pacing, from running, from falling apart completely. "You can. You just don't want to."
"I don't know how."
"Then let me help you."
"You can't help me. You're just a guy with a skateboard. You don't have a plan. You don't have a future. You don't have anything."
The words landed like stones. Heavy and unforgivable.
His hands dropped from your arms. His face went blank.
"Wow," he said quietly. "Okay."
"Keonho—"
"No, you're right. I don't have anything. I don't have a trust fund. I don't have a fountain with my name on it. I don't have a future planned out for me by people who care more about appearances than they care about me."
"That's not what I meant—"
"It's exactly what you meant." He stepped back. "It's what you always mean. You just said it out loud this time."
"I didn't—I was angry—"
"You're always angry. That's not an excuse."
"I know, I just—"
"You just what? You just wanted to hurt me? Congratulations. You did." He ran a hand over his beanie, hair poking out at the ends. "You always do. And I always let you. Because some part of me thought maybe underneath all the armour there was someone worth waiting for."
Your heart stopped.
"But maybe I was wrong," he said. "Maybe there's no one underneath at all. Maybe you're just the armour."
"That's not—"
"Then prove it." His voice cracked on the last word. "Prove me wrong. Show me there's someone in there. Just once. Just for a second. Please."
That broke something in you.
You didn't think. You just moved.
You grabbed the front of his stupid, frayed, too-big shirt,and yanked him down. The fabric bunched in your fists, pulling him off balance, forcing him to stumble forward into your space as you twisted awkwardly. His hands shot out instinctively, bracing against the chain-link fence on either side of you, caging you in without meaning to.
And then your mouth was on his.
It wasn't gentle or soft. It was months of frustration and confusion and the unbearable weight of being seen finally cracking open. You kissed him like you were trying to win an argument. Like you were trying to prove a point. Like you were trying to shove every word you'd never said directly into his lungs and make him breathe them.
Your lips crashed against his, off-center at first, your nose bumping his jaw before you corrected course. You didn't care. You couldn't care. Your fingers were still twisted in his shirt, knuckles pressed against his collarbone, and you were pulling him closer even as you were kissing him harder.
His lips were warm and softer than you expected for a boy who spent his afternoons falling off skateboards. The contrast sent something sharp and electric down your spine.
For a single, suspended second, he was frozen. Completely, utterly frozen. His body went rigid against yours, his hands still pressed flat to the fence, his lips parted but unresponsive beneath yours. You could feel his breath: caught somewhere between an inhale and an exhale, trapped in his throat like he'd forgotten how to let it out.
Then something shifted.
His hands uncurled from the fence. His fingers found your waist, the touch light at first, almost questioning, as if he was waiting for you to shove him away.
You didn't.
You kissed him harder.
His lips finallymoved against yours. Slowly at first, like he was waking up from a long sleep. He tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and suddenly the kiss fit differently: better, deeper.
Your fingers loosened in his shirt, then tightened again, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. His chest pressed against yours, firm and solid. His heart was pounding—you could feel it, or maybe that was your own heart, maybe they'd synced up somewhere in the chaos of the kiss. You couldn't tell anymore.
His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, fingers splaying wide, pressing you into him. The other hand came up to your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone, tilting your face up to meet his more fully. He kissed you deeper now, with more confidence, like he'd finally caught up to what was happening and was making up for lost time.
Your head was spinning. Your lungs were burning. You couldn't remember how to breathe through your nose, and you didn't care, because pulling away meant stopping, and stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant admitting what you'd just done.
So you didn't stop.
You kissed him until your lips were numb. You kissed him until his thumb was tracing patterns on your jaw and his other hand was pressed flat against your spine and the chain-link fence was digging into his knuckles and neither of you cared. You kissed him like you were trying to crawl inside his skin, like you were trying to prove that you were more than armour, like you were trying to make him understand something you didn't have words for.
And then, finally, you pulled back.
Your hands uncurled from his shirt. The fabric was wrinkled now, permanently creased where your fists had been. You sideways, one step, then two, putting distance between you. Your heels sank into the dirt. Your chest was heaving. Your lips were swollen and wet and tingling.
You crossed your arms. Locked your knees. Lifted your chin.
And you looked at him with the most neutral expression you could muster.
"You talk too much."
Keonho was still standing before the fence. His hands were braced where you had left them, fingers curled around the chain-link like he needed it to stay upright. His beanie had slipped sideways, and a strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and his lips were parted, pinker than before, slightly swollen.
He looked like someone had reached into his chest, rearranged his organs, and forgotten to put them back in the right order.
"You—" His voice came out rough. Cracked. He stopped, swallowed, and tried again, turning to face you fully. "You just—"
"I just what?"
"You kissed me."
"Did I?" You tilted your head, fighting the smile threatening to break across your face.
He blinked. Once, then twice. His hands dropped from the fence, and he ran one of them over his mouth, fingers pressing against his lower lip like he was checking to make sure it was still there.
"I'm—you can't just—" He stopped. Ran his hand through his hair, dislodging his beanie entirely. It fell to the ground. He didn't pick it up. "You can't just kiss someone and then act like—like that—"
"Like what?"
"Like you didn't just short-circuit my entire brain."
You shrugged. One shoulder. Casual. Like your whole world hadn't just flipped upside down, and your lips weren't still buzzing, and your heart wasn't threatening to beat its way out of your ribcage.
"Maybe you should stop talking so much," you said. "I warned you."
"You didn't warn me about anything—"
"I've been warning you for months."
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
And then something shifted in his expression, the shock faded, the confusion cleared, something else took its place.
"You think you're funny," he said slowly.
"I think I'm hilarious."
He was at a loss for words and you watched him struggle, try to reach for words that weren't there, his hands flexing at his sides as if he was trying to physically grasp a sentence and failing. His chest was still rising and falling too fast. His lips were still parted. His eyes kept darting from your eyes to your mouth and back again, like he couldn't decide which one to focus on.
"You're staring," you said.
"I'm not staring. I'm... processing."
"Process faster. You're making it weird."
"I'm making it weird?" He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You just—you just kissed me. Out of nowhere. In the middle of an argument. While I was begging you to be real with me for one second. And now you're standing there like you didn't just—like you didn't—" He gestured vaguely at the space between you, at his mouth, at the air itself. "Like you didn't just do that."
"What do you want me to do? Apologise?"
"I want you to acknowledge it!"
"I acknowledged it. I kissed you. You were there. You felt it."
"That's not—that's not acknowledging it, that's just doing it—"
"Same thing."
"It's really not!"
"It really is."
There was a beat of silence. He stared at you and you stared back. The afternoon light shifted, stripes of gold sliding across his face, catching the flush on his cheekbones.
The wind picked up, rattling the chain-link fence beside him. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. The world was still moving, still spinning, still completely unaware that yours had just cracked open and rearranged itself into something you didn't recognise.
Keonho bent down and picked up his beanie. He didn't put it back on. Just held it in his hands, twisting the fabric, avoiding your eyes.
"Why did you do it?" he asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"Kiss me."
"You asked me to prove you wrong."
"That's not—" He let out a breath, slow and shaky. "That's not a reason."
"Sure it is."
"No, it's not. It's an impulse. It's a reaction. It's not a reason." He looked up at you then, and his eyes were different: softer, almost vulnerable, stripped of the emotionless facade he usually wore. "I've been asking you for months. Months. To just be honest with me for five seconds. And you finally do something real, and I just... I need to know why. It wasn’t just because you were trying to win an argument or to shut me up, you know that. Just tell me why."
Your throat tightened.
You could lie. You were good at lying. You'd been lying your whole life, to everyone, about everything. You could tell him it meant nothing, and you were just frustrated. You could tell him a hundred different things that would make this easier, simpler, less terrifying.
But he was looking at you like he could see every crack and he'd been waiting inside one of them for months just hoping you'd eventually climb down to meet him.
"Because I couldn't not," you said.
His brow furrowed. "What?"
"I couldn't not do it." Your voice was quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness. "You were standing there, and you were saying all those things, and you were looking at me like… like you actually wanted to see me." You paused, swallowed, forced yourself to continue. "And I thought about walking away. I thought about saying something mean. I thought about every single thing I usually do to keep people at a distance. And then I thought—what if I just... didn't. For once. What if I just did what I actually wanted to do instead of what I was supposed to do."
"And what did you actually want to do?"
You met his eyes. Held his gaze. Let him see.
"I wanted to kiss you," you said. "I've wanted to kiss you for weeks. Maybe longer. I don't know. I wasn’t keeping track."
The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and enormous.
Keonho didn't move. Didn't speak. His hands had stopped twisting his beanie. His eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and unreadable.
"You're not joking," he said finally.
"No."
"You're not trying to mess with me."
"No."
"You actually—" He stopped, swallowed, then started again. "You actually want—"
"Don't make me say it again."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not good at this. I'm not good at being real. You know that. I’ve never known how to be anything other than what I’ve always been at this stupid school."
"And now?"
You looked down at your hands. They were shaking. You curled them into fists, then uncurled them, then curled them again.
"Now I don't know what I am," you admitted. "But I know I'm still standing here with you and I'm not running away."
He took a step closer and his beanie dropped to the ground again, forgotten.
"You're really bad at this," he said softly.
"I know."
"The whole vulnerability thing. You're terrible at it."
"I know."
"It's kind of endearing, actually."
"Keonho."
"Y/N." He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing his eyes, the small scar on his chin, the way his lips were still slightly swollen from your mouth. "You kissed me."
"I'm aware."
"You said you've wanted to for weeks."
"I'm aware of that too."
"And now you're standing here, shaking, looking at me like you're about to either kiss me again or throw up."
"I’m not throwing up—"
"So kiss me again."
Your heart stopped.
"What?"
"You heard me." His voice was low, steady, certain. "You kissed me to prove a point. Now kiss me because you want to. No argument. Just you and me."
You looked at him and saw it all: the mess of his hair from his hand running through it too much, the frayed shirt collar, the dark eyes that had been seeing you for months when no one else bothered to look.
"You're annoying," you finally whispered.
"I know."
"You're insufferable."
"I know."
"You're—"
He kissed you to shut you up and it was nothing like the first kiss.
His fingers slid into your hair at the nape of your neck, not pulling, just there, a warm weight against your scalp. His other hand found your waist again, palm spanned the curve of your side like he was memorising the shape of it. His thumbs pressed lightly into the fabric of your shirt, and you could feel each individual fingertip through the thin material.
He kissed you like he had all the time in the world.
Where your mouth had been frantic and desperate against his, his was deliberate. Measured. His lips moved over yours slowly, like he was learning you from the start, like he was tracing the outline of something he'd been waiting to touch for months. He started at the center, pressing his mouth to the seam of your lips, then tilted his head and tried again from a different angle. And again. And again. Each kiss was a question. Each press of his lips was a sentence he didn't need words for.
Your hands, which had been hanging uselessly at your sides, found their way to his chest. Not pushing him away, nor pulling him closer. Just resting there, palms flat against the worn cotton of his shirt, feeling his heartbeat under your fingers. It was fast, much faster than his movements suggested. The contrast made something in your chest tighten.
He pulled back just far enough to breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were still closed. His lips were parted, slightly swollen, and you could feel his breath warm against your mouth.
You stayed like that for a moment, his thumb still tracing small circles on your waist and his fingers still tangled in your hair. The world under the bleachers had gone completely silent, like even the wind was holding its breath.
Then he kissed you again.
This time, his mouth was softer. He brushed his lips over yours once, feather-light, then again, then a third time, each touch gentler than the last. It was as though he was asking permission for something he'd already been given and he couldn't quite believe you were still there.
When he finally pulled back, after many more minutes, his eyes were open and he was watching you like you were something precious and breakable and he was terrified of dropping you.
His thumb came up to brush across your lower lip, where his had just been. The touch was so light it was almost not there.
"Say something," he whispered.
You couldn't. Your voice was gone, lost somewhere in your throat, buried under the weight of everything you'd just felt.
So instead, you pulled him down by his shirt again. And you kissed him.
Slower and far more certain this time.
His mouth met yours halfway. His hand cradled the back of your head. His body pressed against yours from chest to hip, and you could feel the warmth of him through both your shirts, solid and real and there.
You kissed him until your lips were numb and your lungs were burning and you couldn't tell where you ended and he began.
And that was the start of whatever was going on between the two of you.
Neither of you named it. Not that day under the bleachers, not in the weeks that followed, not even when you found yourself seeking him out between classes or staying late after school just to walk with him. There was no conversation about what you were, no labels, no promises. Just the quiet, unspoken understanding that something had shifted, and neither of you knew what to do with it.
The arguments didn't stop. If anything, they got worse.
Because you were still you: sharp-tongued and quick to deflect, armoured in expensive clothes and sharper smiles. And he was still him: infuriating and observant, unwilling to let you hide behind your walls now that he'd seen what was underneath. You'd crack open for him once and now he expected cracks all the time. Expected you to be soft. Expected you to be real.
And you couldn't. Not when the hallways were full of eyes and the courtyard was full of whispers and your whole life was a performance you'd been rehearsing since birth.
So you fought. Loudly and publicly. You called him a burnout to his face in front of the vending machines. He called you a robot in front of the bike racks. You told him he had no future ahead. He told you your designer bag cost more than his mom's rent and what did that say about you, really?
People stared. People whispered. People placed bets on when one of you would finally snap.
What they didn't see was what happened after.
The way you'd find him behind the gym twenty minutes later, breathless from running, your hands shaking as you grabbed his shirt. The way he'd already be waiting, like he knew you'd come, like he'd been counting on it. The way he'd pull you into the shadow of the building and kiss you like the argument had never happened—or like it had, and this was the only way to finish it.
"You're late," he'd murmur against your mouth.
"I hate you," you'd breathe back.
"Sure you do."
And then you'd kiss properly, desperate and hungry, your fingers twisting in his frayed collar, his hands pressing into your waist. You'd stay there until the bell rang, until the world demanded you return to your separate lives, until you could compose your face into something that didn't look like a girl who'd just been kissed within an inch of her sanity.
Then you'd walk back to class. Straighten your skirt. Lift your chin. And pretend nothing had happened.
People noticed, though. How could they not?
You'd always been careful; meticulous, even. You knew where every camera was, where every teacher stood during passing periods, which stairwells stayed empty and which bathrooms had broken locks. You'd spent years cultivating your image, protecting your reputation, making sure no one ever saw anything you didn't want them to see.
But Keonho made you sloppy.
It started small. A hallway glance that lasted a second too long. A pause by the bike racks when you should have kept walking. The way your eyes shone when they tracked him across the courtyard, following the gray beanie like a compass pointing north.
Hana noticed first, because Hana noticed everything.
"You keep looking at him weird," she said one day at lunch, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.
"I'm not looking at him weird."
"Y/n, you literally look at him like he’s the answer to everything."
"I’m looking at him the same as I’ve always done."
Hana stared at you. You stared at your salad.
"You're seeing him, aren't you?" she said quietly. "Like, seeing him seeing him."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Y/N."
"Hana."
She leaned closer, dropping her voice. "I saw you. Last week. Behind the science building."
Your heart stopped and your face went cold. "You saw what?"
"Nothing. I didn't see anything. That's the point." She paused. "But I saw you go behind the science building. And I saw him go behind the science building. And then you both came out five minutes later looking like—" She gestured at your face. "Like that."
"Like what?"
"Like someone who just got kissed and is trying really hard to pretend she didn't."
You set down your fork very carefully.
"You didn't see anything," you said.
"I know."
"Because there's nothing to see."
"I know."
"And if you tell anyone—"
"I won't." Hana held up her hands. "I'm not an idiot. I'm just... surprised."
"At what?"
"That you picked him." She glanced across the courtyard, where Keonho was sitting alone by the bike racks, eating his usual gas station sandwich. "I mean, he's cute. In a scruffy way. But he's not exactly... you know."
"Not exactly what?"
"Your type."
You looked down at your salad. At your perfectly manicured nails. At the designer bag hanging off the back of your chair.
"Maybe I don't have a type," you said.
Hana didn't respond. She didn't have to. Her silence said everything.
After that, you tried to be more careful.
You stopped seeking him out between classes, started taking different routes to the vending machines, sat with your back to the bike racks so you wouldn't be tempted to look.
It lasted three days.
On the fourth day, you found yourself behind the art building at 3:15, your back against the brick wall, his body pressed against yours, his mouth locked on yours.
"We have to stop," you whispered, even as your fingers tightened in his hair.
"I know," he murmured against your lips.
"We're being stupid."
"The stupidest."
"Someone's going to see."
He pulled back just enough to look at you with slightly swollen lips.
"Then stop me," he said.
You didn't.
You kissed him instead. Harder than before. As though you were trying to memorise the shape of his mouth, the taste of his breath, the way his hands felt on your waist.
And you were terrified of how much you didn't want to stop.
The first time anyone properly saw you alone together was behind the bleachers.
Someone's little brother was looking for a lost phone and he found you instead.
You were sitting with your back against the fence. Keonho was lying with his head in your lap, eyes closed, your fingers absently running through his hair. Neither of you was talking. Neither of you was fighting. You just... existed.
His hair was softer than you expected. His breathing had evened out until you weren't sure if he was awake or asleep. The late afternoon sun made everything gold and warm and stupidly cinematic.
You should have moved. The moment you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, you should have shoved him off and stood up and smoothed down your skirt and pretended this never happened. The old you would have sensed someone coming from a hundred yards away. The old you was always watching, always calculating, always performing.
But the old you hadn't spent the last hour with her fingers in Keonho's hair, watching the clouds drift past, feeling something in her chest unfurl like a flower she'd forgotten she'd planted.
You looked up. The kid was standing at the edge of the bleachers, frozen mid-step. His mouth was open. His phone was in his hand, must have found it, and you realised with a sinking feeling that he'd been taking pictures. Or filming. Or both.
You didn't say anything. Neither did he. For one long, suspended second, the three of you existed in perfect, terrible stillness: you with your hands still in Keonho's hair, Keonho still half-asleep and oblivious, the kid staring like he'd just witnessed a unicorn.
Then the kid turned and ran.
His footsteps echoed off the floor, fast and frantic, disappearing around the corner.
Keonho stirred. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Sounded like someone running."
"It was nothing." You pulled your hand out of his hair and your fingers felt cold without him. "We should go."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. He looked at your face and something in his expression shifted.
"Someone saw us," he said. Not a question.
"Someone's little brother."
"Did he—"
"He had a phone."
Keonho was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned back on his hands and tilted his face toward the sky.
"Well," he said. "That's that, then."
"What do you mean, that's that?"
"I mean people are going to talk. Your friends are going to freak out. The whole school's going to know by tomorrow morning." He looked at you sideways. "You okay with that?"
You should have said no. You should have stood up and walked away and never looked back. You should have spent the rest of the week damage-controlling, spin-doctoring, finding ways to convince everyone that what they'd seen wasn't what they thought.
Instead you said, "I don't know."
Keonho nodded and didn't push any further.
"Come on," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "I'll walk you to your car."
You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet, your fingers lingering in his for a moment longer than necessary.
"Your hair's a mess," you said.
"You're the one who did it."
"You shouldn't have fallen asleep on me."
"You shouldn't have been playing with my hair."
You took a good look at him: his crooked smile and his tired eyes and his stupid, beautiful, infuriating face.
“Your hair was too soft for me to stop," you said quietly.
His smile softened and he squeezed your hand once before letting go.
"Come on, fountain girl. Let's go cause some rumors."
The school lost its collective mind.
The photos spread like wildfire, your friends asked countless questions on if you were really dating him of all people.
Hana seemed to be the only one capable of at least showing a bit of support, in her own way of course.
"Okay, I don't understand it and I think you're making a mistake and I think you're going to get hurt." She reached to take your hand. "But you're my best friend. And if this is what you want then I'm not going to stand in your way."
"He's not—I don't—" You stopped. Took a breath. "I don't know what I want. I just know I'm tired of pretending I have it all figured out."
Hana squeezed your hand. "Then stop pretending."
You looked down at your joined hands and saw her perfectly manicured nails next to yours.
"I don't know how," you admitted.
"Figure it out." She let go of your hand. Leaned back in her chair. "But do me a favor?"
"What?
"Next time you're going to make out with the skateboard boy behind the bleachers, maybe pick a spot without a line of sight to the school."
Your face went hot. "We weren't making out—"
"Your lips in those photos say otherwise."
"The photos weren’t taken after we—he was sleeping—"
"Sure he was."
“He was! His head was in my lap and he fell asleep and he I was just playing—”
“Uh huh.”
"Hana."
"Y/N." She smiled a real smile, the first one you'd seen from her all day. "I'm teasing. Mostly. But seriously. If you're going to be with him, be with him. Don't sneak around, or lie, or pretend he's something you're ashamed of."
"I'm not ashamed of him."
"Then don't act like you are."
And from then on, you didn’t hide. You stopped crossing to the other side of the hallway when you saw him coming. Stopped pretending not to know where he ate lunch. Stopped taking the long way to class just to avoid being seen walking next to him.
Everyone now knew that you two were a thing of some sorts, and maybe it was better that they all knew. The secrecy had been exhausting. The sneaking around, the lying by omission, the constant fear of being caught; it had been eating at you, wearing you down, making you someone you didn't want to be.
Now there was nothing to hide.
You no longer had to explain why you’d stopped driving to school just to be able to walk with him, his skateboard rolling beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours and your shoulders bumping as you talked. Or the new scratches on your knees, the scuffs on your formerly pristine shoes, the tiny bruise on your palm from catching yourself when you fell from Keonho attempting to teach you to ride his skateboard.
"You're doing it wrong," he said one afternoon, watching you wobble across the parking lot after school.
"I'm doing it exactly the way you showed me."
"You're doing it exactly the way I told you not to."
"You told me to not lean back, so I'm leaning forward."
"Don't do that either." He ran his free hand through his hair, the other reaching up to grab your arm, steadying you before you could tip over. His fingers wrapped around your bicep firmly, keeping you upright. "Leaning forward is just as bad as leaning back. Actually, it's worse. When you lean forward, the board shoots out from under you and you land on your face."
"I'd rather land on my face than on my back because I’ll catch myself before I hit the ground."
"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."
"I've said stupider things."
"Name one."
"I told Mina her new haircut looked good."
He stared at you. "That's not stupid. That's just mean."
"It was stupid and mean. Her haircut was terrible."
He adjusted his grip on your arm, his thumb pressing into the inside of your elbow. "Okay. Listen. Actually listen this time."
"I always listen."
"You listen to argue, not learn."
"I don't know what that means."
"Yes you do."
"Stop talking."
"Stop proving me right." He stepped around to face you, both hands on your arms now, looking down at you with that exasperated expression you'd grown weirdly fond of. "Keep your weight centered. Right over the board. Imagine there's a string pulling you up from the top of your head."
"That's the worst visualisation I've ever heard."
"It works."
"It works for you because you're weird."
"I'm not weird. I'm effective."
"You're weird and ineffective."
"I taught myself to skateboard when I was twelve. I think I know what I'm talking about."
"You taught yourself. That explains why you're such a bad teacher."
"I'm not a bad teacher. You're a bad student."
"I'm an excellent student. I get straight A's."
"In history. This isn't history. This is physics."
"It's a board with wheels, Keonho. It's not that deep."
"It's literally that deep. Center of gravity, momentum, weight distribution—"
"You're using big words to sound smart."
"I'm using big words because they're the right words."
"The right words are 'stand still and don't fall.'"
"The right words are 'engage your core and relax your shoulders.'"
"My core is engaged. My shoulders are relaxed."
"Your shoulders are up by your ears."
"No they aren’t."
"Princess, they're literally trying to escape through your neck right now."
You glanced down at your shoulders. They were, in fact, up by your ears. You forced them down. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
"Don't be sarcastic."
"I'm not being sarcastic. I'm genuinely ecstatic that your shoulders are no longer trying to flee your body."
"You're so annoying."
"You're so tense."
"I'm not tense. I'm focused."
"You're so focused that you're forgetting to breathe."
"I'm breathing fine."
"You're holding your breath."
"I'm not holding my breath."
"You just turned purple."
"I did not turn purple."
"You turned a very lovely shade of lavender."
You exhaled. Hard. Right in his face.
He didn't flinch. Just raised an eyebrow.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"No."
"Then take a real breath. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
"I know how to breathe."
"Then prove it."
You took a breath. In through your nose. Out through your mouth straight onto his face again. He blinked.
"Did you just exhale onto me again?"
"Maybe."
He just sighed, already realising he was losing this battle, and let go of your arms, stepping back. "Okay. Try again. Keep your weight centered. Shoulders down. Breathe. And for the love of God, stop leaning."
"I'm not leaning."
"You're leaning."
"I'm standing perfectly upright."
"You're leaning so far forward you're practically bowing."
You wobbled as you adjusted but managed to catch yourself.
"Look," he said, smiling at you softly. "You're doing it."
"I'm doing it."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed with myself—"
Before you could even finish your gloating, your weight shifted. One moment you were upright, almost steady, almost balanced, almost doing it. The next, the board slipped out from underneath you like the ground had turned to ice. Your arms windmilled. Your center of gravity betrayed you completely. And then your knees hit the asphalt hard: a sharp, jarring impact that sent shockwaves up your thighs before Keonho could even properly react and grab you.
His hands reached for you a second too late, fingers closing on empty air where your arm had been.
You stayed there for a moment, on your hands and knees, breathing hard. The asphalt was rough and warm beneath your palms, little bits of gravel digging into your skin. Your knees throbbed. Your pride throbbed harder.
"Y/N." His voice was closer now. His hand landed on your back, warm and steady. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"You're not fine. You're on the ground."
"I'm resting."
"You're bleeding."
"I'm bleeding and resting. Multitasking."
"Y/N."
"Keonho."
He crouched down beside you, his face level with yours and his eyes wide, scanning your face, your knees, your hands. "You went down hard."
"I've gone down harder."
"That's not—" He stopped. Pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not the flex you think it is."
He reached for your arm, gently pulling you up from the ground. His hands were more careful than usual, and you let him guide you to your feet, wincing as your weight settled onto your scraped knees.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
"I can walk."
"You're limping."
"I'm not limping. I'm just… taking my time."
He shook his head, but he was smiling. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
He led you to the concrete steps outside the gymnasium, and you sat down heavily, stretching your legs out in front of you. The damage was worse than you thought: both knees scraped raw through what used to be your favorite pair of tights, thin lines of blood beading up through the torn fabric.
Keonho sat down next to you, close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours. He pulled a crumpled gas station napkin from his pocket and held it out to you.
"That's not going to be enough," you said.
"It's all I have."
"Then get more."
"Where am I supposed to get more?"
"I don't know. The bathroom. The nurse's office."
He ignored you and dabbed at your knee with the napkin anyway, gentle and inefficient, the cheap paper sticking to your skin. You hissed through your teeth.
"Sorry," he murmured.
"You should be. This is your fault."
"How is this my fault?"
"You're the one who put me on the board."
"You're the one who wanted to learn."
"I wanted to learn from a competent teacher."
"I am competent."
"You let me fall."
"You fell before I could catch you."
"You were literally right in front of me."
"You went down way too fast for me to react."
“Well maybe next time I’ll get an actual competent teacher to teach me how to skate.”
“Oh really? And would that competent teacher still be here tending to your wounds?” He looked at you and something in your chest tightened. You looked away, down at your scraped knees, at his hand still holding the crumpled napkin against your skin.
"You're bleeding too," you said.
He looked down at his own hand. There was a small scrape on his palm, must have happened when he reached for you and caught the asphalt instead.
"That's nothing," he said.
"It's bleeding."
"It's a scratch."
"It's bleeding and you're not even complaining."
"Why would I complain?"
"Because that's what people do when they're hurt. They complain."
"I'm not hurt. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're bleeding."
"It's a scratch, Y/N."
"It's a bleeding scratch."
He stared at you. Then he started laughing, bright and surprised, his whole face lighting up.
"What?" you demanded.
"Nothing." He shook his head, still laughing. "You're just—you're sitting there with two knees that look like ground beef, telling me my paper cut is a medical emergency."
"It's not a paper cut. It's a gash."
"It's literally smaller than my fingernail."
"Size isn't everything."
"That's not—" He stopped, his smile wide whilst he rubbed his hand over his face. "You're looking way worse than me."
You wanted to be annoyed at the fact that he was still laughing, his shoulder shaking against yours. You wanted to push him away and tell him this wasn't funny, that your knees were ruined and your tights were ruined and your pride was in shambles on the asphalt.
But instead, you started laughing too.
It bubbled up from somewhere unexpected, somewhere you'd forgotten existed. You laughed until your stomach hurt and your scraped knees throbbed and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You laughed because you'd just fallen off a skateboard in front of half the school and Keonho was sitting next to you with a napkin stuck to his palm, his eyes full of light, watching you finally, finally, be yourself.
When the laughter finally faded, you were both breathing hard. His shoulder was still pressed against yours. His hand had somehow found yours, fingers laced together, resting on the concrete step between you.
You eventually leaned your head against his shoulder. Just rested it there, your temple pressing into the worn fabric of his hoodie. He didn't move. Didn't pull away. Just sat there with you in the warm afternoon sun while the rest of the world went on around you.
At some point he turned his head and his lips brushed against your hair so softly you almost missed it, but you felt it. You felt everything.
People walked past, some gawked at the sight of you, others turned and whispered amongst each other, but neither of you seemed to care.
That seemed to become a recurring thing. The stares and the whispers. People still took photos when they thought you weren't looking. The speculation never ended: were you dating? Were you enemies? Were you friends? Were you something in between that no one had a word for?
But you stopped noticing. Or maybe you just stopped caring.
They couldn't understand what was going on between you two. How you'd go from wanting to strangle each other to cuddling up just a second later. How you'd be screaming in each other's faces one moment and then sitting in comfortable silence the next, your head on his shoulder, his hand in yours. How you'd call him every name in the book and then defend him viciously when someone else tried to do the same.
It didn't make sense. Not to them. Not to your friends, who still looked at you like you'd grown a second head every time you walked past the bike racks without stopping to sneer. Not to his friends—the few he had that you had only learnt about recently—who raised their eyebrows every time you appeared and said nothing.
And, to be honest, neither of you understood it either.
But none of that mattered.
Not when he'd sit there and let you ramble for hours about whatever new person who annoyed you had done. How a girl had worn the same dress as you to a party and actually looked good in it: "She had no right, Keonho. No right. I specifically told her I was wearing the green one with the flowers, and she showed up in the exact same dress like it was nothing." Or how Hana had started talking to her ex again, the one from the football team, the one who'd cheated on her at summer camp two years ago: "I don't understand it. I don't understand her. He literally lied to her face for a whole weekend and she's just going to pretend that didn't happen?"
He never interrupted. Never told you to calm down or change the subject or stop caring so much about things that didn't matter. He just listened with his eyes half-closed, his head tilted back, and his fingers absently tracing patterns on his knee. Sometimes he'd nod. Sometimes he'd make comments like "that's messed up" or "she sounds exhausting" or "you're right to be annoyed." Sometimes he’d just watch you, a look in his eyes that made you feel giddy.
Not when he laid on your bed, still watching you pace back and forth whilst on a call that felt never ending.
He should have been paying attention and following the conversation, tracking the drama, even offering the occasional grunt of acknowledgment. But his eyelids were heavy, his body was warm, and the sound of your voice, even when it was sharp, annoyed, and mid-takedown, was somehow the most soothing thing he'd ever heard.
”Okay, call me later once she replies.”
Keonho perked up as he heard you wrapping up the call, his chin lifting from his arm. His eyes tracked you still walking back and forth, back and forth, like you couldn't quite remember how to stop.
"You're gonna wear a hole in that ridiculously expensive rug," he commented, his voice thick with sleep.
You ignored him. Kept pacing. Kept muttering under your breath, something about ‘can't believe she said that’ and ‘who does she think she is’ and ‘wait until I get my hands on her’.
"Y/N."
Nothing.
"Y/N."
"I'm thinking."
"You've been thinking for like ten minutes. Think quicker.”
“I’d be able to if you shut up.”
He just blinked at you, slow and unbothered. “I’m not the one who’s been pacing around for an hour.”
”It was literally twenty minutes, and last I checked you were asleep.”
”That was before you left me all by myself.” He pouted, his bottom lip jutting out, his eyes wide and faux-tragic, and you scrunched your face in disgust, though you'd never admit it secretly made your heart swell. The stupid, infuriating, adorable pout. The way his hair was all messed up from the pillow. The way the pink blanket was pulled up to his shoulders like a child who didn't want to get out of bed.
He mumbled something you were only just able to catch, his voice thick and sleepy: "Twenty minutes too long."
"I was on the phone."
"You were on the phone without me."
"You were asleep."
"So? You could have woken me up."
You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face before stepping forward. He twisted to lay on his side, the pink blanket pooling around his waist, and lifted the blanket up at your approach.
You climbed under the blanket with him, the sheets cool against your legs, the duvet soft beneath your head. His free arm enveloped you immediately, your face pressing into his neck, your nose brushing his collarbone, and your breath warm against his skin.
”You’re so clingy.” You grumbled.
"You love it."
"I hate it."
"You love hating it."
You elbowed him and he didn't even flinch, just tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.
"I was in the middle of something," you said.
"You were in the middle of pacing."
"I was strategising."
"You were spiraling and I needed to stop it."
His hand found your hair. His fingers threaded through it, slow and steady, the way he knew you liked. His thumb brushed against your scalp, gentle circles that made your eyes flutter closed.
"I'm still thinking about it," you murmured.
"I know."
"I'm going to keep thinking about it."
"I know."
"I'm going to talk about it. A lot. For a long time."
"I know."
"And you're going to listen?"
"I'm going to try. No promises. I'm very tired."
"You're always tired."
"You're always thinking too much."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to fire back something sharp and cutting that would wipe that sleepy smile off his face. But his hand was in your hair and his heartbeat was steady under your ear and the world outside your bedroom door had stopped mattering.
"She's going to reply later," you said. "And when she does—"
"You're going to do nothing."
"I'm going to do something."
"You're going to do nothing," he repeated. "Because it's late. And you're tired. And whatever she said, it'll still be there tomorrow."
"But—"
"Tomorrow," he said. "You can destroy her tomorrow. Right now, you're going to sleep."
"You can't tell me what to do."
"I just did."
"And I'm not doing it."
"You're literally in my arms with your eyes closed."
"That doesn't matter." Despite your words, you snuggled into him tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, your face pressing deeper into the hollow of his throat. He was warm, so, so warm, and his heartbeat was slow and steady beneath your palm, a rhythm your own heart had started to match without your permission.
You felt him press a kiss onto your hair, it seemed to be a thing he did subconsciously now.
"Mhm." He just about managed to say, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek. His arms were loosening around you, his grip going slack, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. He was drifting off, you could feel it in the way his breathing had slowed, in the way his hand had stopped moving in your hair, in the way his heartbeat had dropped to a deep, steady thrum.
You lifted your head just enough to look at him as you felt him settle.
His face was soft in the dim light. The sharp lines of his jaw had blurred, his lips were slightly parted, his dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks. His hair was a mess across his forehead and he looked younger like this. Softer. Less like the boy who argued with you in parking lots and more like the boy who pressed kisses to your hair when he thought you weren't paying attention.
You should have woken him up. Should have told him to go home, to sleep in his own bed, to stop taking up space in yours.
But you didn't.
Instead, you reached up and brushed the hair off his forehead. Your fingers lingered there for a moment, tracing the line of his brow, the curve of his temple, the soft skin just above his cheekbone.
He didn't stir. Didn't wake. Just sighed in his sleep and pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your waist even as he dreamed.
You smiled, just a little, placing a featherlight kiss onto his jaw.
"You're impossible," you whispered, so quietly that not even the fairy lights that hung above your bed could hear.
Then you settled back against his chest, closed your eyes, and let yourself drift.
Tomorrow, you'd argue. Tomorrow, you'd pace and mutter and plot revenge. Tomorrow, you'd be sharp and cutting and impossible in all the ways you knew how to be.
Well im late to the party as always but im here now *holds up two bottles sprite, smiles inconspicuously*
I feel so satisfied when a bratty gal gets humbled, its as if I just signed the declaration of independence. This was done soooo well and you didnt even make her annoying to the point where i was like PITCHFORK!! HUNT HER!! GET HER!! love how real the reader felt with her inner conflicts, it added so much depth to her personality.
Loved loved the dialogue, the witty banter didn't feel manufactured and was so fun to read! I kept getting excited for their next interaction because it was so lively.
Great conflict! I love how keonho challenged her better-than-you mindset. Like that argument was literally cinematic, wish you couldve seen the way my eyes darted across the screen 😭😭 also the kiss part?? HELLO??? One of my fav scenes here its so well written. Loved loved the dichotomy of her feelings during the kiss, scrumptious.
Okay im talking too much but i will end this by saying that i loved the relationship progression and how it wasn't completely straightforward, versimilitudeeeee
Eli idk if youre going to see this or not but you have such a charming writing style, this was super enjoyable to read and i cant wait to check out your future works! Omg i can tell your such a smarty pants too, not only your clever prose but the way you applied concepts yk about into your work. Einstein is quite literally jealous of you. Socrates? Quaking! Platos? On the ground!
It is not just the time that keeps on growing, nor the easy laughter on a quiet day; it is the silence that we find ourselves knowing when a deep sorrow takes our breath away.
It is a mirror where no judgment lies, where every failure turns to something new, and when we tire under heavy skies, an arm is there to help us make it through.
Words are not needed for the heart to hear, a simple gesture, a look, a steady pace; friendship is the art of drawing near and giving all with honesty and grace.
It is the gentle fire that keeps us warm, the steady hand when winds begin to blow; how lucky am I, through every storm, to be your shelter and the strength you know.
w. love, for my loves (yes, even with some of your are on hiatus): @kwiwin @taeghi @enha-stars @021894s @gluion @yeonzzzn @loserlvrss @jaylaxies @ja3yun @awqken @heekolazz @pumpkg @ihankaji @mountaesan @coriihanniee @intromortal @stxrrywoo @hvseung @wondipity @taestulipss @soulofsim @kaikaikoi @teacuplps @moesthinking @htaesan @tobiotaesan @lovhyeon @lovehakie @ivehan @tsanho @miseulsoup @scxrvan @reoverie @hyeon3y @cranialberry @realseanshady @coconhovr @eohyeons @hyuneskkami @griinspire @chocom0ka @marsgirltyshi @nootalue @gyurilla @zhaoccini @prodkwh
ik this account is supposed to be for fic recs but this was too beautiful not to share!! tysm for tagging me holly, it means a lot 💞
this is such a gorgeous piece about the beauty of friendship i literally teared up everything hits so deep 😮💨😮💨😮💨 SO PRECIOUS 🤍🤍 ughhh really its so genuine and thoughtful like you captured the different elements that make a friendship a friendship. 😭🫶
hi and also this line "how lucky am I...to be your shelter" ABSOLUTE BARS IM GETTING THAT TATTOOED.
william shaskyp is lucky that he lived 1000 years ago cause you wouldve absolutely ended his career 😁 10/10 i love your brain hauleigh 🫶❤️
☆.ㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍.ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ you try to wake your boyfriend for a date he insisted on, only to discover that love apparently ranks below sleep. mutual destruction feels oddly romantic.
you stand at the edge of the bed with your arms crossed, staring down at keonho sprawled across the mattress. sunlight cuts through the curtains and lands directly across his face, bright enough to wake a normal person, yet he doesn't even twitch.
you call his name once, then twice, then louder, each attempt sharper than the last, but all you get is the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. it's insulting, really, how peaceful he looks while you're worried about the reservation because of him.
you lean closer, narrowing your eyes, hoping sheer willpower might drag him out of sleep. you check your phone again.
time is ticking.
"ahn keonho," you drag out each syllable like a warning, your voice dipping low. no response. only a soft exhale, as though he's settling deeper into whatever dream he's chosen over you.
your hand hovers over his shoulder before you shake him, not gently, not even close.
he groans, barely audible, turning his face into the pillow as if escaping you is as simple as shifting angles. you pause, incredulous, because how is he still asleep after that?
you grab a pillow and smack it against his side, once, twice, then a third time for emphasis, the sound loud enough to echo off the walls. "get up," you demand, though it comes out closer to a threat now.
he finally reacts. sort of. his hand lazily reaching out to grab the pillow, pulling it toward him like you just gifted it. a quiet laugh slips out of him, low and amused, eyes still closed as if he finds this entire situation entertaining. that laugh makes something in you snap, because he's enjoying this.
"stop," you warn, already climbing onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress as you loom over him.
you tug at his arm, trying to haul him upright, but he goes limp on purpose, dead weight in the most annoying way possible. "i'll leave you here," you add, though both of you know that's a lie.
he finally cracks one eye open, just enough to look at you, grin slow and teasing like he's been awake longer than he lets on. "you won't," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and confidence annoyingly intact.
you grab his blanket and yank it clean off him in one swift motion. the sudden loss of warmth earns you a proper reaction. a sharp inhale, his body curling slightly as he tries to chase the missing heat.
you don't give him the chance, though, already grabbing his wrist and pulling again, harder this time. "get up! get up!" your tone leaves no room for negotiation, but keonho just lets his head roll back against the pillow, laughing again.
"five more minutes," he negotiates, dragging the words out in a way that makes it sound less like a request and more like a joke.
"no."
he exhales softly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
you slide off the bed and plant your feet firmly on the ground, still holding onto his arm, and start dragging him inch by inch. his laughter follows you, soft at first, then louder as he realizes you're actually committed to this.
"are you serious right now?" he asks, voice laced with disbelief and amusement, his free hand gripping the mattress to slow you down.
you glare at him, breath uneven from the effort and your patience officially expired. "we're going out. you asked me out, remember?"
"mhm. future me sounds like a great guy," he mutters.
you blink, disbelief written all over your face. "future you is about to get dumped by present me."
"you wouldn't dump me before a date," his voice is softer, almost coaxing.
"watch me."
he sighs, shaking his head, "this is how you treat your boyfriend on date day?"
"date day you're currently ruining, by the way," you fire back, climbing onto the bed once again so you can get leverage. you grab his arm and pull again. "stop doing that!" you complain, tugging harder.
"i'm saving energy," he replies instantly, eyes closed.
"for what?" you demand. "for the date you're trying to cancel by being late?"
you pause, then lean closer, voice dropping into something dangerously sweet. "fine. stay here. i'll just go without you."
that earns you another reaction. his grip tightens slightly on the pillow, though his eyes remain closed. "you won't."
you tilt your head, pretending to think. "you're right. i won't go alone. i'll just invite someone else. maybe someone who wakes up on time."
his eyes open immediately at that. "what?"
"what? i'm sure someone else would love to go out with me. someone responsible."
he squints at you, suspicious, but there's a spark of competitiveness in his expression. "name one person," he challenges.
"i don't know. it can be anyone who isn't currently horizontal."
"that was unnecessary," he complains.
you grab his wrist immediately after, pulling again. "so is this," you drag him inch by inch toward the edge of the bed.
he resists just enough to test your patience. "are you seriously dragging me?"
"yes," you snap, tugging harder. "and i will drag you all the way to the bathroom if i have to."
"running a strict program here" he mutters, though he finally lets himself be pulled upright, hair a mess, eyes heavy.
you don't let go, still holding his wrist like he might disappear back into sleep the second you blink. "we're supposed to be there in forty minutes."
he glances at the clock, then back at you, completely unbothered. "we have time."
"we don't have time," you repeat, incredulous. "do you know how long it takes you to get ready?"
he smirks, leaning slightly closer. "you like it when i take my time."
you push his shoulder lightly, refusing to react.
instead, he suddenly grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, making you lose your balance and fall onto the bed beside him. "hey!"
he laughs again, turning his head toward you and holding up his hand. "five minutes. stay with me for five minutes, then i'll get up."
"if you don't get up right now, i'm cancelling the reservation."
he sighs dramatically, pushing himself up while running a hand through his already messy hair. "you're scary."
you turn toward the door, already moving. "bathroom. now. move."
he groans but follows this time, dragging his feet just enough to be annoying like always. as he passes you, he leans down slightly, voice low. "you owe me for this, by the way."
"i'm the reason you're making it to your own date."
"exactly. you owe me for being this patient."
you stop in your tracks. "patient? do you know how long i— you know what? it doesn't matter. i don't care!"
you barely make it two steps away before you hear the mattress creak again, followed by the unmistakable sound of him collapsing right back into it.
you freeze mid step, eyes widening slowly as you turn your head, already knowing what you're about to see. there he is, fully horizontal again, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily reaching for the blanket you snatched earlier.
he peeks at you with a sleepy grin, completely unashamed. "what? my body is rejecting."
without a word, you march back to the bed, lean over him, and snatch his phone right off the nightstand in one swift motion.
he doesn't react at first, too relaxed. not until you turn on your heel and bolt toward the bathroom.
"hey—" he starts, voice cutting off as realization hits. "don't you dare," he calls after you, suddenly wide awake as he scrambles out of bed.
you don't stop, pushing the bathroom door open and holding his phone over the toilet. "get up!" you shout, breath slightly uneven, adrenaline kicking in. "or i swear i will flush this."
he appears in the doorway a second later, eyes sharp now, all traces of sleep gone. "you're joking."
you raise a brow, tilting the phone slightly over the bowl. "do i look like i'm joking?"
he steps forward cautiously, hands half raised like you're handling something explosive. "that's my entire life in your hand," he argues.
you shrug, unfazed. "and my entire date is being ruined in that bed."
he exhales sharply, clearly weighing his options. "put it down . . . please?"
you shake your head. "get dressed."
there's a brief pause before his expression shifts into something just as stubborn as yours. "okay," he says slowly, nodding once. "if we're doing this, we're doing this properly."
you frown, already suspicious. "what does that mean?" you ask, grip tightening slightly on his phone.
he doesn't answer. instead, he turns around and walks out of the bathroom.
you blink, thrown off for a second, then call after him, "keon?"
there's no response, just the sound of drawers opening and something being moved around. you hesitate, then step out of the bathroom carefully, still holding his phone hostage.
and that's when you see him standing by the dresser, holding one of your things.
your expression drops instantly. "oh, put it down!"
he lifts it slightly, examining it with curiosity, then glances at you with a smile that's way too calm. "oh, this?" he asks, turning it in his hand. "it's nice. expensive, too, i'm guessing."
you take a step forward, panic flickering beneath your glare. "i mean it."
he takes a step back instead, putting a little more distance between you, then starts walking toward the sink. "you flush mine," he says lightly, "i drop yours."
your eyes widen, heart jumping into your throat. "you wouldn't," you shoot back, but it sounds a lot less convincing this time.
he stops right in front of the sink, holding your item directly over it, fingers loose on purpose. "do i look like i'm joking?" he echoes, raising a brow.
you stare at each other from across the room, both holding something the other cares about, both too stubborn to back down first. "this is insane," you mutter under your breath.
"you started it."
"you went back to bed," you tighten your grip on his phone, lowering it just a fraction closer to the water. "last chance," you warn.
he mirrors you, letting your item dip just slightly toward the sink. "same to you."
a few seconds pass.
"on three?" he suggests suddenly, like this is a game.
you blink. "the fuck? why would i agree to that?"
"because you trust me."
"i actually absolutely do not."
"that's fair."
you exhale sharply, then lift his phone again, just to prove a point. "get. ready."
he sighs, the fight slowly leaving his shoulders. "you're actually serious about flushing it. you scare me sometimes."
"thank you."
another second passes before he finally lowers your item, carefully placing it back on the dresser. you don't move right away, still suspicious, waiting for a trick.
"i'm getting dressed," he holds his hands up in surrender. "happy?"
you hesitate, slowly pulling his phone away from the toilet, though you don't give it back yet. "i am."
he shakes his head, a small laugh escaping him as he turns toward the closet. "you almost flushed my phone over brunch."
you lean against the doorframe, watching him this time, making sure he doesn't even think about going back to bed. "if you try that again . . . " you warn, twirling his phone slightly in your hand.
he glances at you over his shoulder. "yeah? and what if i just carry you back with me?"
"i'll flush it while you're holding me."
from then on, "five more minutes" became a dangerous phrase in your relationship.
this is actually so cool what da helly!!! i hope im not reading into it too deep/incorrectly but the double meaning/layers in the relationship are actually super fascinating!!! as expected from my writing goat jamie 🤍🤍
i was super excited to read this and it left a pretty big impression on me after i read it (very good!!! strong structure!!!)
the playful surface chaos of the relationship is fun and punchy and engaging but through their actions/words i picked up on a potential deeper dynamic in the relationship between the two of them!!
you did a really good job contrasting between both of their natures (her being practical and him being more laid back) while still keeping the banter lively and having an engaging dynamic!!
one thing that stood out to me was how instead of resolving conflict, everything sort escalated. it makes me think that there may not be a clear middle ground for them when things get tense/during conflicts (so sorry if my interpretation is wrong 😓😓)
also the ending line is literally insane 🤯🤯🤯 like its hinting that the tension remains, patterns repeat, and small behaviours/gestures add up.
overall such a cool work and i had a lot of fun looking into the different layers!!😁😁 i wish i could annontate my fav lines but i cant do anything on my computer lol 😭😭💔💔
please help me remember the voice of my mother — martin edwards x reader webweave
i still talk to my mother, i keep saying ‘i’m sorry’; the only words that feel like truth
synopsis : grief. a love that has nowhere to go. and it comes back as pain, and hurt, and anger, and you have no choice but to either succumb to the overbearing weight of loss or learn to swim. to be tossed by the current and somehow make your way to shore.
cw : please read the content warnings. martin’s mom is implied to also be dead. not really a fic but. so much angst. not a lot of happiness. mentions and talk of grief, loss, family ties, death, heartbreak, mourning. very content heavy.
note : this is both very near and dear to my heart but is also very content heavy. if any of these are sensitive topics for you, please understand that this is what you are getting into if you choose to read. because of the heavy nature of the content of these fics, i am going to mark this as 16+. i cannot control who reads this but please respect my wishes 🙏🙏 and i hope you understand.
wc : n/a
navi ; series mlist
rain. heavy fog, honey-baked pretzel sticks. headphones tangled in your pockets, r&b in languages you barely know. a familiar presence by your side.
you look up, and smile lightly.
martin edwards smiles back.
he opens the umbrella, and holds it up so that it covers you both.
“ready?”
“nah. not really.”
he pauses.
“too bad.”
—
—
are you happy? he asks
you have to ponder the question for a bit before responding
i’m not sure i know what it means to be happy, you say, and shrug
he frowns at this, and pauses his drawings in the sand. they’re music notes, you realize, and while you can’t read them, they’re traced into the ground with such care that you know that they are something beautiful
—
—
martin is usually eloquent. he knows how to speak, how to charm a room, and he does it well.
but when you stress the usually…well, nobody’s perfect.
“do you miss her?”
great going, martin, asking the cute girl you have a major crush on if she misses her dead mom.
“all the time.”
you lean forward, gripping the edge of the pool with your hands, the slight movement creating small ripples in the water. you sigh, and smile sadly.
well. sadly is an understatement, because there’s just something about it.
when it comes to you, martin thinks, there’s no such thing as a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. because even when you’re grieving, the smile crinkles the corners of your eyes with a sort of disconnected fondness. your lips curve ever so gently, and the slight chub of your cheeks bunches up, and if you weren’t looking closely enough, you’d think that you were perfectly fine.
but martin is looking closely. he sees the slump in your shoulders from years of bearing the weight of your grief. he sees the pain in your eyes, the soft chocolate melting away to reveal bitter coffee, black and sharp. he sees the resignation, the years of waiting for someone to take her place, only for you to realize that it’s impossible.
and he might be imagining things, but he feels something, too.
he feels your heart.
it’s not breaking. no, it’s already been broken. it feels more like a dull ache, one that never goes away. it’s the kind you get from staying up too late, the kind you get when you haven’t had your coffee in the morning. it’s bearable, but then again it’s not. because it’s overwhelming, as if someone had torn out your heart and shoved it back in, leaving the blood spilling out into places it shouldn’t, overflowing and you can feel the pressure building and god, it’s terrifying.
and eventually the terror fades, and martin can breathe again.
it takes him a couple of minutes to realize that he’s not feeling your heart. no, that’s all him.
“hello? edwards? you good?”
his head snaps towards yours, and he tilts his head in confusion.
“ah. sorry. just…thinking.”
you smile again, and it’s still sad. but a different kind of sad, one where the pain is fleeting and much less intense.
“about what?”
“just…does it ever get better?”
you chuckle dryly.
“I’m…not sure. i haven’t gotten there yet.”
“oh.”
the silence that falls between you is far from comfortable.
“how old were you?”
“twelve.”
“oh.”
twelve years old. how do you move on from losing your mom at twelve?
“you don’t.”
martin looks over at you. you’re drawing on the surface of the water with your finger, shapes disappearing as soon as they’re made.
“i’m serious. it never goes away.”
“that’s…comforting.”
he’s supposed to live with this gaping hole forever. oh god.
and the swell of fear rises again.
“it is, actually.”
martin looks over at you, confused.
“how?” he asks, almost incredulous.
you smile wryly, as if you’re about to share a joke that only the two of you will understand.
“well. they’re always going to be a part of her with you, in that small, broken piece of your heart.”
martin frowns.
“that’s morbid.”
you laugh.
“yeah, i’ve been told that i have motherless behavior.
“that’s…oh my god.”
you smiles apologetically. “sorry.”
martin shakes his head, still in slight shock.
“it’s okay. coping mechanism?”
you nod.
“i guess if the pain never goes away, then that means you never forget her.”
your smile sinks, and martin furrows his brows, concerned.
“i don’t remember her. not as much as i wish i did.”
“oh.”
he doesn’t want to say i’m sorry. because what good would that do?
“are you…okay?”
your lips purse together and your cheeks fill with air. you lets out a breath, slowly, in a way that almost resembles a sigh. it’s cathartic, martin can tell, but he can also see that there’s still some pain left behind.
maybe this is what you mean by it never leaves you.
“nah. not really.”
you turn to look at him.
“but i will be. and you will, too.”
martin flushes lightly, and he feels the heat dust his cheeks. whether it’s from your attention or his disbelief, he’s not quite sure.
all he can muster out is an “i hope so.”
you smile.
“i know so.”
—
—
rain. heavy fog, honey-baked pretzel sticks. headphones tangled in her pockets, r&b in languages you barely know. a familiar presence bu your side.
he opens the umbrella, and holds it up so that it covers the two of you.
“ready?”
“nah. not really.”
martin pauses. you sigh softly, hoping that the release of breath is enough to release the pressure that’s been building up inside of your chest.
“that was a joke, mars.”
he sends you a side eye, and you know full well that he’s not convinced. he tells you this, and you let out a dry chuckle.
“fine, you got me. let’s go.”
“are you sure?”
you clutch the urn in your hands. it’s the first time that you’ve brought it out of the box, and it weighs heavy in your hands and your heart.
“it’s been twelve years, martin. she deserves it, whether i’m ready or not.”
“she’d want you to be okay, love.”
at this, your eyes well up with tears. you fight to keep them down, but it’s no use.
he places the umbrella on the floor gently, and pulls you into a hug. it’s warm, gentle but firm. you feels water coming to rest on the top of your hair, and it takes a few moments for you to register that it’s not the rain, but martin’s tears.
—
—
there’s a knock at your door, and you get up to answer.
martin smiles from the doorframe, and places the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter.
slowly, the two of you begin to start a process that neither would have thought you’d be able to do; apples are cut and placed to face the east and pears to the west, an array of dried fish and side dishes arranged in a slightly disorganized manner. it’s clear that neither of you really know how to do this, but you’re trying.
it’s the first time that either of you are attempting to do charye, after all.
the two of you eventually kneel in front of the table, a picture of your late mother sitting next to martin’s. you bow, and it takes a few moments before your tears fall to the floor. you sit back up, and martin is the first to speak.
he speaks in soft whispers to his mom, and it’s only once you blink most of your tears away that you realize he’s turned his gaze towards you.
you whisper a word of apology before talking through your own tears.
“hi, eomma.” everything you want to say, everything you need to say is stuck in your throat.
so you introduce martin instead.
and when your tears have run dry and the food has been eaten and the small wooden table is put away, you let yourself cry in martin’s arms.
and he lets himself cry in yours.
— 끝 —
in the stars ; benson boone // 10월 4일 ; user miseulgaru // unknown ; pinterest // unknown ; user glowcowboy // some kind of heaven ; sleeping at last // reflection on time is a mother ; npr and ocean vuong // sara seager, the smallest lights in the universe: a memoir ; user mythologyofblue // unknown ; pinterest // tiktok ; unknown
this is so beyond impressive i actually like....literally speechless. you did a bunch of really cool things with the story/structure and i wish i wasnt on my computer so i could annontate but ill try to articulate my thoughts as best as possible!
so firstly i love how the pacing and the tone shifts between moments. like the intro is such a strong start!! like the mix of the sensory details (texture, feelings, sounds) was so immersive AND whats even crazier was that it was done in a punchy and quick manner. my mind is literally blown 🤯🤯
the rhythm of the entire work, specifically the dialogue gave me such a strong impression--especially the way it was fragmented in the beginning. its curt, honest, raw and gives so much emotion to the characters and the story. but when it slowed down the rhythm reflected that as well (super good writing skills!)
ughhh and the subtext of the entire work 😩😩😩 the way you portrayed grief as quiet and longlasting is such a good choice god im a sucker for this type of writing. its so realistic and vulnerable. the patience of both of them is so sweet and endearing to see like lawd do i ever need that 🥹🥹🥹
also love the formatting of the quotes inbetween!! (HI OCEAN VUONG ❤️❤️❤️❤️)
( syn. ) a boy (?) from the forest finds you again at midnight
( tags ) implied f!reader ⋆ vampire!james ⋆ twilight (ish) au ⋆ warnings: implications of harm, violence, and death to reader, A.K, E.S, && E.M; blood; kissing (suggestive) ⋆ two oneshots ⋆ darker setting, darker themes ⋆ songs linked above :D ⋆ word count: 5.1k
#🫖: dedicated to my beautiful @liliikkuma and the anon who was excited for a twilight-esque fic 🥹🥹 this one technically isn’t my twilight one LOL that will come out later this autumn (i also wanna write vampire hcs for them 😹 (you’ll know who im talking abt by the end of this)) for now have small one-shots of vampire james because the edits were making me go craaaazzyyyy does he know i’m insane?
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You spin around to the voice, supposedly behind you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t startle you–you hadn’t even heard another pair of footsteps in the few minutes you’ve been walking through this silent, winding, forest.
You’ve braced yourself, but there’s no one there–only the lush, evergreen staring back at you. You scan the scene for a second longer, even though you can feel that you’re alone.
The lack of sleep recently must be making you hear things, and you set a mental reminder to ask for an increase in your melatonin dosage when you get back home from this town. From Forks. Washington’s Olympic Peninsula; a place you’d never voluntarily step foot in if it weren’t for the paper desperately needing something fresh to publish.
You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head, willing yourself to wake up and focus.
When you turn back, a figure is standing before you.
You can’t help but let out the gasp that escapes you this time, taking a step back, trying to calm yourself.
“Sorry.” He says, raising his eyebrows in an almost taunting-like way. “Did I scare you?”
“Maybe.” You offer a small chuckle, easing tension, and clear your throat. “I didn’t see you come up.”
He’s taller than you, though his rugged cap planted over his messy hair might have something to do with it. You do a quick intake; sharp bone structure, onyx dark eyes, and hollow, pale cheeks. So, so pale, he looks almost deathly.
“Not much sun around here.” He says, as if offering an answer for your thoughts.
Your breath hitches. “What?”
“It messes with the light. Why you didn’t see me.” His eyes are burning into yours, willing you to accept his explanation.
“Oh,” you force out, nodding. “Right.”
He simply watches as you swallow and force yourself to steady your thrumming pulse. A task that’s not as easy when he’s looking at you like he has intentions if you move even a muscle.
Your intuition–one that’s never been wrong before–is yelling at you to back away even more; to run until you see someone else; to flee this scene because you know all too well about strangers and solitude.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” He echoes.
Finally, something on script. Something you can work with.
Your investigative days have led you on strange pathways before; places you legally shouldn’t have been, but over the years of experience, you’ve learnt how to sweet-talk your way out of trouble. You straighten your back–Forks will not make you another statistic.
“Right! I’m so sorry. Is this private property? I had no idea…” Feigning innocence, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “I tried following the main river.”
The boy–if you can even call him that–is quiet for a moment. Something is gleaming in his eyes, as if he has you exactly where he wants.
“You’re alright. No, it’s not private property, but the woods aren’t safe for a girl like you.”
You let a humourless scoff. He’s playing into your act a bit too much.
Using the opportunity to eye him down properly, your gaze doesn’t miss a single detail. You’ve seen him before. You realise. Though you can’t recall where, or when, you know his face. You wouldn’t forget one like his.
The vague familiarity calms you down. You’re really grasping onto straws here, but it’s a slight relief knowing he’s a little less harmless.
The edge of his lips twitch.
“The woods wouldn’t be safe for a guy like you, either.” You finally respond. “You can’t be that much older than me.”
A slow, deliberate, smile spreads across his face. His features were almost too perfect, that the expression makes him look more real.
“I’ve been twenty.”
The way people talk here is so strange.
You wait for anything further, and he offers none.
“Not much older than me,” You confirm.
He only hums.
He turns his attention to a long, fallen log covered in fern, wildflowers sticking out messily. Bending down gracefully to pluck one out of the bunch, the boy gently dangles it in front of your fisted hand at the side of your hip.
If this was his way of pleading trust, you hate how it works.
Opening your palm, you let him drop the light pink wildflower into it, fingers curling around it to flex your body into moving again. You hadn’t realised how still you’ve been since he appeared.
The boy begins to walk in the opposite direction you were heading.
Without meaning to, you walk with him.
“I haven’t seen you before.” His voice is softer now. Curious. Itching to get you to keep talking.
You recognise the path he’s taking you down–you’re retracing your steps.
You didn’t want to leave the forest too early, given this morning was practically spent settling into your motel room, but the endless branches of hanging canopy weren’t giving you much to work with either.
“I only just arrived.” Your answer is plain. You’ve got to start asking questions too, the boy could be of use, after all.
“The tourists usually skip this part of Washington.”
“Not a tourist.”
“Then what are you here for, Miss…?”
You state your name, followed by “SBS,” with a fiddle of your lanyard. Your bright photo identification plastered across it.
“A reporter!” The boy marvels, “We don’t get many of those. I’m surprised our police haven’t reassured you away.”
“Oh, they tried.” Memories of Martin–the scrawny, blonde intern at the station–flash in your mind. He had to have been freshly graduated from high school with the way he stuttered in attempts of refusing an interview. “But my boss–she says there’s something sinister going on over here. So, I’m not leaving until I have a story.”
“Do you believe her?” But his tone is off, as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this question, and not one of opinion.
He faces you, and you feel the spotlight burning your cheeks. “Two seventeen-year-old boys missing in the span of a month? I’d say that’s pretty sinister.”
He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then closes it again. After a pause;
“The logic is there.”
“You…” The sentence can’t come out. He turns to look at you again, tilting his head to implore you to go on. “You don’t seem to agree?”
A clench of his jaw. “Live long enough, you tend to get used to how small towns work.”
He looks away now, taking in the vastness of green surrounding the two of you.
“You’re a Forks local, then?”
His head rocks side to side, as if weighing the answer. “Something like that.”
“Local enough for a statement, at least?”
“I’ll give you one, if you let me see you again before you leave town.”
For the second time since meeting this boy, you’re taken aback. The shock even makes you stop walking. “That is an extremely unprofessional deal.”
“You’re writing about a retired case.” He chuckles, commanding you with his hand to keep moving forwards. “I hate to break it to you, but the Ahns and Eoms don’t want to cry to the media about their boys anymore. I think I’m the best chance you’ve got.”
You simply shake your head, and in a trance-like state, you continue to follow him. “Families of victims are always looking to get the word out there. If I don’t get something from them, I’m sure there are others who will talk.”
“None as good-looking as me, though.” He grins, teeth flashing your way. His face snaps back frontwards though, hiding it as quickly as it came.
Though you feel the urge to scoff again, you technically can’t disagree.
He’s unbelievably gorgeous; an alluring way about him that you’ve never found in the city boys you’ve dated in the past. His cologne even, the way it’s breathing off his heavy coat, is enough to make you dizzy.
A satisfied expression forms on his face at your silence.
Before you know it, you’ve nearly stepped out of the alienating forest of Forks.
You can tell, because at the very first sight of a building, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN AHN KEONHO?’ posters are plastered across the walls.
The reminder of the disappearances settles down any attempts of flirtation and humour that were about to surface. The boy watches as you stare, and lets the weight of it all sink onto a moment of silence between the two of you.
“Off the record?”
You turn this time, ears piqued in interest, but he’s not next to you anymore. You’ve realised you’ve kept walking ahead a few steps, as if getting closer to the pictures of the lost boy will give you a clue on where he’s gone–where they’ve all gone.
“Yes?” You pry, especially as you watch him slightly chew on the inside of his cheeks.
“You were right to go into the woods to investigate. There’s a reason no one has published anything about Forks.” He says this in a rush, a slight octave above a whisper–like he shouldn’t reveal this to you. Like he shouldn’t be talking to you at all. “But if you’re smart, you really won’t come back here. You won’t stay for long, either.”
You slowly read between his lines, half comprehending what’s trying to say. Your chest steadily rises in increasing bursts at his warning.
You try to remind yourself that you’re safe now–you can hear the bustle of the streets much up ahead, indicating there are more people around on the other side, if need be. Such safety produces bravery, you’ve come to find out.
“You know something, don’t you?” The plant in your palm, almost crushed.
You seem to catch a dip in his head, but you’re not certain.
“What is it?” Your eyes frantically searching his now, “An animal? Some sort of voodoo ritual?”
You trace back to all you’ve read about the history of Forks.
It’d be impossible not to do research for the case of this town; generations of boys slipping from existence every few decades, no questions asked, no pleas answered.
You remember how many speculated beasts that roam in the night, or how other sources simply passed down folktales; history coming into fruition. Though you didn’t believe them entirely, the isolating experience of the forest makes you rewire your beliefs on what could rationally be happening in a town that’s left off the maps.
His eyes are narrowing down to look at you through them. He’s about to respond, until a branch nearby snaps. A noise–a warning–made by someone who knows how to stay quiet.
Then the crunching of leaves as heavy boots make their way closer.
“James, you’re frightening the poor girl.” A different voice says, and you whip your head to another boy stepping out from behind the trunks covered in moss. “I can hear her heartbeat from here.”
He’s slightly taller. His voice is slightly deeper too. A multitude of differences between him and the first boy, James, with the exception of his complexion also being ghost-like.
“Hello,” He dips his head low, like a bow. “I apologise on his behalf. James doesn’t know what he’s saying, really. He likes to play with his fo-”
“Friends!” James finishes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
His eyes haven’t separated from yours this whole time, and they brighten when you nod.
Pleased, he turns to the boy standing next to him now. “Juhoon,” James sighs. “You’re interrupting my time with my new friend.”
Juhoon’s face is stonecold. “Carlisle sent me. He could tell you were up to no good again.”
James rolls his eyes. “Not a single moment of peace or privacy with you around,” He mumbles to himself.
You can’t help but revel in this dynamic; you don’t even care where this Juhoon came from, you’re relieved to see James acting like a real person. For a second, he almost didn’t seem like one.
James blinks in your direction.
He keeps doing this, you note to yourself. As if you’re saying all of this out loud, and he’s reacting like second-nature. It’s odd to find yourself in proximity with someone as perceptive as you consider yourself to be.
“Hello, Juhoon.” You greet, finally taking your gaze off of James.
The seemingly younger boy doesn’t take your late attention to heart. “You’ll have to excuse us, friend of James, our father wants us home.”
You can’t help but smile at his childish antics, and send another nod his way, outlining understanding.
Then, to James, “I want my statement.”
It’s unspoken you’ve consented to what comes with it.
Juhoon watches at how James’ smirk is forced to the ground; as if he’s guilty, as if he’s caught.
He can only sigh at his older brother.
“Carlisle’s right. You are up to no good again.” Juhoon disrupts the moment, glancing between the two of you.
Your eyebrows rise at this. “You walk girls out of the woods often, James?”
Hearing him say your name isn’t helping him wipe the smug expression off of his face, even though he knows he has to. “Only the pretty-”
A slight breeze picks up from your direction, and you can feel your hair lift off your shoulders. You grumble at this cursed weather, even if the wind only lasts for just a moment.
It’s enough for Juhoon.
It’s enough for James.
It’s enough for something to shift.
In the split-second you took to pat down your hair-do, your instincts have spiked up, something suddenly stirring inside of you to run.
Looking back at James, his eyes have gone impossibly darker. His nose slightly flares from impulse, his dry lips part from want, his nails dig beds into his flesh from restraint.
You almost feel like prey, and when James hears this thought–because you can feel him react to it with the quirk of his mouth, you’re not sure if you want to agree to his deal anymore.
“Hey!” Another voice calls from behind. The three of you, disrupted from the bubbling tension, look across the field to see a lanky boy, six foot three, waving both arms in the air with glee.
Do the boys in this town just not know how to approach social situations properly?
With the biggest grin on his face, Martin-from-the-station is huffing and puffing when he finally reaches you. “There you are!”
The shift in the air is gone–you feel like you can breathe again.
“Hi?” You grimace, but he puts up a finger, indicating he needs another minute to catch his breath.
“I was meant to tell you earlier, you’re not supposed to go into the woods.” He manages, through shortness of gasps. When he can stand up right, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Bad place.”
“I got the message,” You’re about to point at James and Juhoon, but when you look behind you, they’ve been replaced with the silence of Fork’s lush again.
Even their absence startles you, they were just there.
Were they ever with you at all?
Martin, ignorant to your internal turmoil, takes your arm and drags you closer to the town. His warm hand grounding you, as you make it back to the centre of the graveyard of a city.
You hate admitting James was right.
The Ahn girl had slammed the door in your face, and the parents of the second boy who disappeared, Eom Seonghyeon, only stared blankly in disbelief. The people around town had completely avoided you too; picking up their things when you sat at a table near them, crossing the street when you began to walk their way.
Small towns keep their secrets like no other.
Hours later after leaving, you’re drawn to take a wander in the forest again, to see if you could find something this time. Or to see if James would come find you again. The more you pondered on your interaction, the more you knew both options were really an individual one.
You never got his statement, and so you’re back to square one.
Martin, the young boy who had been eager to get you back into town according to the wishes of Chief Swan, was at least useful by directing you to the town’s (one, and only) library. You guessed a historical report was better than going home tomorrow empty-handed.
Which is how you got into this position: crouched on the floor in between bookshelves, one table-lamp dragged to your corner, it being your only source of light, as you flip through the volumes of social and political notes of Washington State.
Forks: A History, is keeping you company tonight.
It could really be considered an antique, how it had been collecting dust for what seems like a millennia the way it made you sneeze when you first pulled it out.
Most of the information is a bore; records of architectural developments taking up the majority of pages, but you continue to seamlessly turn the page regardless.
Your mind swirls back to James again.
His scent.
His voice.
The way he looked at you.
You kept his wildflower in the back pocket of your pants, tucked away for when you want to remember him after you leave Forks. You decide it’s such a shame a pretty boy like him is stuck here, in this peculiar, rainy place. Even if he was peculiar, himself.
You can feel yourself getting so distracted–you almost jump in fright when James’ face appears in front of you as you flip the page.
Delusional girl. Saw a nice face once and now he’s apparently everywhere. The sleep deprivation really is getting to you. You almost chuckle out loud to yourself.
You let yourself take a miniature break from reading–it’s not like you were comprehending any of the literature anyways–and rub your eyes. When you look back down at the page though, James’ face is still there.
You have to take several blinks, press the book up in front of you, and illuminate the lamp right onto the centre of the page because you truly cannot believe your eyes.
James.
It was really James.
A splitting image of him, standing behind a woman sitting down, and next to a man, both just as beautiful as him.
A family portrait, with ‘1908’ stamped in a faded, red, onto the paragraph right next to them.
This chapter is dedicated to Dr. Carlisle Cullen, his beloved wife, Dr. Esme Cullen, and their only son, Yufan Cullen. In establishing Forks’ first public hospital, we thank the medical developments that have been brought to our town from the family’s arrival. The Cullens, who volunteered their time preaching aid and wellness to our patients, have immortalised their well-wishes in their generous donations before their departure from Forks, ten years after Forks Hospital opened in 1908. The funding for the public healthcare of Forks’ citizens will be felt, centuries from today. Though the Cullen family may never read these words, the people of Forks dedicate their lives to their munificence.
1908?
You know this is mathematically impossible–that this boy printed in a historical volume is the same as the one you talked to in the forest only a mere hours ago–but you could draw his nose, his eyes, his cheekbones, the curve of his neck’s apple blindfolded, and you’d have a replica of the image before you.
And Carlisle. That had been the name Juhoon referred to as his father earlier today, too. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore either. This was him. This was James–of this, you’re absolutely sure.
You slam the volume closed. Specs of dust fly about, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. You knew something was off with him, with this town, with these people.
You had to go home. Now.
Though the library hall felt huge when you first stepped in, it’s suddenly claustrophobic. You can’t stand being here anymore, willing yourself to gain enough mobility to crawl up and push the cursed book back to where you found it.
“Hello, again,” a familiar voice says.
You go still. Leaning on the bookcase for support, as you linger your fingertips on the volume.
“How long have you been there?” Your voice is weak, hoarse from dehydration. You’re still facing the bookshelf, too anxious to turn around.
“I only just arrived.” James says simply. He whispers your name, a command for you to look his way. “Will you let me see you? That was our deal, was it not?”
“I don’t need your statement anymore.” You somehow breathe out.
You’ve memorised the escape route from when you walked in, a habit you’ve picked up since childhood.
“You’re leaving already?” He asks. If you could see him, you’d see the pout painting James’ lips too. “But we’re only starting to have fun.”
You close your eyes in defeat.
It’s impossible to resist. It’s intoxicating how his voice coaxes you to abandon all ideas of exiting, and instead, face him.
“There she is.” James almost sighs, as he steps closer. “You look pretty, in this light.”
He stops right in front of you, and you press your spine further into the bookshelf.
James looks divine, too. His features are even sharper against the shadows, with only his eyes changed–a stark difference you notice only because you were staring at them so intently earlier. They’re topaz now, and as he watches you take him in, you can feel your heart bursting in your ribcage.
You’re scared, oh, you’re so scared.
You’ve never given thought to how you would die, coming to Forks has changed this in the span of a day.
“Yep. I still look scary if I don’t smile.” James tells you. His grins will be earned though. He can’t seem to stop them from appearing every time he’s with you–his dimples coming out from hiding, the way he steps out from the dark.
“Yufan,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His head flickers back; in surprise, in disbelief, in awe–neither of you know. He’s quiet for a beat. Glancing between your eyes, dangerously close to you. And then, slowly;
“No one has called me that name in a long time.”
James is silent again, and you realise he’s listening. You force yourself to not think of the portrait, but of course, trying to not think of something, makes it flash in your head like a screen just for his eyes.
A small curl at the tip of his lips again, “I knew you were a smart girl.”
“That’s all you have to say?” You swallow.
“I didn’t know they printed that.” He says more to himself than in response to you. “I should probably get rid of it when I’m done with you. Would be a problem if others connected the dots, don't you think?”
You can only nod. You’re still fearing for your life–you don’t want to question what his middle phrase means, because something has fused within this feeling; pure want.
Having him so impossibly close, the tip of his nose nudges yours.
You pull your face back, head now hitting the volumes of books.
“James, you’re freezing.” You say astonished, reaching one hand to cautiously place it on his cheek. It stings you to touch.
Your palm isn’t as warm as he wishes it was.
“You too, it seems.” James mumbles.
“What?”
Before you can blink, his jacket is slipping off of his broad frame. James brings you forward by the waist, only by a step, to pull it over your shoulders.
His scent hits you even harder, and you feel your knees buckle slightly. The jacket doesn’t provide any warmth, given it was on him this whole time, but the way it envelopes you, and how his arms find their way on either side of you to push you back up against the bookshelf again is making your body heat up uncontrollably.
“James,” You start, shaking your head as if denying this as reality. “Or Yufan. Who are you? What are you?”
“We don’t need to say it out loud.”
These dismissals are only making you think more rationally, which you’re grateful for.
“Those boys,” You feel something forming in your throat. You will yourself not to struggle as you ask, “Were you the ones behind their disappearances?”
James only sighs. His newest younger brothers were the last thing he wanted to think about, but he’s swimming through your thoughts and the posters are magnified on all of them right now.
“They’re okay,” He attempts at reassuring.
The confirmation that he really did have something to with them makes your blood cold. Your mind is going back and forth: run away from him, get closer, run away, get close.
All you can make out now is his name, chanting in your mind like a mantra.
This he likes.
“Are you going to do to me, what you did to them?” You ask.
His eyes look away from yours for the first time since he arrived, looking up to think.
“Women don’t deserve to hurt like this,” He states plainly. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to take care of you tonight. Alright?”
You can’t wrap your head around the things he’s saying. Something about hurt, or something about care. To you, the two were the same.
James’ eyes are back on you now–not your eyes though, only your lips. The sight, makes you look at his. If you tipped forward just slightly, they’d touch.
You’d be kissing him–this creature, this monster, this boy.
A chuckle at the nicknames, all of them heard endlessly before. He likes your suggestions though, in fact, he has to answer it directly;
“Do it.”
James?
“I’m here,” He coos.
Get out of my head.
“You first,” is the last thing you hear, before he closes the short distance and plants his mouth onto yours.
James immediately takes your bottom lip as his, claiming ownership, kissing it as if he has millions of times before.
One of his hands moves from gripping the bookshelf, his pointer finger tracing the outline of your ear, the other fingers following in suit. His hands drag all the way down across your jaw, until he places it on the base of your neck to tilt your head up.
The cold makes you shiver into his mouth, and the small opening allows him to deepen the kiss, all parts of him, aligning with every part of you.
Your hands are delicately scrunched on the edges of his shirt, pulling him closer, no doubt leaving crinkles into the fabric. Your head is spinning as you kiss him back, you can’t even focus on any specific detail, he’s all too consuming.
James demands attention by tilting his head the other way now, swapping positions with you, tasting you from the other side. It’s a state of bliss, the two of you have found, and in doing so, you’ve both lost track of time.
How long has passed?
Minutes?
Hours?
You don’t care. You don’t want it to end, even if your breathing is getting heavy as James doesn’t let you break for even a second.
You feel his teeth graze your bottom lip. You mirror, following his lead, doing the same to him. It tickles at first and you take pleasure in this new, unexplored sensation.
That is until, the tips of a sharp one pierces through your tender flesh.
You gasp in white, hot, pain.
You try to pull away, but James has one hand on your neck, the other moving to your waist, locking you in place.
His name comes out of your mouth as a beg, tears brimming your eyes at the sting of how the canine sinks in. His tongue is quick to go over the mark, soothing it, before his lips pucker at the familiar taste, on instinct swallowing what melts out.
James smells metal, and the gravity of what he’s done finally hits. His eyes fly open, stepping away from you immediately, moving impossibly quick, he hits the bookshelf you’re standing across.
The impact of his body is so hard, a few books come crashing down.
James’ expression is one of shock, and his hand reaches up to wipe his mouth–the drips of blood, mixed with saliva that shine on the back of his palm is enough to fill him with dread. What has he done?
“No,” he repeats in whispers, over and over. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”
James was only meant to kiss you. He was only meant to be close enough to get a dose of your scent. To touch you, if you’d let him. He was never meant to do this.
In a panic, James spills your name out, profusely apologising for his actions–his actions you haven’t even understood completely, too focused on how red is trickling down your bottom lip, almost reaching your chin.
“James?” You call out, as a way to calm both yourself, and him down, but it doesn’t work. You want to tell him it’s okay, to comfort him into explaining why he looks so distraught.
James can’t stay here, he can’t look at you knowing his poison is pulsing through your veins. You won’t feel it now, just the initial sting, but you’ll feel it soon enough, and he can’t be around to watch.
His head is shaking and your fear earlier is nothing compared to how he has you now. You’re confused, and you’re anxious, you just want him to hold you again.
You know he knows you’re thinking this.
It’s why him vanishing in the next passing heartbeat hurts even more.
The light from the lampshade stutters, and you have to train your eyes to stay on the fallen books, and wrap his jacket around you even tighter, to convince yourself he was real.
You leave the library in the state James left it in too; the workers tomorrow will be concerned at the drops of crimson staining the carpet.
You don’t remember the short walk back to the motel room, the hours you laid wide awake in the hard bed, or the girl who somehow manages to functionally wipe away last night’s mess and force food down her throat as the sun rises above Forks.
It’ll be the last time you see the sun. You don’t know it for certain, but you can feel it—your intuition, saying its farewell, as it leaves you now, too.
You only gain back a sliver of human consciousness when Chief Swan pins a new poster to the community board of the motel’s breakfast diner.
oh hoa hoa hoa ivy you are making me loca with this one 😍😍 okay ill stop with the references but this was gen so good how did you know ive been on a twilight spree????
ughhh idek how you did it but you made his character to enthralling and charismatic like a real vamp!! like i was geniunly sat when he revealed himself and was like teasing her AND THAT KISS PHEWWWWWW MAMAMAMAMAMAMMAMAMAMM that was so scrumptious #needthat
ALSO JAMES COMEBACK AND FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED PUSSIO COME HOLD HER HAND WHILE SHES TRANSFORMING OR SOMETHING MAN VAMP UP!!!
𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ─── juhoon was streaming when his viewers noticed you behins him, so he reveals you
★ bf ! juhoon × fem!reader
word count ── 1.9k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! I PUT EXTRA EXTRA LOVE INTO THIS AND LOWKEY ADDED MOST OF MY MOOTS AS THE CHAT'S USERNAME SO IF YOU SEE IT LMK HEHEHEHE 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
The soft hum of Juhoon’s setup was the first thing you noticed.
The faint clicking of his keyboard. The quiet murmur of his voice. The low glow of LED lights casting a dim, cozy atmosphere across the room.
“…chat, I’m telling you, that play was clean.”
Your eyes fluttered open.
Right. He was streaming.
You froze instantly, still half-buried in his blankets, your body warm and heavy with sleep. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, just listened.
Juhoon sat at his desk, back facing you, headphones resting comfortably over his dark hair. His posture was relaxed, slightly slouched, like he always was. One hand moved effortlessly across his mouse while the other tapped lightly on his keyboard.
He looked completely normal, like there wasn’t a whole person in his bed.
“…wait, what?” he muttered, glancing at his second monitor. A soft laugh slipped out of him, quiet, breathy, the kind that always made your chest feel warm. “No, there’s nothing behind me. You guys are tripping.”
Your heart skipped, the chat noticed. You slowly shifted, just a little, trying to sit up without making noise, but the blanket rustled anyway.
[meeoowchi]: WAIT DID YALL SEE THAT???
[miaiki]: MAMA A GIRL BEHIND YOU
[realseanshady]: JUHOON THERE IS LITERALLY SOMEONE THERE??
[hollyyoonge]: imagine if it was his girl 😹✌️
Juhoon paused, just for a second. His shoulders tensed slightly before relaxing again.
“…it’s literally nothing,” he repeated, but this time his voice was softer. Almost careful.
Your eyes met the back of his head, like he could feel you staring. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. The chat probably went crazy.
A few seconds passed. Then a minute.
Then, “Okay, you guys are actually not gonna shut up, huh?”
He sighed, leaning back slightly in his chair, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
That smile. The one that was small, a little shy, but so soft it made your stomach flip every single time. “…fine.”
Your eyes widened. Before you could react, Juhoon turned his chair slightly, and looked at you.
There it was, that look. Like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
His gaze softened instantly, sleep still clinging to your expression, your hair messy, blanket loosely wrapped around you, and somehow, he looked at you like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
[pearlywhitefics]: THERE IS A GIRL?????
[fshionalien]: HELLO???? HELLO?????
[j4eyxn]: WHO IS THAT???
[afternoontea]: BRO HAD A GIRL THIS WHOLE TIME??
“…hi,” he murmured, his voice was softer than usual.
Your face burned instantly. Heat rushed up your neck, settling deep in your cheeks as your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket still draped loosely over your lap.
“Hi…” you whispered back, your voice barely there. It came out smaller than you meant it to. Sleep still clung to you, your thoughts slow, your body warm and heavy, your senses just beginning to catch up with everything happening around you.
Juhoon noticed, of course he did. A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips, low and breathy, the kind that always made your chest feel tight in the softest way. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned back slightly in his chair, turning toward you just a bit more.
He lifted one hand toward you, palm open, fingers curling slightly in a silent invitation. “C’mere.”
You hesitated for half a second, not because you didn’t want to go to him. But because suddenly, you were very aware, of the camera, of the stream, of the thousands of people on the other side of the screen.
Still, you moved. Slowly slipping out from the warmth of the blankets, your feet touching the cool floor as you padded toward him.
Each step felt careful, almost shy, your body still waking up, your mind trying to process everything at once.
Juhoon watched you the whole time. His gaze never left you, not even for a second. When you finally got close, his hand gently wrapped around your wrist.
He didn’t pull harshly, didn’t rush you, just guided you with a soft firmness that made your breath catch slightly as he tugged you closer, right onto his lap.
A quiet, startled sound slipped out of you, soft and embarrassed, your body instinctively tensing for half a second before melting against him.
His arm came around your waist immediately.
Your heart was racing now, your face burning as you instinctively leaned into his chest, trying to hide even though you knew it was pointless.
“Guys,” Juhoon said casually, like this was nothing. “This is my girl.”
Your brain short-circuited. Your entire face went hot, completely, overwhelmingly hot, as his words settled into you.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until it left you in a small, shaky exhale.
Your hand lifted hesitantly, fingers stiff as you gave a tiny, awkward wave toward the camera.
“…hi…” Your voice came out quiet, and completely unprepared for the chaos you knew was happening on the other side of the screen.
The chat exploded, you didn’t need to see it. You felt it.
In the way Juhoon’s chest vibrated lightly against your back as he let out a quiet laugh, low and amused.
In the way his arm tightened just slightly around your waist, pulling you closer into him like he was shielding you from it, even while technically being the reason for it.
[saevss]: SHE’S SO CUTE HELLO???
[teacuplps]: MOM AND DAD FR 😭😭
[jjuhyeon]: JUHOON EXPLAIN YOURSELF RN
[martiniholic]: HOLY FINE SHYT 😻😻
“They’ve been begging me to check behind me,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower as he leaned in closer.
His lips brushed near your ear.
Your breath hitched.
The proximity made your entire body warm, a shiver running softly down your spine as his presence wrapped around you.
You hid your face instinctively in the soft fabric of his hoodie, your fingers curling into the sleeve near his wrist.
“They’re probably staring…” you mumbled, your voice muffled.
“They always stare,” he said softly, amusement lacing his tone. “You’re just new.”
That didn’t help. If anything, it made your embarrassment worse.
Your grip on his sleeve tightened, your body curling slightly inward as if you could somehow make yourself smaller.
But Juhoon didn’t let you disappear. His thumb began tracing slow, absent-minded circles along your waist. “…you’re okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded against him, still half hiding, your cheek pressed lightly into his shoulder. “Mm.”
[tw0star]: SHE’S SHY STOP THIS IS SO CUTE
[eohyeons]: IS THAT HIS HOODIE??
[ramenoil]: PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS
[eomlinn]: JUHOON YOU WON AT LIFE
He smiled. In the way his chest rose slightly beneath you, in the way his arm tightened just a little.
Then, his fingers came up to your chin. He tilted your face upward, guiding you out of hiding without forcing you. “Don’t hide, pretty,” he murmured.
Your heart melted completely.
You looked up at him, your eyes still soft from sleep, your thoughts hazy, your emotions too big to fully process.
“…they’re saying you’re cute,” he added, glancing briefly at his chat.
You groaned softly, immediately dropping your face back into his shoulder. “Juhoon…”
Your voice held a quiet whine now, embarrassed beyond saving. He laughed softly.
His arms wrapped around you fully now, both of them, holding you securely against his chest as if you might try to escape.
“Relax, baby,” he murmured. “They’re not wrong.”
You lightly hit his chest in protest, your movements weak and unconvincing. “Stop…”
“Mm. No.” The vibration of his voice against you made your breath catch.
Then, a soft kiss pressed against your temple. Lingering just a second longer than necessary.
[amorassz]: SHES BLUSHINGGGGG
[kaikaikoi]: HE CALLED HER PRETTY IM GONNA CRY
[08mrtin]: IVE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS???
[lovhyeon]: THEYRE SO SOFT IM SICK
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze warm, soft, filled with quiet amusement at how flustered you’d become. “…you woke up at the worst time,” he teased lightly.
You pouted, your brows knitting slightly as you looked up at him. “I tried to be quiet…”
“I know,” he said, smiling. “You were cute.”
You stared at him, disbelief clear on your face.
“You’re literally streaming.”
“And?”
“…and you’re saying stuff like that.”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “They already know.”
Your face burned again, there was no winning with him. Before you could even think of a response, he leaned in slowly.
Giving you time, giving you space to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t, you stayed right where you were.
His lips met yours, the kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t overwhelming, it was slow, like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin in soft, comforting strokes while his other arm kept you secure against him.
You melted instantly, and everything else faded.
The room, the stream, the noise. All of it disappeared, there was only him.
The warmth of his lips, and the way he held you like you were something precious. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew, the chat had probably lost it.
But you? You were gone.
[hyuneskkami]: THEYRE KISSING????
[i-kai]: I JUST WITNESSED THAT LIVE IM NEVER RECOVERING
[pbananalover]: HE’S SO GENTLE WITH HER IM GONNA SOB
[stagbarnes]: SOMEONE CLIP THAT RN
[coconhovr]: IT SHOULDVE BEEN ME
When he finally pulled back, your eyes were wide, your lips slightly parted, your entire face flushed a deep, burning pink.
“Juhoon—!”
He just smiled, that quiet, soft smile.
The one that felt like it was only meant for you. “…what?” he asked innocently.
You covered your face with your hands, completely overwhelmed. “You’re so—” you cut yourself off, your voice muffled. “Oh my god.”
He laughed under his breath, leaning in to press another soft kiss, this time to your hair.
“Cute,” he finished for you.
You groaned. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“…no I don’t,” you admitted quietly.
He hummed, satisfied, his arms tightening around you just a little. Then, after a moment, he glanced back at his screen.
“Alright,” he said casually. “I think that’s enough for today. Chat’s gonna focus on her anyway.”
Your head snapped up. “Wait—”
“Say bye,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against your ear again.
You peeked at the camera reluctantly, your face still flushed beyond recovery. “…bye…”
Juhoon smiled, then looked back at the camera.
“Later.”
And just like that, the stream ended. Silence settled over the room.
Your heart was still racing. Your hands still slightly shaky as you looked up at him. “…that was so embarrassing,” you muttered.
He tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
“You just—kissed me in front of everyone.”
He blinked, like it hadn’t even crossed his mind as a problem. Then he smiled, completely unapologetic. “…so?”
You stared at him, speechless. He leaned in again, slower this time, his nose brushing lightly against yours.
“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured. “You looked too pretty.”
Your breath caught again.
That voice, that tone. So soft it felt like it wrapped around your heart and squeezed.
You sighed quietly, your resistance melting away completely as you leaned into him, your arms slipping around him in return. “…you’re lucky I like you.”
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and fond as he pressed one last kiss to your lips, short, gentle, lingering just enough to make your chest ache.
Thank you for the tag, my dear @ainulindaelynn. I hope you're doing alright 🤍
It's been a proper long time since I did one of these, and since I deleted my previous ones, I figure it's a good time to start fresh 😊
What is the origin of your blog name? The quintessence of my hyperfixation on Brasidas & Sparta over the last few years. The Brasideioi were the army that marched to Thrace with him. After they returned to Sparta, they continued to be set apart from the rest of the army - extremely unusual in Sparta.
What's your 'I will always order this' food? Unfortunately, Korean Chicken. It's so good, but also incredibly unhealthy. Luckily I live a long way from the ability to order food at all, so winning I guess lol
What's your overused emoji? 🤍 I use this a lot
What's your current comfort media? I've been watching the youtube channels Treasure Books and Camelia Craft Designs for a few weeks now. I fall asleep to them and they're basically my default now. I also watch a bunch of Hermits - faves are DocM77, Keralis, BDubs, SmallishBeans & MumboJumbo, but I watch others as well.
Song you've had on repeat this week? I recently discovered Every Chance I Get (I Want You in the Flesh) by Dan Auerbach [of the Black Keys] and it is such a vibe. Otherwise, I'm still on my 2025 Faves playlist with all the usual suspects (Killers, Editors, Interpol etc.)
Tagging a few people if you're keen - no pressure! Hope you're all well. @iraaileme @krankittoeleven @findusinaweek @asneakyobserver @erzsebetrosztoczy @merelyafigment @dev1lsminion
What is the origin of your blog name? It comes from my initial intentions of staying a lurker, as I had always been in the past 😅 but then I started interacting more with other fans, I made friends, and here we are! But the name is going to remain the same 😁🤍
What's your "I will always order this" food? Pizza for home delivery, but otherwise French fries all the way! If we're going together to a restaurant, rest assured that I'm gonna order a whole portion all for myself 😌🍟😍
What's your overused emoji? Probably 😂 and ❤️
What's your current comfort media? The Witcher 🤩 Last year I read the entirety of the book saga, and now I'm obsessing on the video games!!! Finished The Witcher 3 last week, just recently started the first one, and I'm already planning to do a New Game + for TW3...I've also so many ideas for possible fics! Hope I'll be able to get even a little break from uni, so that I might write down something!!! 🥹✍️🏻
Song you've had on repeat this week? Basically, the entire soundtrack from Blood and Wine, an amazing DLC for The Witcher 3 🎶🦇❤️🦇🎶
Npt: @the-bogginses-are-gay @soqueengardener @jesmightjumptmr @thepreciouspurrsian @fridrssvardagi @storm89 @silkdragonwings1 + anyone else who wants to join!!!
origin of my blog name: ummmm i have too much hw -> im gonna explode -> death (like in a chill way i swear)
my "always order" food: i mean french fries is extremely valid i be getting those everywhere and get told i have the palate of a toddler but like SORRY i cant do freaking ocean snot in a shell (oysters 🥀🥀) or something with noodles. i LUHHHH noodles 😋😋
emoji i overuse: probably 😭 or 💔 i use these two a LOT bc they fit with like any emotion ykwimmm
my comfort media: avatar (the blue people) like it makes me cry but i have phases where its all i think abt at least once every 2 months, i will ALWAYS come back to avatar
song i've had on repeat: he loves me yeah! by faye webster 😝 self explanatory i believe 😙😙
origin — I’m seonghyeon and juhoon biased so I decided to go with jjuhyeon! (lowkey boring lore but I love my username)
my “always order” food — it’s literally me and my chicken broccoli alfredo and quenepas 🫂
overused emoji — 😝 and 🫰🏻
comfort media — bridgerton, grace and frankie, criminal minds, s.w.a.t, and when I fly towards you! (my jiangjia and guran ☺️☺️)
songs on repeat — they don’t know about us by bts, joyride by cortis, bills by enhypen, odio by romeo santos, pretty little birds sza, pretty boy the neighborhood, and sweet boy by malcom todd.
tags 🏷️ @realseanshady @lcvehyeon @ykvdani @i-kai @saevss and anyone else who wants to join!!
HI YANI BABES TYSM FOR THE TAG THIS TAG GAME IS SO FUN!! 🥰🥰🥰
origin — uhm so there was this guy named eminem....lol i js had the real slim shady on LOOP for like a week straight and i was like whose name in cortis would fit it the best 😭😭😭
my “always order” food — TRUFFLE FRIES if a restaurant has truffle fries i literally cant be normal 😁
overused emoji — ive been really into 😛🤣😘 lately but my true og is 🙈!
comfort media — any beta squad video BUT ESPECIALLY their mafia all stars vid i swear ive seen that video like fifty times 😭😭 i also love house, superstore, and brooklyn nine nine!!!
songs on repeat — JOGA BY BJÖRK, paper bag by my lyrical queen fiona apple, barquito by rusowsky, and luv sic (pt.3) by nujabes!!
tags!!! @aftermoontea @fleuriins @saevss @ramenoil @eohyeons @coconhovr @amorassz+ anyone else who wants to join!! 🙈🙈
Synopsis: You're an actress, one of South Korea's newest up-and-coming young stars. Juhoon lives in Jeju and owns a Turtle Shop (yes, it is called Turtle Shop), giving turtle owners everything they need to succeed. You both are not of the same world. When you both meet on a horribly rainy day, sparks suddenly fly. One thing leads to another, and you both fall in love.
Genre: Notting Hill-inspired! (Do I use Notting Hill dialogue for the "film" they're doing? Why yes. Obviously. It'll come into play MANY times.) Small town, cozy vibes, quite heartwarming, angst, hopefully charming if I've written it correctly... starring Martin and Seonghyeon as Juhoon's best friends and Keonho as another actor! Plus James as Keonho's manager for some more cameo appearances.
Word Count: 15.2k
Author's Note: I love Notting Hill so much... I'm a romance lover alright don't come for me if it's not your favorite 😅 so I've always wanted to write a fic that's somewhat inspired by it! I tried to put some of my own twists and turns into this one, and I think it ended up nicely (I hope you agree with me on that). Does anyone read the author's note? There's quite some angst in this one, so be warned. Now you know if you read this haha! Please enjoy :) Feedback is appreciated! Just, you know, be nice about it.
Disclaimer: None of my writing reflects the real personalities of the idols and is not meant to represent them in any way, since I do not know the idols personally. If you take offense to fanfiction, please do not read.
IT’S A GLOOMY, DREADFUL DAY—THE TYPE OF DAY WHERE NO ONE WANTS TO DO ANYTHING. PERFECT, YOU SUPPOSE, TO FILM A HEARTBREAKING SCENE IN YOUR LATEST MOVIE.
“CUT!” yells Director Kang, trying and failing to look at her two lead actors over the pouring rain. As she rattles off her instructions to your co-star, Ahn Keonho, you simply gaze off into the distance, trying your best not to move so that you won’t get splattered with more water. You can see small boats dotting the ocean, no doubt coming into harbor in this horrible weather. Jeju truly has the most unpredictable forecast—but you suppose it works in this case.
Keonho taps your shoulder, drawing your attention back to real life. He says something that you cannot hear over the pouring rain.
“WHAT?” you yell.
“I SA- you know what, never mind,” Keonho sighs.
Director Kang walks—really, it’s more of a clomp—through the mud to both of you, and turns to you this time. You straighten up, paying close attention to her words.
“I need more emotion. You have to look absolutely devastated. Tilt your chin down, your eyelids should droop, all of that. We can focus on a raindrop and make it look like a tear so you don’t have to try and fake cry,” Director Kang says.
You nod, murmuring your assent.
“What?” she asks. “You heard me, yes?”
“Yes! I did,” you yell back. You both bow to the director as she makes her way back behind the cameras. Your eyes return to Keonho’s.
Ahn Keonho. The nation’s up-and-coming young actor. You were no slouch either, but Keonho was exactly why your company had been so excited for you to snag this role.
“The nation’s most popular young actor starring across the nation’s best young actress? It’s perfect!” they all said.
You probably should be more excited about starring alongside South Korea’s newest heartthrob, but all you can feel is tiredness. And the rain is not helping.
“ACTION!” cries Director Kang.
You only have to look sad. Keonho is supposed to be doing most of the talking in this scene. So you tilt your head down just slightly, aiming your gaze at Keonho’s chin, and try to turn your gaze misty at the corners so that you can feel like you’re crying.
“You really don't get it,” Keonho starts, in a hush. He’s about to build to an emotional climax, and you can only admire the tactful way he does so.
“This story gets filed,” Keonho continues, his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes narrowing, trying to make you understand the gravity of the situation. As your character, you don’t. As yourself, the actress, you absolutely do. But you push that aside, and focus on the character, allowing yourself to let the lines settle over you.
“Every time anyone writes anything about me—they'll dig up these photos. Newspapers last forever. I'll regret this forever,” Keonho finishes, in a hiss, and you hesitate for a few seconds, lifting your head up to look at Keonho.
“Right. Fine!” you exclaim, channeling some frustration in you, allowing it to leak into your words. “I will do the opposite, if it’s all right by you,” you continue, slowly now, a frown on your face as you work through each of the consonants—a trick a director taught you once, to slow down the speed of your lines. You pause, feeling it both in the scene and in your mind. You look down at the ground, and you feel so heavy. A heaviness that is not entirely from the weight of the scene you’re playing. You look up again, into Keonho’s eyes, and you say your last line.
“And I’ll always be glad that you came,” you finish. A raindrop rolls down your cheek, and you feel it like it is a tear. You gaze into Keonho’s wide eyes. You feel emptiness—and perhaps that is just what the scene requires.
Keonho doesn’t say anything. He does not move, but holds your gaze, as though he is trying to remember your face, but only for a second. You look back, straight into his eyes, even though the rain has now dripped onto your eyelashes. Keonho turns abruptly, but not without one final glance. It’s short, fleeting, but he seems to hold you in that glance, and then he looks away.
You take a deep breath. You let it out, shakily. Another bit of rain drips down your forehead in the process. You feel the camera focusing on your expression.
“CUT!” Director Kang finally yells.
Keonho turns, so quickly you almost get whiplash, and pumps his fist in the air. He smiles at you with his signature winning charm. You breathe in another gulp of air and let it out, smiling back at him. The heaviness slides off of you, but you do not feel entirely weightless. The rain batters down on you, and you can only try to remember what scene you’re filming next so you can remember and perfect your lines.
“Excellent! Excellent, excellent. Let’s move on to-”
A clap of sudden thunder interrupts the director, bright light flashing through the sky. You all look up, except for the camera crew, who are hastily trying to readjust their camera coverings, and the rain only grows harder and harder.
“Right! Um, never mind. We are going to go-”
Another clap of sudden thunder interrupts the director, and all chaos breaks loose. The crew runs to protect their cameras, no doubt incredibly expensive, while you and Keonho take shelter under the nearest alcove you can find, both of your shoes flapping with quick smacks against the newly-formed mud. Your flats are absolutely ruined, and you send a prayer to the poor soul in the Costumes department who must now sort this mess out.
You get a quick glimpse of the sign hanging above the alcove before Keonho pulls you under it. You frown slightly at what you’ve just read. Turtle Store, you think. What’s that all about? Surely it isn’t just for turtles.
“Nice weather!” Keonho exclaims, turning to you. With his hair wettened flat and raindrops literally hanging off of his eyebrows, you wonder how he’s managed to stay so cheerful and upbeat.
“I used to be a swimmer,” Keonho adds, providing you some context. “I was pretty good, too. But I’m better at acting, as the reporters always say,” he finishes, shooting you a big grin.
That explains how Keonho looks like he’s just found his second home even in the pouring rain. You opt for a nod and a smile. You turn around, wanting to explore, and look behind you at the shop that seems to just be for turtles. The lights are on, and for a second, you swear that you can see someone inside. The mysterious person locks eyes with you, but you only get a glimpse of his face before he hastens to the door of the shop.
Then the door swings open, and you’re face to face with perhaps the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.
No, not perhaps. He is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Soft, brown hair, sparkling eyes, sharp nose, plush lips, and they all seem to come together to form the loveliest face you’ve ever seen. Coincidentally, he’s also dressed in the most ridiculous outfit you’ve ever seen.
“Is that a turtle costume?” Keonho blurts out.
The man looks down, then back up. He blinks, his face turning a subtle shade of pink. You feel a smile forming on your face, and try your hardest to suppress it.
“Yes,” the man says, with no further explanation, and neither you nor Keonho question him. “Um, I couldn’t help but notice you both outside… and, uh, it’s raining quite hard, so if you’d like…” he trails off. He motions his hand inwards.
“Right. Well, we also have a crew, who’s currently…” Keonho takes a look outside. “Oh, never mind, they’re all sheltering in the other shops. Sure, why not?” He turns to you, and motions towards the door. “Ladies first, as my noona would say.”
You smile at him and step inside, trying your best not to look at the man in the turtle costume for fear that your face will betray your feelings. The shop is quaint, cozy, and quite small, filled from top to bottom with turtle cages and aquariums, turtle water bottles, water trays, feeding trays, heat lamps, and everything else one would need to raise a turtle, whether it be land or water.
In the corner, there’s a table containing quite possibly all of the movies in the world. You quickly scan the titles, all highly-rated movies. The Godfather, Casablanca, Chungking Express, and, weirdly enough, some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. And sitting next to the table, sorting through the films, there’s another man in a turtle costume, who looks directly at you when you step in.
He doesn’t recognize you at first. But then Keonho steps in too, and his eyes widen in recognition. He stands up, revealing his very tall height, and yells in almost a comical way.
“Holy shit! Are you- noooooo way, bro. Juhoon!”
The other man—Juhoon, as you’ve figured out—looks at the freakishly tall man with confusion.
“What is it?” he asks, and his voice glides over you like a warm blanket, and suddenly you long for a chair, or something of the sort, to appear in front of you so that you can take a moment to collect your thoughts.
“Oh my god. You don’t know,” the freakishly tall man finishes. “Hold on- okay. Wait a second.” His jaw drops open as he takes in the both of you, and you can almost see all the thoughts running through his brain the way they’re showing so clearly on his face.
“I’m Martin, by the way,” he says, turning to you and Keonho. “Juhoon, we need to talk for a quick sec.”
He motions Juhoon over to the corner, where he launches into a furious whisper-explanation on who the two of you are, occasionally stealing quick glances at you and Keonho, still standing there, dripping water all over the floor. Juhoon notices the water, and his expression turns into one of shame at himself. You shake your head, almost imperceptibly, a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t feel ashamed, you want to tell him.
“Here, I’m so sorry. Let me get you both towels,” Juhoon starts, as he pulls out two chairs for the both of you. Martin gives up on his explanation, slapping a hand to his forehead. He heads to the back of the store, and you can hear a faucet being turned on, presumably to get water for all of you. You graciously accept the chair that Juhoon pulls out for you, and Keonho sits in the chair next to you. For a brief second, you both make eye contact, and Keonho raises his eyebrows.
“They seem great,” he whispers to you as Juhoon heads upstairs.
“Yeah, we can stay for a little bit,” you whisper back. “I just need to text my manager really quickly.” You pull out your phone, and realize it is very dead.
“It’s okay,” Keonho says. “They’ll understand.” He pulls out his own phone, which he finds to also be dead, and smiles at you. “Or they won’t. Who really knows, with managers?”
You laugh at that, because it’s true. You got lucky with Minju. There are very few people in the world who genuinely care about actresses, and it’s a depressing reality that you’ve had to find out the hard way.
Juhoon, meanwhile, is walking up the stairs, slowly at first, then quickly, in utter disbelief at what has just happened. Ahn Keonho is currently sitting downstairs, a real-life celebrity, and he does not know what to do with that information.
You are also sitting down there, but Juhoon is shocked by you for a different reason. He’s never been a lucky person, and he’s currently thinking that he’s probably used up all of his luck in this lifetime and the next. Because the most beautiful person he’s ever seen is sitting downstairs, and better yet, you’re actually talking to him.
He frantically searches his room for clean towels, and comes up with only two that haven’t been thrown in the laundry basket or left hanging in the shower. His eyes spot two charging cables, resting beside the bed, and in a split-second decision, he snatches them both up.
He takes a deep breath before going downstairs, determined not to mess any of this up. He’s going to be normal around you. He has to be.
The creak of the stairs alerts you to Juhoon, returning down the steps.
“Here,” he says, passing a towel out to each of you. Keonho immediately runs it crazily through his own hair, making the ends stick up in all directions. You opt to carefully dry the ends first, still a little conscious of how you look, especially near Juhoon. Juhoon holds a hand out, asking for your phone, and you hand the device to him. Keonho does the same, and Juhoon plugs them in. He sits back down. Martin returns with four cups of water, and the four of you proceed to fall into an awkward, but not horrible, silence.
“So-” Martin and Keonho start at the same time, and you and Juhoon wince. You smile at Juhoon, who smiles back, albeit a little bit embarrassedly.
“What brings you here?” Martin finishes.
“We were filming for our movie. Do you know about it? It’s, um, it’s called… So far, the working title is Sealed Letters. Oh, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I don’t even know the title of the movie, actually,” Keonho responds.
“There isn’t any title yet,” you add. “It’s a mystery.”
Keonho pauses, clearly about to ask the question that has been in his mind from the moment he first saw the two.
“What’s up with the turtle costumes?” he asks, his lips quirking up at the corners.
“It’s, uh, our work uniform,” Martin answers, hesitantly, the tips of his ears turning bright red. You let out a small giggle, and Martin’s ears only get redder. Juhoon’s face turns slightly pink, and you can’t help but think that shade of pink suits him incredibly well.
“We don’t wear it all the time though! Only, like, occasionally. And today, well… we didn’t really have any clean clothes to wear, so, uh…” Martin trails off, so red now that he could pass for a stoplight. Keonho lets out a laugh.
“Hey, no judgement,” he says. “Honestly, the turtle costumes are fire.”
Martin nods, clearly a little starstruck, judging by how he seems to be hanging on to every word you say. Juhoon is a little more passive, and you can’t really tell what he’s thinking. For a second, you hope that he still doesn’t know who you are.
All of your hopes are dashed, however, when Juhoon leans forward and asks his next question.
“You were in, uh, Little Blossom, right?”
Ah, Little Blossom. You cannot and will never forget that movie name, not while you live. The movie that catapulted you to fame. You cannot tell if you love it for all the success and fame that it has brought you, or if you hate it for that exact same reason.
“We’re somewhat movie connoisseurs ourselves,” Martin adds, a little cheekily. “Amateur connoisseurs. We watch films all the time. With Seonghyeon, obviously, he’s the real movie expert, but he’s not here right now. I’m more of an action movie lover, myself.”
“What about you, Juhoon?” Keonho asks, genuine curiosity showing on his face.
“Oh,” Juhoon starts, then pauses, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “I really liked Titanic,” he finishes softly, as if he’s embarrassed of the movie choice.
“I loved that movie,” you say, leaning forward. “It made me want to act, actually. I saw how popular it was, and how many people loved it, and how many people it connected, and I- sorry, I’m getting off track here,” you trail off, a little nervously.
There you go again. Spilling your whole life story to strangers. When will you learn to shut up? The voice trails through your brain. You try to shake it off, but it’s no use—the voice only follows you, and you grip the arm of your chair.
“That’s so beautiful,” Juhoon says.
Your grip loosens. His words wash over you, and your mind falls blissfully silent.
“I thought so too. I’ve never tried to act before though. I’ve always stuck to turtles,” Juhoon continues. “As you guys can see, I guess. Do you want to meet Choco? My turtle.”
“Oh yeah, Choco!” Martin exclaims. “Our best friend, for real for real. And Juhoon has a second turtle too, but even as his best friend of eight years, I’ve never seen the other turtle.” He takes this opportunity to glare at Juhoon playfully, and Keonho laughs.
“I would definitely like to see Choco. He seems like a chill guy,” Keonho says, standing up at the same time Martin does. Keonho is taken aback, shooting you a look that clearly says What the fuck why is this guy so tall, and you can only laugh.
Juhoon, sitting across from you, still cannot take his eyes off of you for some reason. He’s fixated, a fact that he doesn’t know what to do with, and he really still can’t believe you’re there, a famous actress, according to Martin. And you’re sitting at his turtle shop table, of all tables, and it’s covered in CDs too, and Juhoon really wishes he had cleaned the place up. Martin and Keonho leave to the back room, where Keonho can be heard letting out “ooohs” and “awwws” at Choco, and Juhoon simply lets them.
He’s still looking at you, who he wholeheartedly believes is the epitome of beauty and grace and honestly, at this point, everything beautiful in the world. He cannot believe he’s fallen so hard for you, someone who probably will never give him a second thought, and someone who he doesn’t even know, for starters. He suddenly has the weirdest urge to kiss you.
You turn your head at that exact moment, and look at Juhoon. You give him a small smile. Juhoon’s heart starts pumping so fast he feels like he’s just finished a marathon.
Oh no, he thinks. I’m definitely done for.
Keonho and Martin return, Martin with Choco in his hand, and you gasp.
“Oh my gosh!” you cry, your face changing into one of pure joy. “Choco is so cute!”
Choco lifts his head slightly, his eyes gazing into yours, and you suddenly feel as though you’ve made a real connection with this turtle.
“Right? Isn’t he sort of mesmerizing?” Keonho asks you, noticing the expression on your face. “I never really got why people owned turtles, but I do now. I have a dog though, and I don’t think they do too well with turtles.”
“Oh, they really don’t. Please don’t get one,” Juhoon starts, and he launches into a full-blown explanation on why dogs and turtles should not coexist, especially not in the same house, and especially not around very young children. You get maybe half of the words he says, but you’re really more focused on how passionate he looks, and you feel a faint fluttering in your chest.
You then realize you’re falling for a man who’s passionate about turtles.
Martin breaks your train of thought, saying how he should really get Choco back to his cage, and eventually, you manage to tear your eyes away from the little turtle, who has retreated into his shell.
“Bye Choco,” Keonho says, with a little pout.
“Speaking of byes,” you start, because you feel as though you should be a bit responsible—although you also worry staying here longer is going to make you fall for Juhoon more and more—“We should probably get going, Keonho.”
Keonho nods. “You’re right. Our managers are probably worried.” He stands up and goes to his phone, where he checks his messages. You linger near Juhoon for a little longer, before ultimately deciding if you don’t get up now, you probably never will.
“It was nice meeting you,” you say, and Juhoon smiles at you.
“It was nice meeting you too,” he says.
Outside, the rain has stopped enough for you and Keonho to make it back to your cars, and through the window, you can see the rest of the crew making their way towards their own. You and Keonho say quick goodbyes to Juhoon and Martin, the latter of whom looks saddened, and leave.
The door closes, and Keonho turns to you.
“They were nice,” he says. “I kind of wanted to stay a little longer.”
You do too. But instead of saying that, you just shake your head. You pause to piece your words together first.
“We’re here to film, Keonho,” you finally say. The words come out a little too strong for your taste, and Keonho nods, after a little pause. He leaves the safety of the alcove, running through the rain as quickly as he can.
You take one last look at the shop behind you, at Juhoon and Martin, still sitting there at the table. So much for the words you just said to Keonho. You’re really the one who can’t leave the two behind. Or one, in particular.
You clear your mind. Take a deep breath. You were here to film and to get your job done. Not to start a small town romance that could ruin your whole career before it even really started.
Juhoon, too, is contemplating what he has just gotten himself into. If he has gotten himself into anything at all. He feels as though the jury’s still out on that.
“DUDE! She’s clearly into you,” Martin yells, shaking his head. “Are you blind?”
“Yes,” Juhoon says forlornly. “But she’s not into me, Martin. She’s a world-famous actress who probably has her pick of all the handsome guys she wants. I’m, well, me.”
“Yeah, but, you’re, you know…” Martin pauses. Juhoon sighs.
“You’re better than all of those guys anyways,” Martin finishes. “I mean, come on, you run a turtle shop! And girls love turtles.”
“Do you seriously believe this?” Juhoon asks, raising an eyebrow at Martin.
Martin sighs.
“No. But come on, don’t tell me you didn’t feel something!”
That is the problem. Juhoon felt, and feels, many things upon seeing you. Some emotions that were akin to love. He should not be feeling those things for a stranger who he’s never met, even if he’s seen you many times in the movies. And he always thought you were quite beautiful then, but it was nothing compared to seeing you in person.
“You are whipped!” Martin exclaims, and Juhoon realizes he’s just said that last part out loud. “Juhoon, if you don’t go after her, I…”
“You’ll what?” Juhoon asks, with some curiosity.
“I’ll… find a threat later. Ugh, you’re impossible.” Martin throws his hands up. “The first time my friend finds a girl interested in him, he doesn’t believe it. Come on, Juhoon! You’re making me look bad!”
“You’re the one who can’t find a girl!” Juhoon argues.
“As a wingman, Juhoon!” Martin yells back. “You’re ruining my reputation as a wingman!” He sighs and heads to the back, no doubt to get another glass of water. “I’m going to bed, bro.”
Martin walks back to the front room, starts to head up the stairs, then retreats a step and points at Juhoon.
“You better find her. Juhoon, she very clearly likes you.”
“How would you know? You’ve never dated,” Juhoon retorts.
“Oh, fuck off!” Martin exclaims, climbing up the stairs again, and leaving Juhoon downstairs with his cup of water.
He stares at the chair where you just were, not even ten minutes ago, and tries to think through what just happened so that it makes sense, but you seem to be everywhere in his thoughts, and once you appear nothing makes sense to him. But you’re you. South Korea’s most trending actress. Juhoon, meanwhile, is the owner of a turtle shop.
He can’t decide if you like him or not, and he decides perhaps it’s best to stop thinking about it. After all, he probably didn’t mean anything to you anyways. He takes the remaining cups on the table and puts them in the kitchen sink, deciding he’ll wash them tomorrow. Before he goes upstairs, he pauses, lingering, on the first step, staring at the chair that you sat in.
What are you doing, staring at a chair? Juhoon shakes his head. Clearly he’s gone insane. He walks up the rest of the stairs, but he can’t seem to get you out of his mind. He wonders, just for a brief second, if you’re thinking about him.
Bright and early the next morning, you’re back outside, dressed in your outfit—a blouse and jeans, which is “simple, yet timeless” according to the staff—once again filming for your movie. The weather is actually nice this time, and you decide you’ll enjoy this brief moment in Jeju before it most likely disappears in the next twenty minutes.
Keonho comes out of his trailer next, his glasses perching precariously on his head, cup of coffee in his hand. He’s dressed in his outfit too, khaki slacks and a simple blue dress shirt, a simple thing, but he somehow makes it look like he’s ready for the Met Gala.
“Good morning!” he waves, with a little too much enthusiasm for six in the morning. “Did you sleep well?”
You nod. “The weather's much better,” you reply, looking up at the clear blue sky.
“You two! We’re about to start filming!” Director Kang yells. “Get into positions, please!” She turns to a technician and they start discussing something or other about the set.
You and Keonho walk over to your places. You’re filming the sweeter scenes at the beginning of the movie today, even though it’s completely out of order from the climax of the movie you filmed yesterday. Director Kang, however, likes to take advantage of the weather, and that means filming out of order. It also means you have to stay on your toes.
You spot the turtle shop from yesterday, sitting in the middle of a row of other shops, and immediately your brain goes straight to Juhoon. So much for being focused.
Keonho interrupts your thoughts.
“I think we’re starting,” he says, pointing to the camera crew that has set up all the equipment and the director, who’s taken her place in her seat.
You flush red. You’re not a newbie and shouldn’t have to be reminded of when you’re starting filming. You mutter a quick apology and turn to face Keonho, starting exactly where you’re supposed to.
The cameras roll. Director Kang yells “Action!” and you’re swept back up into your character, who was first described to you as a “slightly ditzy, well-meaning, bookstore owner”. You had jumped at a chance to play a character like this—you’d always played the villainous roles before, characters with a slight edge to them, ever since Little Blossom. You’d done so well in Little Blossom, in fact, that from then on you were seen as the “sweet girl with an evil side”, and typecast as such. This movie is your chance to break out of that role with a star-studded cast, and you need to do well on it. You need to do well to break out of that role, but you need to do well for other reasons too.
Sometimes, when you’re alone, you think back to your old manager's words. He would always call you a “washed-up young actress”, say that you lacked talent, say that you needed to work harder. You are so infinitely lucky to have Minju now, who is the complete opposite of him.
Still, sometimes, you wake up from your sleep, heart pounding, sweating through your pajamas. Your old manager was the reason for your fame, and also the reason you almost lost it all.
You need to do well in general. There’s a lot of pressure riding on you. Minju’s gotten so worried in the past few days that she’s taken to showing you cute seal videos at every opportunity she gets, because, according to her, “seals boost serotonin, and God knows you need serotonin right now”. It does help, and you appreciate the gesture.
The morning filming goes well. Minimal repeats, quick finishes, and most scenes are wrapped in five or less takes. It’s any director’s dream, and Director Kang certainly looks pleased as she looks over the footage while you get water and Keonho runs his next lines with his own manager, James. You and Keonho have easy chemistry, helped by how familiar you are with each other—young performers always are after they’ve worked in the industry for a while—and your levels of skill in acting. You’re young, but already seasoned professionals, and you certainly feel like it in all of your scenes. Your feet hurt a little bit from the high heels they’ve put you in, but what’s a little bit of pain for success?
From the morning into the afternoon, it’s only smooth sailing, helped by the coffee that Minju brings you and the nice weather that miraculously continues into the afternoon. Director Kang is able to get the day’s filming accomplished, and her smile only grows wider and wider.
“That’s it!” she cries, after you and Keonho complete your final scene of the day; a cute meetup at a coffee shop, fitting the small-town romance vibes perfectly. “Beautiful. That’s a wrap for today, everyone! We’ll pick up tomorrow bright and early at five.”
You give Keonho a big smile, and he returns it with ease.
“See you tomorrow!” he exclaims, and leaves with James, no doubt back to his room at the small inn the filming crew has all crowded into. Minju comes up to you, handing you your jacket and a pair of flats to replace your uncomfortable high heels.
“Good work!” she praises you, taking your high heels and handing them off to a worker from Costumes. “Everything flowed so well today. You and Keonho have great chemistry!” She raises her eyebrows a little bit, clearly suggesting something.
“There’s nothing between me and Ahn Keonho,” you laugh. “He’s sweet, but not really my type.” You mean it. Keonho’s an amazing friend to you, and you’re elated that you’re starring alongside him, but he’s always stayed just that—a friend.
“And that begs the question: who is your type, if not Ahn Keonho, ladies man?” Minju asks again, laughing. “Or do you not have anyone in mind?”
You’re about to say no, when Juhoon’s face floats into your head. You furrow your brow. You could have convinced yourself that you were over him, but maybe it was just the filming distracting you.
Minju realizes that you’ve hesitated, and she laughs again.
“Or maybe you do!” she says cheerfully. “Alright, well, I can give you two hours of freedom before we have to go back and run lines. What do you want to do?” Minju hands you your reliable baseball cap and mask—a precaution, of course. The hazards of being a celebrity. You put them on, and proceed to think.
It’s been a little while since you’ve had some time to yourself. You could get coffee, some pastries, or enjoy the nice Jeju weather with a quick walk outside.
Then another idea pops into your head.
It’s absolutely not a good idea. You know that it’s not a good idea. It goes against literally every advice about being an actress anyone has ever said to you.
You want to do it anyway.
You tell yourself you’re just going to do it once. What’s the harm in doing it just once?
“Minju, how about we head over to the shops over there?” you ask her, trying not to betray your real reason for heading there.
Minju looks at you quizzically.
“Sure,” she says. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“A turtle,” you reply breezily as you start the walk up to the row of shops, leaving Minju standing there feeling very confused.
The bell to Turtle Shop jangles as you open the door, and immediately you zero in on Martin standing at the front desk, wearing normal clothes and looking a little bored. He makes eye contact with you, and smiles a little quizzically.
“Worried about being sick?” he asks you, tilting his head at your mask.
You shake your head. In a quick, split-second decision, you decide you’ll do it. You take off your mask, and Martin bolts upright, his mouth hanging open. He runs into the backroom. You stand there, mask still off, eyes roaming around the store, a little curious as to what will happen next. Minju enters after you, the bell jangling again, and taps your shoulder.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone here,” she says, gawking slightly at the removal of your mask. “Wait, put your mask back on. Why don’t we-”
She’s interrupted by the sound of a pot clanging to the floor. Moments later, a slightly red-faced Juhoon appears from the kitchen, a strand of his hair curling adorably upwards.
“Hi!” he says, a little breathlessly. “What, er, can I get for you?”
You smile faintly at Minju, who comes to the realization that you know these people somehow, and decides to back off for now.
“Just looking around,” you say, smiling at Juhoon. You take a better look around at the store, and walk straight to a section in the back, stocked with turtles. Juhoon follows you, smoothing down his hair as he goes. He spots Martin out of the corner of his eye, who’s shooting him a cheeky smile and a thumbs up, and Juhoon resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Anything in particular?” Juhoon says, his voice following your footsteps, and you shake your head, eyeing each of the turtles in their neatly lined-up cages on the shelves. You check their nametags, small pieces of paper carefully lettered with each of their names in cute handwriting. Dottie. Pancake. Gator. Shelly. You even spot four turtles named after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles themselves—Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo—and chuckle a little upon seeing them. Juhoon turns slightly more redder upon seeing what turtles you’re looking at.
“Which ones do you like the best?” you ask him. It’s meant to be a lighthearted question, but Juhoon takes his time, peering carefully at each of the turtles, and it takes a while before he gives you a response.
“Barring Choco?” he asks, and you nod, laughing.
“Of course! If I included Choco, you would definitely pick him,” you say with a lilt to your voice.
Juhoon thinks for a little while more.
“Pancake,” he says, with a questioning tone. “Wait, no– ah, but I really like Francis. Hmm…” he trails off.
“You can’t choose, can you?” you ask. He shakes his head.
“I love all of them equally. They’re a little bit like my babies, honestly. Wanna know more about them?”
Juhoon can hear a faint sigh from the corner, where Martin is still observing your interaction. Sure. He knows turtles aren’t the most appealing thing to a girl. But you seem interested, and he loves turtles, and he supposes this is a good time to find out if you really like him by seeing how much attention you pay to his long lecture about his turtles. He starts rambling, rattling off a long list of facts for each of the turtles. To his surprise, you seemingly start to listen attentively.
As you listen to Juhoon talk, you find that you’re not bored at all. And you never felt any allegiance towards turtles before this, but listening to Juhoon talk, you think that maybe you love turtles more than you think you do. Or maybe it’s just the soothing cadences of Juhoon’s voice as he explains each turtle to you. Either way, you find yourself captivated, almost in a haze, as Juhoon talks. You even have questions for him, to which Juhoon reacts in surprise. It’s a cute sight.
“I really can’t pick one single turtle. They’re all so amazing,” Juhoon wraps up, gesturing to the turtles as a whole. You suddenly feel very tempted to buy a turtle.
“Do you want to buy one?” Juhoon asks you, seemingly reading your mind.
“Oh, no. No, no, I couldn’t. I’m far too busy for that,” you say.
Juhoon nods. “Right. Right, of course. You’re an actress. Uh- do you want to hold one, though?”
Martin gasps, quietly, from the corner where he’s still crouched. Even Juhoon himself is a little taken aback. He’s only ever offered the idea of holding a turtle to people who are prospective buyers, and even then, he’s very, very sparing with the turtles. When it comes to you though, Juhoon doesn’t feel so worried.
Minju motions to her wrist, drawing your attention to the time. To your surprise, you’ve already spent thirty minutes here.
“Sure,” you say, cheerfully. “I do have to go soon though…”
“It’ll only take a little bit,” Juhoon replies, unlocking Dottie’s cage. Dottie’s a chill turtle, he reasons, and he thinks you’ll love her sweet nature. Carefully, he hands the turtle to you, his fingers brushing slightly against yours, and he swears a spark runs through him at the contact.
You hold Dottie gingerly, staring at the turtle’s spotted shell and the way she sits softly in your open palms. For a second, you’re completely taken by the turtle. She cranes her neck slightly to look at you, and you almost sob at how adorable it is.
“She’s so sweet, right?” Juhoon asks, his face breaking out into a wide grin at you and the turtle. His heart flutters slightly as he notices how carefully you’re holding Dottie, and he cannot believe how easy it is for him to fall in love with you.
Love? He thinks.
Yes. He’s certain he loves you. It’s a weird feeling, to love someone at almost first sight, and he doesn’t really understand it either, but he knows he loves you.
“Yes,” you whisper.
Out of the corner of your eye, Minju mouths something at you, and belatedly, you realize that you should probably get going if you want to eat something before filming starts again.
“Here,” you say, approaching Juhoon to hand Dottie back to him. Once again, your fingers brush together, briefly, and you feel a small spark where your hands touch. You linger there, even after Juhoon’s taken Dottie into his hands, your fingers brushing against his again and again, and you probably look like a fool, but you don’t mind.
Juhoon is the first to pull his hand away—not without hearing a groan from Martin—to place Dottie back in her cage. He looks back at you, his eyes soft, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.
“I– I have to go,” you manage. You almost apologize for having to leave, but catch yourself before you do.
“Of course,” Juhoon murmurs. “You’re welcome back anytime, and I’m sure Dottie will be excited to see you.”
You give him one last parting smile before turning back to Minju, who smiles like she knows already, and gently motions you to the door, reminding you to put your mask and your cap back on.
“Thank you so much!” she says to the two boys, taking your hand and guiding you out. As she closes the door, she looks at you, her face full of restraint, yet joy at seeing you look so happy. Another reason you love Minju.
“You know the rules, right?” she says, looking downcast that she must remind you of them. You nod, curtly. Minju sighs. She seems to run through her thoughts, and you can see by the changing expressions on her face that she’s battling with herself right now.
“I’m… not against you coming back,” she starts, tentatively. “But you know the rules, and you should always keep them in mind.” She looks at you, her eyes narrowing slightly, with the expectation that you know exactly what she means.
“Understood,” you reply.
“Good,” Minju says. She’s frowning, but her eyes look lighter. She continues down the path. You follow her, still thinking of Juhoon and the way his hand brushed against yours. You look down, rub the spot where it did, and pray that you don’t fall even deeper, even though in your heart, you already know you have.
You should stop it.
Inside the shop, Martin is yelling excitedly, jumping up and down, scaring the turtles with how jubilant he is. “Juhoon! She’s just as whipped!” he yells. “Oh my god! It’s happening!” He cheers again, so loud that the turtles all hide in their shells.
Juhoon only stands there, rubbing the spot where your hand had brushed against his, smiling a little dreamily at the door. He has a favorite turtle now, and it’s definitely Dottie.
Through the days of filming, you’ve slowly come to realize that you absolutely have a problem. A problem that you know how to solve, but you’re hesitating. You don’t hate the fluttery feeling that comes whenever you get a quick glimpse of the shop sitting in the middle of the row named Turtle Shop.
With all your filming and the amount of lines you must get into your head, you’re surprised that you cannot stop thinking about him. Kim Juhoon. If you say his name, it makes it very real, so you’ve taken to avoiding that. He should not be in your mind. You know that.
Your old manager made that very clear. No man should be in your mind, he would say. It’s your greatest obstacle. You date a man, and your career is over. Rich words from someone who went through a string of girlfriends himself, girlfriends you would see and hear. You’re not supposed to think of that, but you still do.
Still, you can’t stop thinking about Juhoon. You don’t make any move to approach him, no, and you decide it’s okay if you just think of him from time to time.
Filming, otherwise, goes incredibly well—surprisingly well. It’s been around two weeks since you’ve arrived at Jeju, and the weather has been cooperating ever since that first day in the horrid rain.
Maybe it’s the easy chemistry between you and Keonho. Maybe it’s how relaxed and happy you used to feel. You’ve had to wear a mask and a cap everywhere, but people are more relaxed when they see you. Calmer. They ask for one autograph and then they leave, which shocked you the first time it happened. Island life really does move slower. And honestly, maybe it’s the Jeju weather, which, surprisingly enough, is cooperating with you all quite well.
It’s perfect for Director Kang, who you’ve overheard remarking multiple times on how grateful she is that the weather is actually working for her. Just like the weather, just like the successful filming, you feel overjoyed. You haven’t enjoyed working on a movie this much since, well, since before your old manager.
And so you let yourself a little loose, remove some of the walls that you’ve built up. You actually make plans to go scuba diving with Keonho after filming wraps, which even you’re surprised by. You regularly go out to restaurants after filming is over for the day, in your trusty baseball cap and mask, signing autographs if needed, but mostly enjoying this small slice of freedom you’ve received with Minju. Best of all, no one seems to really bother you. Which is the rarest of all.
You spend the next week or so in a happy little bubble of filming, running lines, getting food, and doing the strangest activities with Keonho known to man. He’s absolutely obsessed with beaches, and you follow him to almost all of them, pretending that you both are “scouting possible filming locations” when a. It’s certainly not your job to do so, and b. You both are certainly not doing what you’ve said you’ll do. You forget your mask once, but Keonho assures you everything will be fine, and you actually believe him. Your walls are crumbling, you suppose.
It’s on a happy day like this that Keonho drags you into a coffee shop for your lunch break, citing “testimonies” that “this coffee shop is the best in all of Jeju”, and you let him, mostly because you’re curious about what will happen.
You walk in, Keonho leading the way, to what you can only describe as the quaintest coffee shop you have ever seen. Paintings of ivy and other plants crawl up the bright white walls. The chairs, metal-framed, rest on the floor, some empty, some filled, mostly with people wanting to be left alone so they can finish their work.
But your eyes are drawn to the person sitting, somehow, in the middle of the space. The one who looks like he belongs there perfectly. His name comes to your mind, and you finally admit it.
Kim Juhoon. You can’t forget him.
He hasn’t spotted you yet. He’s still working through some papers, a cup of barley tea sitting beside him, and you see Martin going through some other papers next to him as well. You decide you’ll see if Juhoon spots you first.
Keonho has already walked up to the counter to order some sort of insane espresso drink that you can only imagine is what gives him his boundless energy, and you follow, scanning the menu for your regular order. From out of the corner of your eye, you see a flurry of movement, but you keep your eyes trained on the chalkboard that displays all of the menu items.
Martin has spotted you, and waves the papers he’s holding in an attempt to get Juhoon to notice. Juhoon, engrossed in all of the various business statements, doesn’t really pay attention to Martin’s noise—he’s used to it, at this point—until Martin hisses at Juhoon.
“It’s her!” Martin gives Juhoon a disapproving look. Juhoon tries to subtly turn around, but in the process, catches his leg on Martin’s chair. He tries to hold on to the edge of the table, but misses, and falls right on the floor with a loud crash.
Martin gasps.
Everyone around him gasps, in fact.
Juhoon, on the floor, legs curled in an uncomfortable position, tries to stand up and nearly knocks over his cup of barley tea. With a little more help from Martin, he finally gets up, turns around, and comes directly face to face with you. Because of course. He can’t see your face because of the mask, but your eyes curve downwards at the corners and he knows you’re smiling in amusement.
You then adopt a more quizzical expression.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
Juhoon nods, his face close to aflame with how embarrassed he feels. From behind him, he can hear Martin’s head drop to the table, and he can feel the waves of despair coming from Martin.
You smile again, and your eyes crinkle up cutely. You turn, order your cup of coffee, receive it, and you’re out of the shop so quickly that Juhoon doesn’t even have time to talk to you. What he would say, he’s not sure, but he could probably piece a few words together succinctly enough to ask you out on a date.
“Juhoon,” Martin hisses. “Why?”
Juhoon can only shake his head. He wishes he had done a better job too.
“No!” Martin hisses again. He grits his teeth, and his next words come through tightly. “You should go find her.”
Juhoon turns to Martin, shaking his head frantically.
“I can’t do that,” he whispers. “I’ll just make a fool of myself.”
“Just. Go!” Martin says. “If you don’t go, your chances are worse.”
Juhoon blinks. Martin’s right. Juhoon takes one moment to breathe. He takes a sip of his tea, hoping it’ll calm him, but Martin shoos him out the door. Juhoon dashes out, holding his cup of tea weirdly like it’s his good luck charm. He finds you instantly, but you’re further from him than he’d like you to be, so he puts on a bit of speed and–
“Ow!”
Juhoon registers the cup of barley tea floating up into the air before he registers that he’s crashed into you, and immediately he curses internally, because he knows what will happen next. The cup of barley tea flips, its contents splashing out, directly onto your shirt, and the cup falls to the ground, shattering on impact.
You look down, ever so slowly, and feel the cold liquid soaking into your shirt, leaving a huge mark. Juhoon wants to sink into the ground. His face feels so warm he starts to consider if he’s somehow developed a fever in the five seconds he’s been here.
Keonho, noticing that you’re not next to him anymore, spots you both standing behind him and runs back to you.
“Are you okay?” Keonho asks, noticing the shattered glass next to you.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your hands patting lightly over the stain. “I think I just need some paper towels.” You hide your emotions well, an ability required for a celebrity, but normally you’d be very annoyed about an incident like this. Somehow, though, when it’s Juhoon, you don’t seem to mind that much. You’re glad you changed out of the dress you’re wearing for shooting today, and you lightly pat at the fabric.
Juhoon, on the other hand, looks absolutely mortified.
“I am so sorry–” Juhoon starts.
“Why? Don’t be,” you interrupt, hopefully in a reassuring tone. “It’ll dry.”
Juhoon, who looks a little helpless, frowns slightly, and you shake your head.
“It’s okay. Really. I can just wash it.”
“No, I’ll, um, get you towels,” Juhoon stammers, his hands making small, sudden movements, unsure of what to do next.
“How about you two go in and get cleaned up? Juhoon, you have some tea on your shirt too,” Keonho jumps in, looking slightly amused by the whole situation.
Juhoon nods, once, quickly. He starts off, and you follow him back to the coffee shop in a silent yet weirdly synchronized walk. Back at the shop, Martin is still there, and you see him hold back a groan upon seeing you both walk in, shirts covered in spilled tea.
“I’ll get you some napkins!” the barista says, upon noticing your shirts. You and Juhoon, once again, fall into a somewhat comfortable silence.
“How’s filming going?” Juhoon finally asks.
“It’s… okay,” you say. “The weather is amazing.”
Juhoon nods, a small smile coming to his face. The barista returns with the napkins, which Juhoon takes.
“Call me if you need anything else!” the barista says, then quickly leaves to go take care of a customer. You take a napkin to lightly pat down your shirt, but Juhoon stops you.
“No,” he says. “I should do it, since I’m the one who caused you all this trouble.”
He starts lightly patting at your shirt, holding it away from your body at the bottom, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how warm Juhoon feels. The stain starts to fade slightly, and you know that in just a few minutes out in the Jeju summer weather, it’ll dry completely. Some kind of scent, a light pear cologne, floats around you, and you can’t help but notice how soft Juhoon’s hair looks.
“All done,” Juhoon murmurs.
“I should help you, then, shouldn’t I?” you murmur back, ready to take the napkins from his hand–
“No!” Juhoon exclaims, snatching the napkins away from you, surprised and flushing red at your sudden movements. He grows a little shy, conscious of how close you are to him. You, startled, jerk your own hands away from his, and the distance grows between you both.
No, wait. Juhoon thinks. Come closer to me. He’s too shy to say his actual feelings, so instead, he just accepts it.
“It’s okay,” Juhoon continues. “I can do it myself. You should… I’m sure you have more filming to do. Good luck,” he finished softly.
Despite your surprise, you can’t help but smile.
“Okay. Thank you,” you say. Juhoon nods once at you, a small smile rising again to his face, and you smile a little wider. You wonder if Juhoon can notice it under your mask.
You start to walk out, but you pause. You turn back. Juhoon is still standing there, his hand holding the napkins loosely by his side.
You get an idea.
Sure, it was a crazy one, but maybe it was time for you to try some crazier ideas.
“Can I have one more napkin?” you ask.
Juhoon hands one to you, feeling a little bit confused. You take out a pen and scribble something on the napkin, and Juhoon then feels even more confused.
“Bye,” you say, softly, waving to him, your eyes crinkling at the corners, accompanied by what Juhoon is sure is a smile underneath your mask. You leave Juhoon there, at the coffee shop, and once again, you feel your heart fluttering in your chest.
“YES! THAT’S MY BOY!” Martin screams, running up to Juhoon and thumping him loudly on the back like he already knows what’s written on the napkin, eliciting a giggle from you as you walk back to Keonho.
Juhoon opens the napkin. On it, you’ve written your number in neat scrawl. Underneath, you’ve written two simple words. Two simple words that have just lit up Kim Juhoon’s entire face, and quite possibly his entire year.
Call me!
You’re on your fifth day of shooting for the week, working through another romantic scene—Keonho and you strolling through Jeju on a walk, of course—when Minju comes up to you with your phone in her hand.
“You have a call,” she whispers, in between takes.
“Who’s it from?” you whisper back, still focused on the script resting in front of you.
“Turtle?” Minju whispers, in confusion, reading the contact name out loud. You immediately snatch the phone from Minju’s hand, causing her to let out a quiet “Owww…”
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you whisper. “How much time do I have to take this call?”
Minju looks around discreetly, eyes scanning the scene. Keonho’s in the corner, running through his lines with an assistant. Director Kang seems to be engrossed in some sort of debate with the lighting manager about whether or not the scene should be brightened.
You nod, tuck your phone into your sleeve, and walk off the set to the side of the park. You take out your phone again, and see the turtle emoji contact you’ve set for Juhoon. Quickly, you accept the call.
“Hi.” Your voice comes out a little breathless, filled with happiness.
“Hi back,” Juhoon responds. You hear the quiet shuffling of papers before he continues. “I- you see, my friends and I have this tradition.”
“Go on,” you reply.
“Well, we have dinner and watch a movie together every week on Fridays. And, you know, since it’s Friday, I thought- you… might like to come?” Juhoon asks, his voice sounding unsure of himself. In the background, you can hear frantic whispers, and you assume it’s Martin giving Juhoon some pointers.
“What time?” you ask.
“It’s at six. Nothing fancy,” Juhoon says, quickly. “Just a chill movie night, that sort of thing.”
A smile comes to your lips without you even realizing it, and your heart again beats a little quicker in your chest.
“Sure,” you say. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Um-”
“I do have to go back to filming now,” you interrupt, apologetically. “But I’ll be there.”
You hang up, but not before you hear a loud whoop in the background, presumably Martin cheering at his friend’s success. Tucking the phone back into your sleeve, you make your way back onto set. You flash a thumbs up at Minju, who flashes one back.
“Who was it?” Minju mouths.
You shake your head, the smile still on your lips. You feel rosy all over, and decide that you like this feeling. With a day’s worth of filming still in front of you, you try to shake the happiness off, but you can’t help it—you feel like you’re positively glowing, and you wonder if Juhoon feels the same.
The shooting continues. You rattle off your lines perfectly, or so Director Kang says, and Keonho follows suit. You know you should be completely focused on the film, on the task. You understand all of the things riding on you and this movie. Instead, you’re more focused on Kim Juhoon and his dinner party later today.
Perhaps it’s a bad decision. It’s all a bad decision. But you couldn’t care less.
Later that night, you show up at Turtle Shop in the cutest outfit you could find in your suitcase, your bag slung onto your shoulder. You open the door, the bell ringing in your ears, to what you can really only describe as chaos, which pauses as soon as you step inside, leaving all of the boys in the strangest positions.
Somehow, Martin had managed to get his leg stuck in the gap between cushions on the sofa, all while having one slice of pizza in his hand, a faint droplet of sauce dotting his lips. Juhoon had been trying to help, but he apparently had managed to get his hand stuck in the cushions as well, and another guy who you don’t know is standing off to the side, taking pictures of his friends for possible blackmail. He notices you when you come in, and immediately his jaw goes slack.
“Is this th-”
Clearly Juhoon was not stuck in the cushions after all, because he almost immediately bounds across the room to slap a palm across the guy’s mouth.
“Hi!” he says. “Ah, this is Seonghyeon, movie nerd. And you know Martin. Um… do you want pizza?” Juhoon finishes, holding up the pizza box with one hand. The pizza slides, a little sadly, to the opposite end of the box. It settles against the cardboard side with a singular splat.
“Sure,” you say anyway, because you never say no to free food. Grabbing a slice, you head towards Martin to investigate whatever precarious position he’s in.
“Oh, Martin, you’re really not that stuck,” Juhoon says. “Just, I don’t know, lift your right foot a little, an-”
Martin cooperates, lifting his right food, and all of a sudden, he’s free, but manages to trip over a stack of movies on the ground and ends up on the floor in the process. He groans, a sound of pain, and you stifle a laugh.
“You good?” you ask, helping the boy up.
“Fine, fine!” Martin responds, waving you off. “Thanks for the assist. Seonghyeon, what movie are we watching again?”
Seonghyeon’s still a little slack-jawed at your presence, but manages to pull himself together, and Juhoon puts his hand down. “Ti- Titanic,” Seonghyeon says.
Juhoon looks at your reaction carefully, trying to see what you think of his movie choice. He sees your eyes widen in happiness, and internally, he pumps his fist.
“Cool,” you settle for saying, trying not to let your excitement show. “Where am I sitting?”
Martin and Seonghyeon immediately point to the middle of the sofa.
“You should sit with Juhoon!” Seonghyeon exclaims, brightening up a little, and Martin nods, a Cheshire grin on his face. You proceed to sit directly next to Juhoon, even scooting closer to him for good measure, at which Juhoon’s face heats up.
Juhoon glances at Seonghyeon and Martin, who give him eager nods of encouragement.
“You can do this!” Seonghyeon mouths, and Juhoon sighs.
Martin and Seonghyeon settle on the stools placed next to the sofa. Martin reaches to turn off the lights, and the movie starts to play.
“Comfortable?” Juhoon whispers to you.
“Yes,” you whisper back, settling into the couch. Your shoulder brushes Juhoon’s ever so slightly, and Juhoon responds in kind, leaning in closer to you.
The other boys holler during Jack and Rose’s first kiss, in that iconic pose of theirs on top of the boat. You turn your head slightly to look at Juhoon and you both make eye contact. His face reddens ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move, and neither do you. You swear you can see the universe in his eyes, and you feel your face redden at how cheesy you’re being.
“Are you two lovebirds even watching the movie?” Martin asks, laughing. You and Juhoon pull apart, the moment over. Juhoon gives Martin the eye roll of the century.
“Shut up,” Juhoon mouths to Martin. Martin merely gives him a smug smirk.
You both settle back into your seats, but closer now. The distance grows smaller, your heart feels like it gets faster, and now you can imagine it, so clearly in your mind. Juhoon and you in a movie theater, hands clasped together. Juhoon and you walking on a beach somewhere. Sitting together on a plane. Enjoying ice cream in a park. Small wonders that always seemed so mundane, so boring to you, a movie star; they now become comforting, even alluring, with Juhoon’s presence.
With Juhoon, your life would be a wonder.
You don’t realize what you’ve done until you look down and see Juhoon’s hand clasped in yours. Your head has drooped, resting fully on his shoulder now. The movie is over, but you feel like something has just begun.
As the credits roll, Martin and Seonghyeon stand up, stretching and finishing their last bits of popcorn. Juhoon shifts slightly too, careful to keep your head on his shoulder.
“You need to go, right?” he asks.
“...Yeah,” you say. “My manager only gave me four hours. I have to get back.” You sit up, lifting your arms over your head. “Need help cleaning up?”
“No, it’s all good,” Seonghyeon replies. “You should go home. Hey… Juhoon can walk you!” He gives Juhoon a grin, and Martin vigorously nods his approval behind Seonghyeon.
You look at Juhoon, a playful smile flitting over your lips. Juhoon beams at you, and offers his arm.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“See you soon!” Martin and Seonghyeon yell from inside the shop. Martin’s eyes are still a little shiny with tears from the end of the movie, and you laugh at him rapidly blinking to hide the evidence.
Juhoon walks you to the door, leaning against the doorframe like the perfect main character from a romcom.
“I really liked that,” he starts, a little softly. “Watching a movie, I mean…” he trails off, unsure of what to say next.
“Me too,” you say, smiling sweetly at him. “Thank you for inviting me, Juhoon. I really liked being with you.”
Juhoon’s eyes widen, and he turns redder than a traffic light.
“Uh…” he starts. “I mean. If you liked that…”
You wait, your heart speeding up. Could it be?
“Would you like to go out to the beach with me tomorrow?” he finally finishes. “It won’t be too long, I promise! I know you’re busy and ev-”
“Yes,” you breathe out. “I would love to.”
Juhoon breaks out into a full-on, beaming smile, and all you can think about is how utterly adorable he looks. And before you know it, you’re leaning in, and your lips meet his, and Juhoon’s hands come up to your waist, and it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever done.
Juhoon barely registers the kiss until you’re there, right there, kissing him, and he feels his heart swell so big. Maybe he’s died and gone off to heaven, because he can’t believe this is actually happening to him right now.
And yet, somehow, you’re still there, and you’re kissing him, and Juhoon is kissing you back, and right then and there he swears that he’s going to take you out on the best date there ever was.
You can hear Martin and Seonghyeon cheering in the background. You feel Juhoon’s lips curving against yours into a smile, and you lean in, your arms wrapping around his. Really, there is no place you’d rather be.
“I’m holding you to that date tomorrow,” you giggle as you finally break apart.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Juhoon replies, his eyes soft as he looks at you.
You turn to leave, giving him one last look. At him, standing there, illuminated by the glow of the lights.
You run back to him one last time, and give him a small peck on the cheek. You run off before he can say anything.
“Bye!” you say, giving him one last look and smile.
Juhoon watches you make your way down. He ignores his friends bickering over something or other, and sits down on the stoop, gazing out into the night sky.
He always thought his small town life was amazing enough, far from the pressures of the big city, far from everyone else. You’ve reminded him that there was always something missing. And now that you’re here, Juhoon doesn’t ever want to let you go. He wants to take you out all across Jeju and Seoul and South Korea, to see your joy and excitement, to be there for you when you need comforting, to watch all of your movies together, to never miss a moment with you. He wants to experience all of the small wonders in his life once more with you by his side.
Above him, a star twinkles. Juhoon takes that as a good sign.
As you make your way down the gentle slope to Minju’s car, waiting by the side of the road, you feel so warm all over. Your face is aglow, your fingers are warm, and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier in the past five years than you are now.
You pause, looking up to the night sky. You couldn’t be this lucky. Were you? Movie stars were never this lucky. Paparazzi. Sasaengs. Maybe you were a little crazy, but love did make people crazy.
Love?
You turn around to the shop, where Juhoon is still standing, although he’s far off now. He gives you a final wave. You wave back. As you cross the last slope before the road, you watch Juhoon disappear until you can only see the side of the small hill.
You pause again. Since when have you loved Juhoon? But it’s true, and you can feel it with what seems like every fiber of your being.
A fleeting thought enters your mind. The thought that movie stars could never truly experience love. Your old manager’s words, piercing through your mind.
“You can never love someone.”
But you want to believe so badly. You want to love Juhoon so badly.
Something to your right shifts, ever so briefly, but you can tell. Your ears pick up on it. A small shift. A small creak of a twig.
Your head whips to your right. You see a faint shape, moving rapidly away. Holding a large mass of something in their hands.
Your blood runs cold.
A camera.
You dash down the slope, your heart pounding for different reasons now. You hold your cap to your head, pat your face to make sure the mask is still there, and almost leap into Minju’s car.
“Oh my god, you scared me! What’s wrong?” Minju asks.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” you huff out, trying to compose yourself. “Thank you, Minju. It was a wonderful night.”
Overhead, the stars twinkle at you, as if they’re laughing at you. Mocking you for believing that there was something there.
You breathe. Slowly, deeply. Trying to convince yourself that everything is okay. That Juhoon won’t be affected by any of it. You can’t have him be affected by any of it.
But you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s still watching you.
“Cut! That was amazing!”
You slump slightly, body tensing once more, moving a strand of hair out of your face. Keonho pats down his clothes, carefully chosen to reflect the laidback style of a young movie star.
When you’re filming, at least, you can let go of yourself. Dive into your character. Now that you aren’t filming anymore, you realize your hands haven’t really stopped trembling ever since last night. They’re still shaking, even now, thin fingers wobbling because you haven’t gotten enough sleep nor have you eaten enough in the past year.
Despite last night’s scare, today’s filming is once more going so smoothly that you still can’t believe it. It’s only been four weeks and you’re halfway through a movie. Even Director Kang can’t believe it. You see her checking her scene list, her eyes wide in wonder at how much you’ve all gotten through. You’ve been so productive, so speedy, that no one can really believe it, even though the scenes filmed prove otherwise.
Now though, you feel like everything is somehow moving a little too fast.
“Wanna go somewhere?” Keonho asks. “James told me there’s a great ramen shop over there.”
“Ah, sorry, I’ve got plans,” you say apologetically. “I would if I could!”
“Plans, huh?” Keonho raises an eyebrow. “With, let me guess. Turtle Shop guy?”
You nod abashedly, a twinge of guilt hitting you. Even Keonho knows. You’ve never been very good at hiding things.
Your old manager’s words come back to you, hitting you like a force, so hard you have to visibly shake your head to get them out of your head.
“You’re not very slick,” Keonho snickers. “He seems like a great guy though. Enjoy your date!” Keonho finishes his words teasingly, a little sing-songy trail off at the end, and you lightly slap his shoulder. Compose yourself.
“Have fun at that ramen shop!” you call back, and Keonho gives you a thumbs up.
Minju meets up with you at the back of the set, pressing a mask and a cap into your hands. She gives you a small smile, but she looks tense.
“You have to be so careful. Understood?” she asks you, putting on a smile. Beneath it lies all of her anxiety.
“I will. I promise,” you say.
“He makes you so happy, doesn’t he?” Minju asks. She searches your face for a confirmation, a sign that all of the sneaking around is worth it.
You nod. Juhoon does make you happy. You ignore the feeling that’s gnawing at you.
“Yes,” you say.
Minju nods. Her expression changes into one of relief.
“Then I can keep doing this,” she says. “Let’s go, shall we?”
You walk off with her, a mask already around your face, tugging your cap on. Again, you think about how lucky you are to have Minju as your manager. Your old manager would not have let this slide.
Your hands tremble all throughout the walk to the beach, but you think that once you see Juhoon, they’ll stop trembling. The grass gradually shifts to small pearls of white sand, gleaming in the sunlight, and you only have to take a few more steps before you see Kim Juhoon, who somehow shines even brighter than the sun does.
“I’ll leave you here, okay? But I’ll be nearby,” Minju whispers to you. “And if you have any trouble. Any trouble at all.” Minju pats her pocket where she always has her phone. “You have to call me, okay?”
You nod.
“Smile,” Minju reassures you. “It’s okay. You deserve this.”
You can’t quite believe that just yet.
Minju departs, and you make your way over to Juhoon. Step by step, your hands still, your thoughts quiet, and the only thing you can see is Juhoon. He opens his arms, and you give him a big hug, muffling the first words that come out of his mouth.
Juhoon is overjoyed to see you. He hopes you’ll enjoy the things he’s set up. They’re kind of simple, but he reasons that maybe you’ll like simpler things. After all, Juhoon can do simple things pretty well. He’s set up a sort of beach picnic. Fruits, jjajangmyeon, and the seafood that Jeju is so known for. Some pastries on the side finish it off, and you dig in happily, savoring every bite, a sight that makes Juhoon beam.
He talks about everything—Martin and Seonghyeon, his turtles, life on Jeju, and it’s all so comforting to you that you almost want to cry at how happy you feel.
For as long as you can remember, you’ve lived in a state of worry. First from your old manager, then from the industry itself, then from the paparazzi. It’s all left scars on you, wounds that are deep, things that take time to resolve.
Being with Juhoon patches them all up, slowly but surely, and you feel so safe when he’s around.
“And so yeah, I used to be a child model too. I guess I know a little bit of what you’re feeling, but definitely not-” Juhoon laughs. “Definitely not to the extent of what you’re going through.”
You pause.
“Child model?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Juhoon responds. He leans back, looking up at the sky. “Most people don’t know me from there, though. I modeled for a bunch of clothing products and was even in a Samsung ad with Wonyoung. That was really cool.”
Your hands shift slightly. Almost a tremble.
“Why did you stop?” you asked, the words coming out shaky.
Juhoon hesitates. He tries to come up with an answer to describe how he felt, although he suspects you know better than he could ever know.
“I felt really trapped, I guess. There was so much buzz around me about becoming a model. People shoving cameras in my face. Asking me constantly what I was going to do next. All the eyes on me. I guess… I just wanted to live my life without that pressure.” He looks up at you.
“But I would go through that pressure if I’m with you,” he finishes. “I think I could.”
Your heart registers what he’s saying, and leaps for joy. Your mind, like a force, holds you back. Berates you. How could you put Juhoon in that sort of lifestyle?
Your old manager used to say “no man should be in your mind”. His reasons were flawed, but maybe he was right for another reason. You couldn’t bear being the sole reason why Juhoon felt the pressure.
So, to his words, you merely nod.
“Did I say something bad?” Juhoon asks. He really hopes he hasn’t. He doesn’t want to affect you badly in any way. He knows how much pressure you’re under, more than he could ever imagine, and his heart goes out to you.
I could help you bear that burden, he thinks. It wouldn’t ever be too much for me. And he finds that he means it, that he means those words, and it’s such a shift from his younger days as a child model, but he would never take them back.
So he looks anxiously at you, hoping that he hasn’t said anything that implies he isn’t happy with your lifestyle, with your career, with anything.
“No! No, no,” you hurriedly reply. “You could never.”
Juhoon breathes a sigh of relief.
You want to let it all go. You just want one day where you’re happy. Selfish, maybe, but you want to be, so badly.
One day, you think to yourself. I’ll have just this one day.
“It’s beautiful out here,” you say. You turn to Juhoon, a teasing glint in your eye, and stand suddenly, hair whipping in the wind, illuminated by the light that hits your face perfectly. Juhoon almost has to close his eyes at the beautiful sight.
“Let’s go swimming!” you exclaim, out of nowhere, pulling him up. Juhoon’s eyes widen, but he follows you anyways, the two of you running into the waves together. Holding hands, running along the shoreline, your hands and hearts intertwined for a moment underneath the beautiful blue sky. And you enjoy the whole day so much that the thoughts in your mind blessedly fade away to a silent hush.
You wake up early the next morning, your heart still joyful, your mind at ease, still a little lost in a sleepy haze, quashing the negative thoughts always resting at the back of your mind. Kim Juhoon was truly something else.
Minju knocks at your door, one tap, the tap that Minju always does. You put on your slippers and pad to the front door, where you open it to see her pale face, an emotion etched there that you don’t want to recognize.
Your heart pounds.
“Minju. What is it?”
She wordlessly hands her phone screen to you.
ACTRESS CAUGHT WITH SMALL TOWN BOY? READ ABOUT L/N Y/N’S NEW LOVE HERE!
You scroll through her feed. It’s plastered with you and Juhoon, pictures from angles you never knew possible. Of the beach date, yes, but also of that final goodbye after the movie, of that day you walked into the coffee shop with Keonho, of that day you went to the turtle shop with Minju. Someone’s been following you, watching you, taking pictures of you, waiting for the perfect moment. Whoever it is, they’ve even got a photo of you kissing Juhoon’s cheek.
Your legs give out, and you slump to the floor. Memories flash through your mind of your old manager, of your previous love, of what he did, of what happened, of what you felt, of what the reporters wrote, of the news articles, of the horrible year you spent inside, of the days where you never wanted to wake up, of the days where you…
Nothing so horrible has happened yet, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s all about to come crumbling down around you.
Your head hurts and the room spins and Minju crouches down pressing her hand to your face, her concerned eyes filling with worry and dread, and you want to scream, to shout, to run away, to do anything. You should have known this would happen, you should have protected yourself, and you didn’t, and now it’s all coming back to you.
Nothing can ever be yours, can it?
Still, in your faint haze, you manage to let Minju know you’ll be okay. She decides she’ll call you out sick today for filming, and Director Kang agrees, knowing the pressure you’re probably under. She stays with you, moves you to the bed, and spends the day there with you, putting on some comforting channel—ironically, they’re showing Notting Hill, a plot that won’t ever happen in your life—and stays with you until the day is almost over, ordering comfort food from the inn and reassuring you, over and over again. It won’t be like last time. Everything will be okay. I’ve got you.
When Minju finally leaves for the night, telling you to get a good night’s sleep, you move. Your hands are shaking once more. The room is spinning slightly, and your heart can’t stop pounding, but you need to do it. You need someone to go to.
You tug on a fresh mask, wrap it tight around your face. Shove the cap over your head fiercely. Tug on your shoes, and walk out the door, something simmering inside of you, and you don’t really know what it is, except you need to see someone, and the only person you can think of is Kim Juhoon.
He’s shocked when he sees you at his door. It’s almost midnight. But he sees how forlorn you are and he invites you in immediately. You feel comfort until you remember that you’re just being selfish all over again, that you’re just dragging another person into your mess, as your old manager used to say. It’s a horrible feeling, and it’s splitting you in two, right down the middle, but you’re selfish, and you can’t bear to leave, so you stay.
You accept the tea that Juhoon gives you. You settle on the couch with him. Juhoon puts some sort of old silent film on, and you watch it, hoping you’ll get out of this haze, but nothing’s working.
“I kind of want to go to sleep,” you tell him, and Juhoon complies, leading you upstairs, where you once again feel guilty for taking his bed.
“It’s okay, I can take the floor,” he says to you, warmly, so gently it hits you hard, and you start sobbing, covering your face with your hands because you’re so embarrassed of relying so much on someone that you shouldn’t drag into your mess.
“No, please,” you manage to say. “I’d feel so much worse.”
He eventually climbs into bed with you, and wraps an arm around your body, gently yet tightly, like you’re a fragile yet real thing all at the same time. You swear he sees straight into you, knows exactly what you need, and with that thought, you cry even harder. You can’t bear to think about all the harm you could be doing to him.
You cry yourself to sleep, and Juhoon stays right beside you, holding you close.
You wake up to sunlight falling on your face. Juhoon’s asleep right beside you, and you almost forget. Almost.
Then everything comes flashing back to you, and even though you’re covered by a blanket, cold runs right through your body. Morning light makes everything clear instead of hazy, and only now do you realize what you’ve done to Juhoon. What you keep doing to him. What you would keep doing to him, if this continued.
You look at him. He looks so peaceful, lying there. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the life you’d give him. You don’t feel like you deserve him.
And yet, you don’t want to go.
You take one last look at Juhoon. Try to memorize his face. His eyes which light up whenever he sees you. His messy hair, hair that you’ve run your hands through. The faint scent of English pear that always surrounds you. His lips, ones that you’ve kissed. You save it all into your mind, try to take one last picture of it all. You try to etch it into your heart.
Reluctantly, you place one hand on the bedframe and try to hoist yourself up.
Juhoon tightens his arms around your waist and pulls you a little closer, refusing to let you go. Ever so gently, you move his arm away, placing it gently by his side.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs. “Please.”
Your heart shatters.
“Juhoon, I have to,” you whisper. “I have one last day of filming. And besides… I have to go, Juhoon. For you.”
Juhoon sits up slowly. He rubs his bleary eyes and faces you. You resist the urge to smooth down his hair and the urge to cry.
“Why?” he asks, plaintively. A simple question, one which you’re taken slightly aback by.
“Juhoon, my life is just. So horrible. You’ve seen,” you say, your voice falling to a whisper. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t give you that. You’d hate it so much. It’s like being a child model, but so, so much worse. Worse than anyone can imagine.”
Juhoon shakes his head. He pauses. Collects his thoughts first, before saying his next words. He carefully picks through the ones in his head, and tries to form his most convincing argument. He does not want to let you go.
“I would hate it,” he says. He has to admit that.
You let out something that resembles a shaky sigh of breath.
“But I would do it for you. I can do it for you,” he finishes, and he firmly believes it. He would go through all of it, just for you.
You know he would. And that is what’s breaking your heart. Now it’s your turn to pause. You try to fight them, but the tears drip down your face anyways. And now you’re sobbing. And then you see a tear roll down Juhoon’s cheek—and you’ve come to know that he never cries—and now you really are sobbing, no longer the girl who always has a grip on her emotions, and you can barely get your next words out.
“I can’t do this to you. I cannot love you,” you whisper. A quiet whisper, yet Juhoon hears it so clearly, and it causes another tear to roll down his cheek.
“Please,” Juhoon says, in a wobbly voice, another tear making its way down his cheek. “I can do it. I’ve done… I’ve experienced what you have before,” he says, then pauses slightly, and you can already feel the weight of whatever his next words will be.
“All I am is a boy, sitting in front of a girl, asking her to love him. Please.”
You wonder, for a fleeting moment, if you’re making the wrong decision. But it’s gone as quickly as you think of it, and now you must go forward, even through all of the tears streaming down your face. They’re blurring your vision, blurring Juhoon’s face, and you find that it’s easier to talk to Juhoon when his face is blurred, yet you want to see his face anyways, and you can’t decide what to do here. You’re only certain of one thing.
“I cannot love you,” you sob out, one more time. “I cannot do this to you.”
You’ve said this over and over again to yourself, but this time, you realize that you truly believe it. You believe this statement so wholeheartedly, it might as well be your fate. Because how could you possibly force him through your own hell of a life? You can’t do it. Not when you have your own problems to work out.
Not when you feel like a broken mess of a girl.
“I really cannot,” you sob, again. “I cannot love you, Kim Juhoon.”
Juhoon stares into your eyes, and holds his gaze firmly. Your words feel like sharp knives, and he’s barely holding on.
“You really can’t?” he whispers. He cannot believe it.
“No,” you whisper.
Juhoon looks down, away from you. He can feel his pulse, but he doesn’t feel alive anymore. He shifts his arm towards you, slightly, just to see if he’s still somewhat present, maybe even to hold you back, but it doesn’t matter, not really, because his heart has fully shattered into millions of pieces, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to return. He stays there, downcast, his whole body curved, almost crumpled, into a ball, because he cannot move. He cannot look at you. Not at the girl who had his heart. Who still has his heart, and broke it completely.
“You should go, then,” he manages. “Please go.”
You really should leave. But you selfishly stay for one last moment, looking at Juhoon, trying to remember everything about him, trying to keep him in your memories, because even in this moment, you’re still selfish. Still thinking of yourself. You allow yourself this glimpse, one last one.
Then, softly, you stand up with the slightest creak of the bed, and you walk out of the room, leaving only the whisper of your perfume and the mussed up blankets. Juhoon remains there, his head down.
A single tear drips down his face, landing where you once were. Too late, he looks up, but he can already hear the slam of the front door, and he knows you’ve left.
The scene you’re supposed to film next is a heartwarming one. Keonho is finally confessing his love for you, in the middle of a bustling city street, and you are supposed to feel over-the-moon happy.
You’re in the middle of filming, but you feel something so wrong with continuing. You soldier on anyway, because that’s what your previous manager taught you, and if you stop now, you may never continue.
Keonho delivers his line to perfection. He manages to capture that wispy, so-in-love look that the audience will no doubt rave over, strands of hair falling perfectly into his face, his eyes trained on your face only.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, so sweetly, his gaze trained on yours.
Juhoon’s face suddenly flickers in front of your eyes, blurring your vision, replacing Keonho’s face for a split second. You blink, and it’s gone. He’s gone.
“Yes,” you whisper, your hands slightly shaking. The audience will interpret it as a sign of your overflowing joy. You will remember it as a small glitch, something that betrays your feelings. You manage to stop yourself from trembling. As Keonho envelops you in a hug, a tear runs down your face, but you play it off as merely happiness, and you hug Keonho back just as tightly, smiling sweetly for the camera as it focuses on you both.
“Cut!” Director Kang yells, grinning widely. The crew cheers. Minju and James clap for you both. You don’t let go of your hug with Keonho, although it does become more of a celebratory one as Keonho jumps around, taking you with him.
You finally break apart, and you wipe the tear away from your face, letting it fall to the grass. Your eyes catch on the sign hanging from the alcove where you sheltered with Keonho on that rainy day.
Turtle Shop.
“Let’s celebrate!” Minju yells from behind you. “That was beautiful,” she raves. “Gorgeous performance by the both of you. Oh, this is surely going to be a hit!”
Your eyes focus in on the window of the shop, and you manage to make out a faint shape of someone inside. Your heart beats a little faster.
“Are you coming?” Minju asks.
You take one last look. Take it all in.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming,” you finally say, turning around, putting your back to the shop. You close your eyes for a brief second, and let Kim Juhoon go.
Incheon Airport is simultaneously your favorite place and the place you despise the most. It’s the place you see first when you return from grueling bouts of overseas shooting. It’s also the place where you are bombarded by a sea of reporters, and this time is no different. The first thing the reporters ask when they shove a microphone into your face, of course, is about your fleeting relationship in Jeju.
“Who is Kim Juhoon? Are you still in touch with him? Are you still dating him?” they ask. It’s a flurry of questions, one after the other, and you’re used to it by now. You smile, a smile you’ve perfected from years on press tours. You purposely lean into a microphone, picking one with no particular preference, and deliver your response concisely.
“No, I’ve never been in a relationship.”
When you finally make it back home, you see Minju out with a grateful smile, and she goes willingly, silently agreeing to give you some space. You stare at your apartment. It’s a little cold, a little too silent, but it’s home.
You wonder, fleetingly, if there’s space for a turtle anywhere. Wonder, even more fleetingly, what Kim Juhoon thinks of you now.
Your eyes land on a movie, placed carefully on your shelf. Titanic.
You pull the movie out, and place the CD in the player. As the opening notes of the theme begin, you curl up onto the couch, wishing there was someone beside you, knowing that you couldn’t possibly have that person next to you ever again.
excuse me *clears throat* we've got to unpack some things here cause this was actually insane no way a person my age wrote this im going to bury myself 🤗🤗🤗
hot ass take (cold actually) but the relationship in this story makes wayyyy more sense than the one in notting hill. i really preffered the way that you went about this relationship compared to the movie cause....
okay so throughout this entire thing your way of descriping things and engaging the audience was phenomenal🤯🤯 to the way you described the pizza moving around the box to their very last conversation---everything was so natural omds❤️❤️
what was also very remarkable to me was the way that you tied juhoons child model background into the story. i like especially how his perspective of celebrity life began to override the toxic perspective of the ex-managers that was imbedded in her head. it was really beautiful to see someone actually see her concerns and addresss them appropriately (unlike loser bum ball scratcher ex manager over here 😒😒)
okay here are some lines i liked!! there were more but they wouldnt transfer to my computer 💔💔
𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─── you planned the entire week for martin's birthday which meant you were busy 24/7 and martin was convinced you were leaving him
★ bf ! martin × fem!reader
word count ── 8k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! LATE BIRTHDAY POST BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE SO I HAD TO ASK MY FRIENDS 😭 BUT DAMN 8K WORDS?? IM LOCKING IN GUYS 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
The past week had been… exhausting.
Not the kind of exhaustion that came from doing something you hated, but the kind that wrapped around your body slowly, sinking into your bones until even the smallest movements felt heavy.
The kind where your feet throbbed the moment you finally sat down, your shoulders ached from carrying bags and boxes all day, and your phone died at least twice because you were constantly texting, calling, planning, doing.
Even when you tried to sleep, your mind refused to rest, it ran in circles.
Decorations…. Did you order enough? Cake… Did you pick the right flavor? Timing… Would everything fall into place?
And above all, Martin. Everything revolved around him. Every little detail, every rushed errand, every late-night checklist scribbled in your notes app, it was all for him. For his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy.
That was exactly why you couldn’t tell him.
Because if he found out, even for a second, he’d insist on helping. He’d ask questions. He’d figure it out. And you wanted this, all of this, to be a surprise. Something he’d never expect.
At first, it felt harmless, easy, even.
You told him you were “busy,” your voice light, casual, like it was no big deal. That you had “stuff to do.” That you might not be able to see him as much this week.
You expected him to pout, maybe tease you about it, but he didn’t.
He just nodded, smiling like he always did, brushing it off with a soft, “Okay, baby. Don’t overwork yourself, yeah?”
And you smiled back, ignoring the small tug of guilt in your chest, because Martin trusted you. He always had.
He never questioned you, never doubted your words. He gave you space when you needed it, never pushing too hard, never making things complicated.
But Martin also… noticed things, little things. The kind of things most people would overlook.
At first, it was subtle. He noticed how your replies got shorter. Where you used to send long, rambling messages filled with emojis and random thoughts, now it was just quick responses—“yeah,” “okay,” “I’m busy rn.”
He noticed how your usual “good morning, baby ❤️” texts, soft and warm and full of affection, turned into a simple, almost rushed “morning!”
No heart, no nickname, just one word.
He told himself he was overthinking it. But then, your calls became shorter. The late-night conversations where you’d talk about everything and nothing at the same time slowly disappeared. Replaced by quick check-ins that ended with, “Sorry, I have to go.”
Sometimes, they didn’t happen at all, and every time the screen went dark, every time the call ended sooner than he expected, something in his chest twisted just a little tighter.
Still, he tried. He asked to see you, casually, at first.
“Wanna come over later?”
“We could grab food?”
“I miss you.”
But every time, there was something.
“I can’t today.”
“I already have plans.”
“Maybe another time?”
It started to sound like a pattern, and Martin, your bright, loud, affectionate, always-smiling Martin, the one who could light up a room just by walking into it… started to feel that light dim, just a little.
He laughed it off in front of others, he still joked, still teased, still played the role everyone expected him to play.
But when he was alone? His thoughts got louder, maybe you were tired of him, maybe he had been too much lately, too clingy, too talkative, too present. Maybe all his teasing had crossed a line, maybe he hadn’t noticed the moment things started to change.
He replayed your conversations in his head, over and over, searching for something, anything, he could’ve done wrong.
Because to him, the change felt real. It felt like distance, and distance, in his mind, only meant one thing.
That he was losing you, and for the first time in a long time, Martin didn’t know how to fix it.
“Do you think I did something?” Martin’s voice broke through the steady hum of the practice room, quiet, but heavy in a way that didn’t match him at all.
He was sprawled across the polished wooden floor, one arm thrown lazily over his eyes as if he could block out more than just the harsh fluorescent lights above.
His chest rose and fell a little too slowly, like even breathing felt tiring today. Sweat clung faintly to his skin, his damp hair sticking to his forehead from practice, but he hadn’t bothered to move, hadn’t bothered to sit up like he usually would.
Normally, he’d be the loudest one in the room. The one cracking jokes, hyping everyone up, throwing playful comments that made even the most exhausting rehearsals feel lighter.
But right now, he looked… small. Not physically, but in the way his usual brightness dimmed, like someone had turned the volume down on him.
Across the room, Seonghyeon stood near the mirror, stretching one arm over his head, completely unbothered on the outside. He didn’t even glance over at first, like Martin had just asked something casual.
“You?” Seonghyeon said after a beat, voice flat. “Probably.”
Martin let out a long, dramatic groan, dragging his arm down from his face just enough to glare at him. “Seonghyeon.”
There was no real bite behind it, just tiredness.
Seonghyeon huffed quietly, finally glancing over, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’m kidding.”
He shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders before asking, a little more serious this time, “What happened?”
There was a pause, a longer one than expected. Martin didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he slowly sat up, pushing himself off the floor with a quiet exhale. His hand ran through his already messy hair, fingers catching slightly as if even that simple motion needed more effort than usual.
“She’s been…” he started, then stopped. His brows furrowed, like he didn’t like the word he was about to use. “…distant.”
The word sat heavy in the air. It didn’t belong next to you, and Martin knew that better than anyone. Because you weren’t distant, you were warm, sort, constant.
You were the kind of person who filled silence with comfort, who reached for his hand without thinking, who always, always made him feel like he wasn’t alone. So saying it now, felt like forcing something that didn’t fit.
He swallowed slightly, looking down at his hands as if the answer might be written there. “She doesn’t call as much,” he continued, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual easy confidence. “And when I text her, she replies like…”
He trailed off again, his lips pressed together, jaw tightening just a little. “Like she doesn’t want to talk.” That part came out softer, almost reluctant.
From the mirror, Juhoon’s reflection shifted. He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised as he leaned back against the wall, arms loosely crossed. “Did you annoy her?” he asked, blunt as ever.
Martin scoffed immediately, a reflex. “I always annoy her,” he shot back, a hint of his usual attitude slipping through. “That’s part of my charm.”
There was a faint attempt at humor there, something light, something familiar, but it didn’t land the same. Didn’t carry the same spark it usually did.
James, standing near the back with his arms crossed, hadn’t said a word. He was watching, carefully.
His gaze lingered on Martin a little longer than the others’, picking up on the subtle things, things Martin probably didn’t even realize he was showing.
The way his fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The way his eyes didn’t stay in one place for too long. The way his usual presence, the loud, steady energy he carried—felt… off.
Like something had shifted. Martin let out a quiet breath, his gaze dropping to the floor again. This time, when he spoke, his voice was softer, quieter. “…I think she’s losing feelings.”
The words hung in the air like something fragile, and just like that, the room went completely still.
No one laughed, no one made a joke. Even Seonghyeon stopped stretching, because for once, Martin didn’t sound like himself.
There was no teasing edge to his voice. No confidence, no easy smile, just something raw, something uncertain. And underneath it all, something that sounded a lot like fear.
He let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could ease the tightness there.
“I mean… I don’t know,” he added quickly, like he was trying to take it back, trying to make it sound less serious than it felt. “Maybe she’s just busy or something.”
But even he didn’t sound convinced, because if it was just that. Why did it feel like this? Why did every short reply sit heavy in his chest? Why did every missed call feel like a missed connection?
He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “I’m probably overthinking, right?”
No one answered immediately. Because the truth was, they had never seen him like this before.
Martin, who could talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything without hesitation. Martin, who never let things get to him for too long. Martin, who always knew what to say, what to do, how to fix things.
Now sitting there, unsure. Second-guessing himself. Questioning something that clearly meant a lot more to him than he was used to showing.
His fingers curled slightly against his palm. “…She used to text me first,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Like, all the time.”
His gaze stayed down, voice distant like he was replaying memories in his head. “She’d send me random stuff, pictures of herself, voice messages, dumb little things that didn’t even matter.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “And now it’s like…” he exhaled quietly. “If I don’t text first, we just don’t talk.”
That one hurt. It showed in the way his voice dipped slightly at the end, in the way his shoulders tensed again.
“I tried not texting one day,” he admitted, glancing up briefly before looking away again. “Just to see if she would.”
A pause. “…She didn’t.”
Silence pressed in harder this time, Because that said everything. He let out another quiet laugh, but it lacked warmth. “Stupid, right?”
No one said it was, because it wasn’t. Not to him, not when it mattered like this, not when you mattered like this.
Martin leaned back slightly, resting his hands behind him as he stared at the ceiling again, eyes unfocused. “I don’t know what I did,” he said, softer now. “I keep thinking about it, but I can’t figure it out.”
His voice dropped even more. “…Or maybe I just didn’t notice when things started changing.”
That thought lingered longer than the others, because that was the one that scared him the most. Not knowing when, not knowing why.
Just feeling it happen, until suddenly, it felt too big to ignore.
And for someone like Martin, someone who thrived on connection, on closeness, on being there for the people he loved, that kind of distance felt unbearable.
The room stayed quiet, none of them had an easy answer.
And Martin… He just sat there looking up at the ceiling. Like he was trying to find something, anything, that would tell him he was wrong.
Meanwhile, you were standing in the middle of that same studio, hands planted firmly on your hips, your chest rising and falling a little heavier than usual as you took in the scene in front of you.
Chaos, complete, undeniable chaos.
The once clean, familiar practice room had been transformed into something… halfway between a celebration and a disaster zone.
Streamers hung unevenly from the ceiling, some taped properly, others barely clinging on as if they were seconds away from surrendering to gravity.
A few had already fallen, lying crumpled on the floor like defeated ribbons of color. The tape you used clearly wasn’t strong enough, but it was too late to rethink it now.
Balloons were scattered everywhere. Some floated lazily near the ceiling, tied together in uneven clusters. Others had rolled off to the corners of the room, bumping gently against the mirrors every time someone walked past.
One had somehow ended up under a chair, half-deflated, like it had given up halfway through the process, honestly, relatable, and then there was the banner.
The banner.
You narrowed your eyes at it, lips pressing into a thin line. It was supposed to be the centerpiece.
“Happy Birthday Martin” written in bold, soft blue letters, the color carefully chosen because it reminded you of him, calm, bright, comforting.
But instead of hanging proudly across the mirrored wall like you imagined, It kept falling. Every. Five. Seconds.
You had taped it, retaped it, adjusted it, rressed the tape down harder. But, the left side peeled off again with a quiet, traitorous slip.
You stared at it for a long moment. “…Why is this so hard?” you muttered under your breath, your voice laced with both frustration and disbelief.
This wasn’t supposed to be the difficult part. You had planned everything else so carefully. You had schedules, backup plans, even extra decorations just in case something went wrong.
And yet, a banner was your downfall.
From the corner of the room, a voice responded, completely unhelpful. “Because you’re short.”
You turned your head slowly.
Keonho was sitting comfortably against the wall, one leg stretched out while the other was bent, his phone held lazily in his hand as his thumb scrolled without a care in the world. He didn’t even look up at you when he said it, like it was the most obvious explanation ever.
Your eyes narrowed immediately. “Keonho.”
He finally glanced up, a grin already tugging at his lips when he saw your expression.
“What?” he said innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the amusement in his eyes.
You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You were supposed to be helping.”
“I was helping,” he argued, gesturing vaguely toward the decorations. “I’m just taking a break.”
You blinked at him.
“…You did nothing this entire day.”
“Well I helped you with the food,” he replied. “I think...”
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks you lazy bum.”
“I’m not lazy!” he shot back easily.
You pointed at the banner, which,,right on cuec started peeling off again. “Fine, fix it.”
He followed your gaze, watching the tape slowly lose its grip. There was a brief pause, then he sighed dramatically, pushing himself up from the floor with exaggerated effort. “Okay, okay, I’ll fix it.”
“Thank you,” you said dryly.
He walked over, grabbing the edge of the banner before it could fully fall, inspecting your work like a critic. “You used this tape?” he asked, raising a brow.
“It was the only one I had,” you defended.
“No wonder it keeps falling,” he muttered, already pulling out better tape from his pocket.
“…You had that the whole time?” you asked, narrowing your eyes again.
He smirked. “Maybe.”
You stared at him. “Keonho—”
“I’m fixing it now, aren’t I?” he cut in quickly, laughing as he reached up to properly secure the banner.
This time, he pressed the tape down firmly, smoothing it out with more precision than you had managed in the past twenty minutes.
You watched closely, holding your breath slightly as he stepped back, the banner stayed. It didn’t slip, didn’t tilt.
Keonho crossed his arms, nodding in satisfaction. “Better?”
You stared at it for a second longer. Then your shoulders finally relaxed, relief washing over you like a wave. “…Way better,” you admitted, a small smile forming on your lips. “Thank you.”
He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “See? You just needed a professional.”
You rolled your eyes, but the tension in your chest had eased just a little. One less thing to worry about, one step closer.
The sound of the door opening pulled your attention away. Seonghyeon walked in, carefully holding a white box in both hands, his expression more focused than usual. “Cake’s here.”
Your heart skipped instantly, everything else faded into the background. “Careful!” you rushed over without thinking, your voice laced with urgency as you reached for it.
He raised a brow slightly at your reaction but handed it over without question. The moment it was in your hands, your grip softened. Like you were holding something fragile, something important. Because to you, it was.
You carried it to the table slowly, almost cautiously, like one wrong step could ruin everything.
Your fingers hesitated for a second before lifting the lid just slightly, just enough to peek inside. And, perfect.
Your breath caught, the cake sat neatly in the center, untouched and flawless.
White frosting, smooth and clean, with soft blue detailing piped carefully along the edges. The colors were soft, calming, exactly what you wanted, subtle, but meaningful.
And right in the center, his name, Martin. Written neatly, carefully, like it belonged there. Your chest tightened at the sight.
It all felt real, all the rushing around, all the planning, all the little moments you sacrificed just to keep this a surprise. It was all leading to this.
“He’s going to love it,” you whispered, almost to yourself, your voice softer now.
There was a quiet kind of hope in it. A quiet kind of certainty.
Behind you, James leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a small, knowing smile. “You really went all out,” he said.
You closed the box gently, your fingers lingering on the lid for a second longer than necessary before stepping back.
You huffed softly, brushing it off. “Of course I did. It’s his birthday.” Your tone was light, casual.
But there was something else underneath it, something softer. Something that didn’t quite reach your voice but settled in your chest instead.
The truth was, you knew. You knew what this week must’ve looked like from his side. The short replies, the missed calls, the constant “I’m busy.”
You knew Martin, you knew how much he valued time together. How he noticed the smallest changes, how he felt everything a little deeper than he let on, and the thought of him sitting there, wondering if something was wrong, If you were pulling away.
It hurt, more than you expected it to, your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Because the truth was, y oí missed him.
More than you thought you would, every second you didn’t reply right away, every unread message sitting in your notifications, every call you had to cut short, even when you didn’t want to, every time you stared at his name on your screen, your thumb hovering over the call button, almost giving in, almost telling him everything.
“I’m planning a surprise for you.”
“Please don’t overthink.”
“Please don’t be sad.”
The words sat on the tip of your tongue more times than you could count. But you swallowed them down every single time, because you had to. If you told him, it wouldn’t be the same.
And you wanted this moment, to be perfect.
You exhaled slowly, your gaze drifting back to the decorations, the banner, the cake, everything you worked so hard for.
You could already picture it, the way his eyes would widen, the way his smile would break across his face, the way he’d laugh, that loud, bright laugh you loved so much.
The way he’d look at you, and realize, and understand, and feel loved.
Your lips curved into a small, soft smile. That look, that exact look on his face, would make everything worth it.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon clapped his hands together, the sharp sound echoing lightly through the studio, cutting through the low hum of nervous energy that had settled over everyone. “We’re ready. We just need the birthday boy.”
The words should’ve felt exciting, they were exciting. But the moment they left his mouth, your heart started racing so fast it almost made you dizzy.
It wasn’t a gentle increase. Your body finally caught up to the reality of what was about to happen.
This was it, no more adjusting decorations, no more fixing mistakes, no more going back.
“Is he close?” you asked quickly, your voice just a little tighter than you intended.
Keonho pulled his phone out, glancing down at the screen, his brows lifting slightly as he checked the messages. “Yeah,” he said after a second, nodding. “We told him we needed him for practice. He’s on the way.”
Your grip on the cake box tightened instinctively. You didn’t even realize it until your fingers pressed a little too firmly into the cardboard, the edges bending slightly under your hold.
“Hey,” James said softly from the side, noticing immediately. “Relax. You’re gonna ruin it before he even sees it.”
You blinked, loosening your grip just a little, exhaling slowly as you tried to steady yourself. “I’m fine,” you murmured, though your heartbeat said otherwise.
Juhoon clapped his hands once, quieter this time but just as effective in snapping everyone into motion. “Lights off when he comes in,” he reminded, already moving toward the switches.
Everything shifted after that, fast, like a silent countdown had started.
The room, which had been buzzing with movement just seconds ago, suddenly became focused, everyone moving with purpose, with quiet urgency.
Seonghyeon walked toward the door, peeking out briefly before stepping back into position.
Keonho grabbed a handful of confetti poppers, handing them out quickly.
James moved toward the far side of the room, slipping behind one of the large speakers.
Juhoon flicked the lights off, and the room was plunged into darkness.
Not complete darkness. The faint glow from the hallway slipped in under the door, casting a thin strip of light across the floor, but it was enough to hide everything. Enough to turn the decorated studio into something unrecognizable.
Shadows stretched across the room, swallowing the colors, the balloons, the banner, everything you had worked so hard on disappearing into the dimness.
Everyone scattered, hiding behind mirrors, speakers, the edges of the walls, anywhere that would keep them out of sight.
But you, you stayed, right in the middle. Exactly where you planned to be, the center of it all. The one thing he would see.
The cake rested in your hands, heavier now than it felt before, not because of its weight, but because of everything it represented.
Your fingers curled carefully around the box, holding it steady, even as your arms felt slightly tense. Your breath came out uneven, you tried to slow it down.
But it didn’t work, your heart wouldn’t calm down, your mind kept racing ahead, picturing his reaction over and over again.
What if he didn’t like it? What if something went wrong? What if—
The sound of footsteps outside the door snapped you out of it instantly. Everything in your body stilled, every thought, every movement. Gone.
All that was left, was anticipation. The handle turned, a soft click. Then, the door opened.
You heard his voice before you saw him. “…Why is it dark?”
Martin stepped inside slowly, cautiously, the faint light from the hallway outlining his figure as he crossed the threshold.
He paused just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. You could make out the shape of him, the familiar silhouette.
The way his shoulders were slightly hunched, like he was still carrying the weight of practice, or something else entirely.
“Guys?” he called out, his voice echoing lightly in the quiet room. No answer, not a single sound.
The silence felt heavier now, thicker. Almost suffocating. He shifted slightly, taking another step forward, his shoes scuffing softly against the floor.
“…This isn’t funny,” he muttered under his breath, the words quieter this time.
And your heart, it ached, because that tone, it wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t the light, joking voice he usually used when he said things like that.
It was tired, a little hesitant, unsure. Like he didn’t know what to expect anymore, and that realization hit you harder than you expected.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cake box again. For a second, you saw it from his side.
The dark room, the silence, the distance he’d been feeling all week.
It probably didn’t feel like a joke, it probably felt like something else entirely. You wanted to step forward, to call his name, to tell him everything right now, to fix that small, barely noticeable crack in his voice before it got any deeper.
But you didn’t, you couldn’t.
this moment, this exact moment, was what you had been waiting for. From somewhere behind you, barely audible. “Now,” Seonghyeon whispered.
The word was soft, but it carried through the room like a signal. The, the lights flipped on, flooding the room all at once.
“SURPRISE!”
The shout exploded around him, loud and full and overwhelming in the best way possible.
Confetti popped into the air, colorful pieces bursting outward and raining down in slow, fluttering motions. Voices overlapped, laughter, cheers, clapping.
The room came alive in an instant, and Martin froze completely, likee time had stopped just for him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t say a word.
He just stood there, right in the middle of the doorway, his eyes wide as everything hit him all at once. The decorations, the colors, the noise, his members
It was almost too much to process in one second.
His gaze moved slowly, he was trying to take it all in piece by piece. From the streamers hanging above, to the balloons scattered around, yo the banner stretched across the wall—
“Happy Birthday Martin.”
His name, written there, for him. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was still processing, still catching up, trying to understand what he was seeing.
What this meant.
His eyes shifted again, scanning around the room, until they landed on you, and everything else faded.
You were standing right in the center of the room. Exactly where he couldn’t miss you, holding the cake carefully in your hands.
The soft blue details, the candles flickering gently. Your fingers steady despite the way your heart was pounding in your chest.
And you were smiling, like none of the distance from the past week existed anymore, this moment erased all of it.
Your eyes met his, and you swore you saw it, that shift, that realization, that understanding.
Your smile softened just a little more as you took a small step forward, your voice gentle, filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say all week.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
His lips parted. Not all the way, just enough for a breath to slip through, uneven and quiet, like his body hadn’t caught up to the moment yet.
“…You—“
The word barely formed. It lingered there, unfinished, like he didn’t know how to put the rest together. His voice broke slightly when he tried again. “You did this?”
It wasn’t loud, nor dramatic. If anything, it sounded fragile, like he was afraid of the answer, afraid that if he said it too clearly, it might disappear.
You nodded softly, your smile gentle, almost shy despite everything you had done. “Yeah.”
That was all you said, but it carried everything. Every late night, every ignored message, every second you spent thinking about him.
Silence followed.
And then, he laughed. But it wasn’t the laugh you knew so well. Not the bright, carefree, loud laugh that usually filled a room within seconds.
This one was different. It was quiet, shaky. Almost breathless, like it got caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. He didn’t quite know whether to laugh or just… stand there and take it all in.
“You’ve been ignoring me for this?” There was a hint of a smile on his lips now,,but it didn’t fully settle.
It wavered. Because underneath it, there was still something else, something unresolved.
You winced slightly, your shoulders dipping just a little. “I wasn’t ignoring you—”
“I thought you were going to break up with me.”
The words cut through everything, and suddenly, the room went quiet again.
Your heart dropped instantly, like it fell straight into your stomach. “…What?”
The word came out small, almost breathless. Because you hadn’t expected that, not even a little.
Martin stepped closer, slowly. But his eyes never left yours, not for a second. “I thought you were pulling away,” he said, his voice quieter now, stripped of everything except honesty. “I thought… maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”
Each word landed heavier than the last, not accusing, not angry. Just… hurt.
Your grip on the cake tightened without you realizing, your fingers pressing slightly into the box again. “Martin…”
“I kept thinking about what I did wrong,” he continued, his voice softer now, but somehow heavier, like the words had been sitting in his chest all week, waiting to come out. “Like— was I too much? Too annoying? Did I push you—”
“Stop.” The word came out sharper than you intended. But you couldn’t help it.
You set the cake down quickly on the nearest table, the movement a little rushed, a little careless compared to how gently you had been holding it before.
Because suddenly, that didn’t matter. Not more than this. You stepped toward him immediately, closing the distance before he could finish that thought.
“Stop,” you repeated, softer this time. Your hands came up to his face without hesitation, cupping his cheeks, grounding him there, right in front of you.
Your thumbs brushed lightly against his skin, warm and steady. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes searched yours instantly, for reassurance, for truth. Anything that would contradict everything he had been thinking all week.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, your voice firm despite how soft it sounded.
He frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his expression. “Then why—”
“Because I love you, idiot.”
The words slipped out before you could even think about them. Like they had been sitting in your chest this entire time, waiting for the right moment. But now, they were finally free.
For a second, everything stilled. His expression broke, something inside him finally gave in. All the tension, all the overthinking, all the doubt he had been carrying, cracked.
“You planned all this…” he whispered, his voice softer than before, almost in awe now.
You nodded, your hands still resting against his face, your touch gentle but steady. “Every day this week.”
His eyes flickered, taking that in. “For me?”
You smiled softly, tilting your head just slightly. “Who else?”
There was a small pause, not long. But it was enough for something to settle between youz
From somewhere behind you, someone coughed awkwardly. “Uh—cake?”
The voice broke the tension just enough to remind everyone else in the room that they were still there. That this wasn’t just the two of you.
But Martin, he didn’t even look away from you.
“Wait,” he said quietly. His hand reached for yours, his fingers wrapping around it tightly, almost instinctively.
You squeezed back gently, and this time, when they called him over again. He didn’t resist.
He let himself be pulled along, still holding your hand as he moved with you toward the table.
The cake sat there now, candles already placed, their small flames flickering softly in the slightly dimmed lights.
The glow reflected faintly in his eyes as he looked down at it. Everyone gathered around quickly, forming a loose circle.
“Make a wish!” Juhoon grinned, leaning in slightly.
Martin glanced at you, just for a second. But the look in his eyes, it said everything. Then he looked back at the cake. He didn’t even hesitate. He leaned forward slightly and blew out the candles.
The moment the cake was taken from the table. He moved fast. So fast it almost startled you.
One second he was standing there, the faint glow of extinguished candles still lingering in the air, thin trails of smoke curling upward, and the next, he was right in front of you.
His arms wrapped around you without hesitation, strong and sudden, pulling you into him with so much force that your balance tipped.
You stumbled slightly, a soft gasp leaving your lips. “Martin—”
But you didn’t get to finish, he held you tighter. Like he needed to, like he had to.
His arms locked around your back, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, the other gripping at your side as if letting go wasn’t even an option.
Your body pressed fully against his, your cheek brushing his shoulder as you felt the uneven rise and fall of his breathing.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder. His voice was muffled softly. But it carried something deeper this time.
You froze for just a second. “…For what?” you asked quietly.
Because in your mind, he had nothing to apologize for. Not after everything, not after this. But his hold on you tightened just slightly, like your question only made something in his chest ache more.
“For thinking you’d leave me.” The words were quiet, almost fragile, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear them, but he needed you to.
And your heart, It clenched hard. Your arms, which had been hovering uncertainly at first, slowly came up to wrap around him, returning the embrace just as tightly.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like you could physically erase every doubt he had felt this week. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.
The words were soft, but steady. certain. You meant every single one.
He didn’t pull away immediately, didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he stayed there for just a second longer, like he was letting your words sink in, letting them settle somewhere deep where all that fear had been sitting.
Then, slowly, he pulled back. Just enough to look at you, not fully letting go.
His hands stayed on you, resting at your arms now, thumbs brushing lightly against your sleeves like he needed the contact. “Promise?”
There it was again. That vulnerability, that quiet, almost childlike need for reassurance. It made your chest ache all over again.
You nodded immediately, not even hesitating. “I promise.”
Your voice was soft, but unwavering. This time, he believed you.
You could see it. In the way his shoulders relaxed, just slightly, the tension in his jaw eased, his gaze softened, the uncertainty slowly melting into something warmer, something familiar.
He stared at you for a second longer, like he was grounding himself in the reality of you standing right in front of him.
Then, his expression shifted. Subtle, but noticeable. The heaviness lifted, replaced with something softer. That familiar lover boy look you knew so well, the one that always made your stomach flip a little.
“You scared me, you know that?” he said, his voice lighter now, though there was still a trace of truth lingering underneath.
You huffed softly, rolling your eyes as you lightly hit his chest. “You scared yourself.”
He grinned instantly, that teasing spark finally returning to his eyes. “Still counts.”
You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.
His hands slid down to your waist then, naturally, like they belonged there. Like they always had.
His fingers curled slightly, pulling you closer again, closing whatever small distance had formed when he pulled back. Your body fits against his easily.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. The teasing was gone again, but this time, it was replaced with something softer, sincere. “For all of this.”
His eyes flickered around the room briefly, the decorations, the people, the effort you had put into every little detail. Then they came back to you, at the end of the day, this wasn’t about the party.
It was about you.
You smiled gently, your hands resting against his chest now, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palms. “You deserve it.”
He shook his head slightly. “I deserve you,” he corrected. The words were so simple, but they hit you harder than anything else he had said tonight.
Your cheeks flushed instantly, warmth spreading across your face as you looked away for a split second. “Martin—”
“I’m serious,” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice dropping just enough that it felt like it was only meant for you. “You went through all that just to make me happy?”
There was something in his tone, something soft, almost in disbelief.
You shrugged slightly, your gaze dropping for a second as a shy smile curved your lips. “Maybe.”
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm this time, gentle and full of affection. “God,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re unreal.”
Your noses brushed slightly from how close you were, your breaths mixing in the small space between you.
For a moment, everything else faded again.
And then, he kissed you. Not suddenly. not in a way that startled you. It was slow, careful. Like, he was giving you time to pull away if you wanted to, like he was giving himself time to believe this was real.
His hand shifted slightly at your waist before he leaned in, fingers tightening just a little, grounding himself in you. You could feel the hesitation, not doubt, but something softer. Something fragile. Like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, the moment might slip through his fingers.
His lips brushed yours, barely there at first. Soft enough that it felt like a question, and for a split second, everything stilled.
The room, the voices, the lingering laughter behind you. All of it faded into something distant and unimportant. Because right here, it was just him, you, and the warmth of his lips against yours.
He didn’t rush it, didn’t deepen it right away.
He stayed there, moving gently, almost cautiously, like he was relearning something familiar. Like he was trying to memorize the exact way your lips felt against his again after days of missing it.
You melted instantly. Your body had been waiting for this without you even realizing it.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, gripping it lightly at first before tightening, pulling him closer. Not urgently, but with quiet insistence. Like you needed to feel him there, needed to close whatever space still existed between you.
Because a week without this, without him had felt longer than it should have.
He shifted closer without resistance, responding to the pull of your hands as if it was instinct. As if being close to you was the most natural thing in the world.
You could feel the warmth of him fully now, his chest brushing yours, his breath soft against your skin, the faint rise and fall of it syncing with yours without either of you noticing.
He smiled against your lips. It was small, soft, but you felt it immediately, That familiar warmth spreading through the kiss, turning something already gentle into something even softer, even more him.
“Missed this,” he whispered. His voice was quiet, barely above a breath, the words brushing against your lips more than reaching your ears.
It sent a small shiver through you.
You let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and warm, your forehead bumping gently against his as you pulled back just enough to look at him.
Your noses brushed slightly from how close you still were. “It’s been like a week,” you murmured.
But even as you said it, It didn’t feel like just a week. It felt longer.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Longest week of my life.”
His answer was immediate, soft but certain, and the way he said it. Like he meant every word, made your chest tighten just a little. Because you had felt it too.
The quiet moments, the instinct to reach for your phone. The way everything felt just slightly off without him there. And now. Now he was.
Right in front of you. Close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, and he did again.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. His lips found yours with more certainty, more intention. Still gentle, still soft, but deeper, fuller.
He wasn’t questioning it anymore, he knew exactly where he wanted to be. His hands tightened slightly at your waist, fingers pressing just enough to keep you close, to keep you right where he wanted you.
He was anchoring you there, he wasn’t willing to risk even the smallest distance between you again.
You leaned into him without thinking, your body responding naturally, your hands sliding up from his hoodie to his shoulders. Your fingers pressed lightly there, grounding yourself the same way he was grounding himself in you.
The kiss deepened slowly, not rushed, not overwhelming. Just… intentional. Every movement measured, every second stretched just enough that you could feel it.
All of it.
The warmth, the softness, the quiet emotion woven into something so simple. It wasn’t messy, hurried, nor desperate. It was something else entirely
With everything that had filled the space between you over the past week. The distance, the unanswered calls, the overthinking.
The quiet ache of missing each other without saying it out loud. It was all there, in the way his lips lingered just a second longer than necessary, in the way your fingers curled slightly tighter against his shoulders, In the way neither of you seemed in any rush to pull away.
Because this… this felt like coming back to something, something yours.
Somewhere in the background, someone groaned loudly. “Okay, we’re still here!”
The voice cut through the moment just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone, that there were people watching. A few laughs followed, light and teasing, but neither of you moved.
Even with the noise, with the presence of everyone else, it didn’t feel real enough to matter.
He didn’t pull away, didn’t loosen his hold. His lips still lingered against yours, softer now, but still there.
Your breathing had shifted slightly, soft and uneven, and you could feel his matching yours, the closeness making every small movement more noticeable.
Everything slowed again, not as completely as before. But enough that you could feel the warmth of his hands at your waist, enough that you could feel the faint brush of his thumb against your side, enough that you could feel the way he stayed close, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.
Because to him, this wasn’t just a kiss.
It was reassurance that you were here, you were still his, he was still yours, and when you finally pulled back. Your foreheads rested together again, your noses brushing softly, your breaths still mixing in the small space between you.
“My birthday wish came true,” he murmured.
His voice was quieter than everything else in the room, softer than the low hum of chatter and laughter behind you. It didn’t try to compete with the noise, it didn’t need to. Because the way he said it, the way his gaze stayed fixed on yours, made it feel like the words were meant only for you.
You blinked, still a little dazed, your fingers lightly gripping the front of his hoodie like you hadn’t fully grounded yourself yet. “What did you wish for?”
You tilted your head slightly, studying his face, expecting something playful. Something teasing. Maybe a joke, maybe something that would make everyone groan in the background.
But instead, he just smiled. The kind of smile that didn’t reach for attention, didn’t try to be charming or loud.
Just… real.
Genuine in a way that made your chest tighten before he even spoke. “You.”
The word was simple, but it landed like something much heavier. Your heart melted instantly, warmth spreading through your chest until it filled every corner, leaving no space for anything else.
The word settled deep, wrapping around your ribs, pressing gently against your lungs until your breath caught just slightly. Because of course he would say that.
And of course, he would mean it.
“You already had me,” you whispered.cYour voice came out softer than you expected, almost like you didn’t want to break whatever this moment was.
His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even for a second. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
His hand lifted slowly, almost absentmindedly, like the movement came naturally to him. His thumb brushed against your cheek, gentle, warm, tracing along your skin like he was making sure you were really there.
“Yeah,” he repeated, softer this time. “But now I know I’m not losing you.”
There it was again, that honesty. Not heavy, or overwhelming. But real enough to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
You leaned into his touch without thinking. Your eyes softened as you held his gaze, your hand loosening its grip on his hoodie just slightly, shifting instead to rest more comfortably against him.
“Never.”
One word. But it carried everything you couldn’t put into anything longer.
You could see it in the way his expression changed, the last bit of tension finally slipping away completely.
He pulled you back into another hug. His arms wrapped around you slowly, naturally, like he didn’t need to rush anymore. Like he knew you weren’t going anywhere.
Your cheek rested against his chest this time, the soft fabric of his hoodie warm against your skin as your arms slid around his waist, holding him just as close.
Everything felt still, not quiet, not completely. You could still hear the others in the background. Keonho muttering something under his breath, probably complaining about being ignored.
“Bro really forgot we exist,” he scoffed, though there was a grin in his voice.
“Let them breathe,” Seonghyeon replied lazily, though he didn’t sound any less amused. “It’s his birthday. He gets one dramatic moment.”
Juhoon snorted. “One? That was like five.”
James didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze briefly flick toward the two of you before he shook his head slightly, the corner of his lips lifting in quiet understanding.
Their voices blended into the background, light and teasing, but distant enough that they didn’t break the moment.
Right now, all you could focus on was him.
The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The way his heartbeat echoed softly in your ear. No longer racing the way it probably had been all week. No longer weighed down by doubt or overthinking.
Just… calm, and his hold on you, it didn’t tighten. Didn’t shift nervously, didn’t waver. It stayed the same, this was where his hands were meant to rest, this was where you were meant to be.
Your fingers curled slightly into the back of his hoodie, not gripping tightly this time, just enough to hold onto him, to feel the warmth there, to keep that connection between you.
Keonho sighed dramatically somewhere behind you. “Are they gonna move or do we just… stand here forever?”
“Shut up,” Juhoon said, though he was laughing now. “You’d do the same thing.”
“I would not.”
“You absolutely would.”
Seonghyeon chuckled under his breath. “He’d be worse.”
“Hey—”
Their voices faded again, blending into something soft and distant. This moment still felt like it belonged to just the two of you.
He didn’t hold on because he was scared. He didn’t hold on because he thought you might disappear. There was no tension in his shoulders.
No hesitation in his touch, no doubt in the way he kept you close. He held on, he wanted to, after everything. After the worry, the distance, the quiet fear he hadn’t known how to say out loud.
He finally had you here again, and he wasn’t in a hurry to let that feeling go. So he didn’t, he just stayed there. Holding you gently, like he had all the time in the world.
YOU GET A GOLD STAR AND YOU GET A GOLD STAR AND YOU GET A GOLD STAR TOO EVERYONE GETS A GOLD STAR @kaikaikoi @juhoonzyz @juh00n @eohyeons @ramenoil @miisoluvsdeer
ness : i got a new phone so best know i went into flowstate making this. even though it has been like a week... i missed you guys. also this was rushed and the plot kept changing mid writing so hopefully it's clear and understandable.
IN A QUIET PLACE, settled into the corner, the wind blowing against the side of your face was your only friend. the sun scanned the words on your paper as your pencil moved across the lines, the obvious marks of the multiple mistakes made the paper dull — but you tried to ignore it.
the desk had markings from you, scribbles of small butterflies and flowers into the dent for where the pencils sat — but to you, that was for doodling. everywhere you went, there was a trace of you, a scribble that marked your name. and nobody tried to erase them.
the post-it note that laid on the window sill still sat there. the one that you carried everywhere to remember your locker code beginning of the school year. completely forgotten, but still stuck to where you left it originally when you finally remembered.
everytime you laid your head down, your fingertips traced over that sticky part on the corner of the desk, uncleaned but yet it didn't bother you. one small move of your fingers and you're fine.
that's when you knew nobody bothered to notice you.
your desk would've been clean, the doodles would've been erased, your locker code would've been wrinkled and thrown in the trash ages ago, but nobody batted an eye at you.
nobody let you made your way into things first; they didn't let you enter an open stall even if you've been waiting longer than them, nobody handed you scrap paper during tests, they didn't care to notice you, leaving you alone with nothing.
you weren't invisible, it's just nobody cared to recognize you.
wind blew into your face from the crack of the window, the sound of mechanical and wooden pencils carried the classroom. small talk came through, but never too loud for you.
your chin rested in the palm of your hands as you looked out the window — a daily thing. the cheers from the students on the track made you entertained as you scanned each and every one of them like you were part of it.
your eyebrows furrowed as the sun hit your eyes instead of the paper, raising the opposite hand every few seconds to remove the hair that fell onto your face from the light wind.
you removed sight from the other students, gluing your hands to the edge of the desk as you stared down at your not so finished worksheet, the corner of it being completely filled with scatters of led instead of written notes.
you looked up at the others in front of you, yet they were just so far away from you. all you could see was the motion of their pencils moving and not what they were writing down.
you sighed, looking over to the group to the side of you — the repeated motion all over again. you stared, you didn't mean to, it just came naturally, it's almost like it's a habitual behavior.
your feet began to kick from underneath the desk, not too harsh, raising your feet off the ground to avoid the scrapping noise that would occur if you didn't.
the clock ticked in your brain, watching the minutes go by, counting the sixty seconds in your head. and there it went, the bell that sung throughout every classroom, indicating that your safe space was over.
you shoved everything in your bag, as the quiet classroom turned into a loud one, everyone pushing and rushing through the small gaps in between desks, some not caring to zip their bags.
and of course, nobody turned over to look at you.
though you couldn't ignore that one short look from someone, someone who you swore you never seen before.
you froze, as your eyebrow wanted to raise, fighting the urge to make a reaction. he turned over to look at you again, just one simple glance like it was his way of saying goodbye.
as soon as his presence disappeared, you couldn't help but shove things into your bag quicker, heart beating faster and faster than usual. you felt the wind get harsher but the warmth of it spread throughout your body instead.
you felt rushed, adrenaline rushing through your body. it wasn't from confusion nor embarrassment, it just felt rushed as your steps increased through the open door, ignoring the bodies colliding into you as they tried to make their own way into the classroom.
you tried looking around for the same face, but he was no where to be found and it only made your heart feel an emotion you never knew you could feel.
was it because someone finally noticed you? or were you just exaggerating it? — is what you started to tell yourself as time went on. every hour you sat in that classroom, you tried looking for him but you couldn't find him. no heads were turned to you. per usual, nobody paid attention to you and your safe space.
and yet again after every last minute at the bell, the similar face all of a sudden appeared again. giving you a soft glance, once or twice, before making his own way out the classroom like he's in a hurry.
he didn't have anyone beside him, he didn't turn to talk to anybody, he didn't plead a goodbye to anyone, it was all like he was gesturing one towards you and you only.
one day, you arrived late. you stared into the glass window of the door, watching the way the students heads were down, boredom striking the room. you watched the curtains by the window next to your seat blow from the wind. the desk sat there empty, untouched, the same marks probably still there but the only thing that remained different was a blue sleeve scooting its way over to your desk.
your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes narrowed as you leaned closer to the door window, watching the way a frame slowly started entering your vision.
there he was, that face, the one who communicated through his glances. he sat at the desk next to yours, the wind blowing into his hair just like yours but less harsh, the glow from the bright sun reflected onto his hair, highlighting the strands perfectly.
he wasn't focused, his hands ran through his hair as he stared down at his paper, his pencil glued stuck onto the desk, clearly untouched. but his attention was stilled onto something that wasn't just his paper, it was a pink post-it note. resting onto his class work, like he was proof reading something.
you saw the way his hands were finally released from tugging onto his hair, picking up the sticky note and examining it like it was something special. he folded it all together, making sure it was perfect and then leaned over to your desk, placing it right onto the corner of the desk.
your hands tightened onto your bag straps, watching the way he scooted the small folded piece of paper around the same corner, perfecting his placement. you felt intrigued but yet again, you weren't sure how to feel. moving onto the next step of your day was all you could possibly do.
you were always the first one to arrive to class of course. you sat there for minutes, listening to the sound of the keyboard typing from the teacher as you stared out the window, making sure the crack was always slightly open and never too much. no words were said, just pure silence.
though the light reflected pink hues onto the glass, and your mind came back to place. the pink post-it note. lying right there on the desk, remaining still.
your hand hesitated over it before you finally reached down to it, unraveling the small paper silently. the ink was almost dry, being written over obvious pencil markings that have been erased. the hand writing was messy, and the letters were almost too small to read, but the words spoke to you.
i notice you, but i don't want to hurt you.
you pursed your lips at the message, your mind overthinking about what the words could mean but nothing reached your mind.
you folded the paper back up, in hopes to dissolve the message but you caught onto another pink hue onto the glass that was not the one that was in your hands. this time it was near your locker code, the one that had been forgotten.
but it wasn't folded, it was placed with pure intention of it being in your sight. this time the words were darker, like new ink, no pencil markings and no mistakes, but the handwriting remained the same, the same semi-messy and small letters ready for you to read.
you're pretty but you seem fragile. but i can understand you. i notice you.
you blinked, your eyes faltering with each blink as your fingers slowly played with the edges of the other note. your lips began to move on its own, a small smile peaking at the corner of your lips and this time it wasn't forced.
you found yourself looking over again, trying to reach for him but he was nowhere to be found. he blended in with your classmates, moving at the same pace and the same silence.
your work started to become less and less filled as time went on, your distractions set onto your surroundings rather than the importance. though you tried to keep it onto the worksheet in front of you, you just found yourself settling your fingers in your hair, tugging it at its slightest.
but this time, the glance from the boy wasn't shown at the end of the bell. his presence wasn't there, not giving a glance of a goodbye.
this time he stood next to you, hand reaching out to you with a piece of paper in between his fingertips as he watched you fiddle with your notebook.
your actions came to a halt, as you slowly looked up to the boy, coming down to another folded post-it note, gesturing out towards you. but once he saw no move come from you, he took your wrist gently from your backpack, opening up your palm as he gently placed it onto it.
he gave you one quick glance — his usual glance, and turned back around walking past the new bodies that flooded the classroom.
you stood off in the corner of the room, despite the new students coming in and ready to settle in for class as you stared off onto the paper.
you picked it up, taking small step forwards as you began to unfold it gently like it was a possession.
i know you believe nobody notices you, but trust me, i do. i really do.
you crumbled it up with one hand, resting your hand on your side as you finally took a step outside the classroom.
your eyes were stuck onto the floor, feet walking past you in hurried speed as those scenes started to fade and blur, turning into blurbs in your vision. tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, threatening to be releasing. your grip got tighter, knuckles fuming.
you shook your head to ignore those emotions, swerving to your right but a set of feet stopped you from walking any further.
you sighed, blinking away the tears, as you looked up to the obstacle. and there he was, standing face-to-face towards you, with pure intent written onto his face.
you looked between his eyes, searching for any words that could be said but it was all sincerity. true emotions seaped out right through him, like it was connecting from his heart to your own.
"i don't want to hurt you." his hand didn't reach out for you, they stayed by his side, creating respect between the two of you. but nothing else was said or gestured this time, turning back away once again.
and there you were, standing in the middle of the hallway. you had just witnessed a dream, a dream that didn't feel like reality — you were noticed.
by someone who you'll never know the name of and that you'll never see again.
no one tried, to read my eyes. no one but you. scribbled amongst your desk, adding onto the small figures that have been drawn throughout the year.
currently reading: textbooks (but i just finished hamlet !!)
currently watching: ohshc, saiki k, can this love be translated? (already planning my rewatch of sinners) (yes ik i just watched it for the first time last night)
currently craving: red velvet cake 🤤
last song: rocky road to dublin from the sinners soundtrack
currently reading: Percy Jackson: Chalice of The Gods
currently watching: honestly dont remember 😭 havent been watching any shows at all
last song: Talk To You - Yeonjun
HI MYKA BBY TYSM FOR THE TAG THIS IS SUCH A CUTIE IDEA!!! i lowkey want to start getting into percy jackson too!!🤭🤭🤭
currently reading: Normal People by Sally Rooney (still 💔💔)
currently watching: Abbott Elementary (my fav) 🩷🩷
last song: Squabble Up by Kendrick Lamar (one of my fav after school songs) 😻
no pressure tags!!! (pls lmk if you dont want to get tagged in these things, im always worried about that 😭😭) @saevss @aftermoontea @faseanz @yeppiz @ramenoil anddd anyone else who wants to join!! 🤗
✿ 𝟐𝟎𝟎 ─── juhoon ! cortis x 𝑓! rea⠀ ⠀ vlog⠀ 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 ⠀timid rea 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 cute amusing
reblog for PEONIES ´ ᵕ `
juhoons’ youtube videos are the kind that feel like unearthed treasure in the recommended page—rich in quality, but not exposed to many.
he enjoys filming fun little vlogs about his whereabouts, capturing the essence of the simple and cozy life he lives for his loyal viewers to watch. they hold many different purposes—to be someone's background noise while they're doing something else, to give juhoon a reason to carry his vlogging camera everywhere, to record little snippets of memories he might not remember in the future.
recently, juhoons’ fans have noticed the mysterious appearances of another person accompanying him in his videos. however—despite the comments—juhoon has never once answered their questions.
the appearances continue, although they're very minuscule. a quick reveal of a hand. a small laugh behind the camera. a clip of juhoon carrying double the shopping bags fit for one person. but, not once is there a glimpse of a face to put on the person juhoon is obviously with in every video of his.
he's very detailed with his editing, removing chunks of footage where his mystery guest (friend? partner?) can be seen. even down to the reflection in his glasses or in cafe windows, there's not a single giveaway as to who is standing out of view of the camera.
besides, it's fun for juhoon to keep it this way. to keep you a little secret from his viewers. they'd probably freak out if they realized you're the person juhoon gatekeeps to himself. you're quite popular online, and maybe even describing your reputation as 'quite' is an understatement.
‘haha, thank god i'm careful,’ juhoon thinks while he angles his camera to record a clip of your cafe orders side-by-side. danish and hazelnut, vanilla coffees.
noticing your slight timid behavior as you attempt to sway to the side out of eyeshot, the black-haired male lets out a soft chuckle and directs the camera so your whole face is being captured.
"say hi to the camera, baby. don't worry, i'll edit this out later."
his voice is smooth and encouraging, causing you to look straight into the lens. a shy smile curves your lips. you wave meekly, the action adorable in juhoon's eyes.
"there you go..." juhoon praises, smiling himself when he captures your reaction.
you go back to swaying to the side again, and juhoon laughs softly at the sight. it's hard for him to believe that you have over eight thousand followers on a single platform when you're so shy like this every time the camera comes out.
"you'd think someone with so many supporters wouldn't panic at a tiny vlog camera," he murmurs teasingly.
you nudge his arm. "it's different."
"how?"
"because you are filming."
juhoon puffs his cheeks out at that but only smiles to himself before flipping the camera back toward the drinks again, capturing a soft aesthetic clip of the foam swirling in your latte and the light spilling through the café windows. it's the kind of quiet, comforting footage his viewers adore.
the moment passes, and soon the camera clicks off as you leave the café together. juhoon carries both drinks, the pastries, and the tote bag with his camera in it—ignoring your half-hearted attempts to take one of them.
"juhoon, i can carry something."
"i know."
yet he doesn't hand anything over.
instead he simply nods toward the door for you to push it open, following right behind you. it's such a small gesture, but it's something he does all the time without thinking—quietly taking care of things before you even realize you needed help.
the walk back to your apartment is slow and comfortable. juhoon occasionally pulls the camera back out to capture the sidewalk, the sunlight, your shadow walking just ahead of him—but never high enough to show your face.
when you finally get home, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment settles around the both of you. shoes by the door, the faint scent of a candle you left burning earlier, soft evening light spilling through the windows.
you drift toward the couch while juhoon heads to the kitchen counter.
"drink this while it's still warm," he says, placing your coffee down.
you appear beside him and take it with both hands. "thank you."
he watches you take a sip, eyes softening slightly.
"better?"
you nod.
juhoon smiles before pulling the pastry bag open. he tears one in half and slides the bigger piece onto a plate in front of you.
"eat."
you blink at him. "...bossy."
"correct."
you still take the plate.
he leans against the counter while sipping his own drink, watching you nibble slowly.
"you barely ate earlier," he points out.
"i did."
"half a sandwich." he chuckles.
"it counts."
"not really."
you half glare but keep eating anyway.
a comfortable quiet fills the apartment, the kind that only exists between people who know each other well. juhoon eventually reaches out, brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.
"messy," he murmurs.
your ears warm slightly.
after a moment he grabs the camera again, scrolling through the footage from earlier. the café clip pops up quickly—and there you are again, leaning shyly into frame for those few seconds before disappearing.
juhoon smiles to himself, he loves editing.
later that night, long after you've curled up on the couch beside him, he sits at his desk editing the vlog together. trimming clips, adjusting color tones, layering soft background music beneath the quiet sounds of the place and city streets.
he pauses on the moment where you waved at the camera.
for once… he doesn't cut it out.
it's only a few seconds. your shy, cute smile, your small wave, the way you duck out of frame immediately after. nothing dramatic.
just you.
he uploads the video sometime past midnight.
and by morning—the media explodes.
the comments begin pouring in faster than he can read them.
“woah— whose that, poyoyi?”
“ay, she looks madly familiar.”
“juhoon? since when were you hiding someone this pretty??”
some viewers pause the video frame by frame, posting screenshots. the realization spreads quickly, especially among people who follow you online.
hold on… that's literally y/n instagram handle, right?
juhoon is dating her!
this man was gate keeping a whole model..
others are less shocked and more amused.
‘the way she waved shyly… she's so cute omg’
juhoon scrolls through the comments quietly while sitting at the kitchen table the next morning. the sunlight spills softly across the counter, and the apartment is still calm.
behind him, you shuffle into the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies.
your hair is slightly messy from sleep.
"what are you looking at?" you mumble.
juhoon glances back at you, then turns the laptop screen slightly. "...comments about you.”
your eyes widen immediately when you see his screen.
"juhoon."
he hums.
"why do they know who i am?"
he tries—and fails—to hide a small grin. "...i might've left something in."
your mouth drops open slightly.
"juhoon!"
he laughs softly as you lightly smack his head.
but when you glance back at the screen again, your expression slowly softens.
most of the comments aren't invasive.
amused.
oddly supportive.
she's gorgeous.
juhoon you lucky man.
they're actually adorable together.
you look back at him. "...they're being sweet."
"mm," he says casually.
you narrow your eyes slightly. "...did you do this on purpose?"
juhoon only smiles, reaching over to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"maybe."
your cheeks warm.
he pulls you a little closer by the sleeve of his hoodie. the comment notifications continue popping up on the laptop screen behind you.
millions of viewers finally learning the identity of the mysterious person who had been appearing in juhoon's quiet little vlogs all along.
and him?
he simply rests his chin on the top of your head, smiling softly.
because keeping you a secret had been fun.
but on the contrary—sharing you with the world doesn't feel so bad either.
synopsis : sleepover and cuddles with the boys ❤︎ ︎
catalogue ୨୧ cortis x f!reader ♡ fluff / crack idol au ( slight ) skinship & kisses !
james :
- big spoon 100% !!!!! he loves having you in his arms, especially after a tiring day, there’s nothing that he wants more than to come back home to you and hold you in his arms.
- definitely gives you hundreds of soft kisses before bed, it’s part of your routine at this point ! he kisses your cheeks, jaw, lips, forehead, basically all over your face !!!
- he’s also the type of boyfriend to never let you go to bed while you’re angry at each other, no matter what happened he will try to fix it before you go to bed. on the rare occasion that you too need a bit more time to cool off and solve it, he will still demand you to give him good night kisses, he cannot go to sleep without your kisses !!
juhoon :
- he is not big on cuddles, i mean sure he enjoys cuddling with you from time to time but most of the time you two just lay next to each other. when you wake up though ? you’re somehow tangled up with juhoon ! he’s the type to pull you closer and cuddle, seeking your warmth and the comfort that you bring him, even if he’s asleep. he’s a little embarrassed about it but you keep telling him how cute you think this habit of his is !!!
- matching pj sets + skincare !!!!! you two definitely have a whole skincare routine with like 20 steps too !!!! and you’re both very serious about it, you are always sitting on the bathroom’s counter while juhoon is standing in between your legs slowly putting on your face the matching face mask that you two got earlier for your sleepover.
- he’s also always the first one to wake up, he doesn’t even need an alarm, he somehow just always wakes up before you ! he really enjoys it too because he can stare at you, sleeping peacefully, and admire you for as long as he wants without you teasing him about it.
martin :
- kicks in his sleep. probably snores loudly too. i genuinely think that sleeping on the same room as him, let alone the same bed, would take a while to get used to. it is not for the weak. he just gives me these vibes !!!! but also every single time that you wake him up because he kicked you, he will start apologising nonstop and smother you with kisses.
- besides that there are pros too obviously ! i mean he’s huge, he is quite literally 6’3, so cuddling with him would be super comfortable for you. you’d lay your head on his chest while he’d wrap himself around you, bringing you so much security and warmth, you’re starting to think he’s actually godsend (just wait till 3am hits and he starts kicking you).
- he’s such a loverboy too !!! if you ever tell him that you have trouble sleeping he will do anything in his power to make sure that you’re sleep schedule will be back to normal. he will get you the best tea to drink before bed, make you a playlist with only instruments and just very soft lofi songs or hum melodies if the playlist doesn’t work for you, play with your hair, anything to help you out !!!!
seonghyeon :
- i feel like he’s the type to talk to you about anything until you fall asleep, from how his day was to the most random silly thing that the boys did. every time his soft voice manages to put you to sleep in seconds !
- hear me out on this one : hand !!!!! holding !!!!! idk why but i feel like he’d find comfort in holding hands while sleeping (+ he won’t let go in his sleep, you’ll wake up and somehow he’s still holding your hand !!!). when he’s not on the verge of sleeping he likes to trace little hearts on your hands too and he will continue to do it even after you’ve fallen asleep.
- he has the cutest habit of sleep talking too ! most of the time he just has the weirdest conversations while asleep which is perfect for blackmailing him hehe but once in a while you might catch him talking about you !!!!
keonho :
- i just know that he’s soooo greedy when it comes to cuddling, he will literally hug you like a koala and he won’t let go !!!! the only reason he will let you go is if you want to use the bathroom but even then he will still pout and tell you to come back quickly.
- he would def enjoy being the little spoon from time to time too ! but most of the time he just wants to be the one hugging you.
- it’s even better if you’re having a sleepover at his house because cookie joins you two !!! you two are just laying down when you see cookie running towards you while his little tail is wagging non stop !
- now the only con is that keonho sometimes grinds his teeth in his sleep which is kinda scary . . . but waking up next to him and seeing his crazy bed hair in the morning honestly makes it all worth it.
pairing. boyfriend ! martin edwards x fem ! reader
warnings + info. reader has trouble expressing herself, understanding martin, jealousy + tiny argument, racism mentioned, reader is said to be a foreigner, pet names, kissing, a bit of pda, reader is older than the 09z.
synopsis. you’ve always had trouble expressing yourself, thank god your boyfriend was always so understanding.
author’s note. 4/5 cortis members. a lil something for martin cause he’s too iconic <3 cortis tag list is open !!
wc. 2.7k words
▸ feedback and reblogs are heavily appreciated.
showing affection was something you were never good at, all your life you’ve always been like that. blame it on your strict parents or ex shitty friends, doesn’t matter. you weren’t confident in your words, even when you were in a scary situation.
not even when you got a boyfriend.
martin was understanding, kind and patient. he was every girls dream. which is why it’s surprising that he stuck around. every single time you stumbled over your words, he said them for you.
example #1: the time you didn’t really like the new shoes he got you.
“yeah, they’re really pretty. thank you martin.” you say softly, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek. martin didn’t say anything, just stared at you quietly.
“what is it?” you ask, unconsciously lifting up a hand to touch your face. did you have something on your face? oh god, don’t tell me you have left over sauce on your face. you knew eating those pork ribs were a bad idea.
“you don’t like them.” he said suddenly. you paused, your hand flying down. “what?” you mumbled. “of course i like them!”
“baby, you don’t have to lie to me. i knew it, i shouldn’t have listened to james. but don’t worry! i’ll return them.” he said, quickly wrapping the box you had previous unwrapped.
“what? no!” you exclaimed, your hands taking a hold of his wrist. “martin, look.. you’re right. they’re not my style, but they are really cute. i’m sure i can work something out with them.”
martin let out a little sigh, “are you sure?” you nodded, a little giggle slipping past your lips. “yes, now calm down.”
example #2: the time you were at the amusement park.
you gulped nervously as you stared up at the roller coasters. you didn’t have the heart to tell martin no when he invited you over with his friends. you thought you could get away with not having to get on the big rides.
martin had always been a scaredy cat when it came to heights. but then, he started rambling about how he was so excited to “try out the new roller coaster”.
“roller coaster?” you remember asking in the car. you sat in between martin and keonho, who couldn’t stay still while martin had a arm around your shoulder.
“yeah! noona it’s gonna be so cool. it goes super high!” keonho said excitedly, basically screaming into your ear over the loud music james was playing in the drivers seat.
“i heard it made someone throw up!” seonghyeon exclaimed behind you.
you felt your heart drop to your stomach.
and then it dropped to your ass when martin expressed excitement over this new roller coaster.
juhoon groaned in the passenger seat. “guess i won’t be able to eat before the ride.”
once at the amusement park and after getting off the giant teacups, keonho and seonghyeon ran past you and the others. “where are they going?” you couldn’t help but ask, your hand holding onto martin’s hand tightly.
“getting food. want anything, babe?”
your stomach grumbled, making you blush. martin laughed, kissing your temple. “c’mon, we can try those deep fried oreos you always wanted to try.”
“let’s share!” you hear james tell martin but you couldn’t muster up the courage to reply. not when you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.
because after eating, you’ll have to get on that tall ass ride.
you sit quietly, your gaze locked on the tall ride that you were soon going to get on.
“—be, babe.. baby!”
“huh? what?” you ask, turning to face martin. your face flushed once you realized that not only was martin staring at you in concern, so were his friends.
“you’re not eating.” martin said, a frown decorating his face. “oh, i’m not really hungry.” you say.
how could you eat when you were already feeling light-headed?
“you okay, noona?” seonghyeon asked, fork in hand.
“yeah, of course. why wouldn’t i be?” you say, throwing out a fake chuckle. the guys nod, giving martin a worried look before going back to showing each other instagram reels.
“y/nie, let’s go try to win something.” martin says after finishing his snack. “what?” you ask, noticing how he dragged you away from his friends and away from the scary roller coaster.
“but what about the ride? you said you were excited about it.” you asked, coming to a halt. martin shrugged, “not that interested anymore.”
you squint at him, “not that interested my ass, let’s go catch up with the guys.” you say, starting to turn around but martin quickly made you face him.
you blushed, gulping as you felt his larger hands on your waist before looking up at him. “i know you don’t wanna go on the ride.”
you freeze slightly, before scoffing. “of course i do, why else would i agree to it?”
“because you’re a good girlfriend. i saw the way your face paled when you were staring at the ride.” martin said softly, taking ahold on your hand.
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. you let out a heavy sigh, “okay fine, but.. you should still go on the ride. i can wait down here.”
martin frowned, “are you sure? we can go try out the bumper cars.”
you laugh, “we can try that after, now go! catch up with the boys.”
martin grinned, leaning down to leave a long, big kiss on your lips. “you’re the best girlfriend ever, remind me to propose when we’re legal.”
you watched him catch up with his friends with a grin, taking a couple pictures with your disposable camera.
example #3: the time he stood up for you.
being a foreigner in korea was already difficult. having to learn a whole new language and culture.
the people who looked down on you was the worst part.
you and martin were on y’all’s third date. he decided that taking you to a new restaurant was the way to go. it was a cute, rich place. bright lights and jazz music playing from the speakers.
the waiter though… he was certainly something. he looked around you and martin’s age, maybe just a few years older.
as soon as you sat down, you could feel the attitude coming from him. you just sat down, there’s no way you did something to offend him. your clothes fit the dress code and you were respectful to the lady at the front when you entered hang in hand with your (at the time) new boyfriend.
“hello young man, hi ma’am.. what can i get y’all to drink?” he said, a calm tone with martin, yet a condescending tone with you.
you didn’t comment on it.
“yes, can i get a sprite please?” you ask kindly.
“i’ll get the same thing.” martin said with a nod.
the waited wrote it down, nodding at martin before saying, “of course, take your time looking at the menu.”
… take your time, not ‘take y’all’s time’.
you stayed silent, watching him walk away before returning your gaze to martin. “so, what are you getting?”
“i think the chicken alfredo with shrimp. how about you, pretty?”
you blushed, looking down at the menu to try to hide your cheeks. “uhh, the same thing. can we get breadsticks?”
“whatever you want, mama.” martin said with a wink. you couldn’t help but giggle. you talked casually, making future hang outs and talking about the most random things.
that laughter died down when a loud sound made you flinch. a cup full of a dark drink was harshly slammed in front of you. you watched as a couple of drops fell onto the table.
martin watched with narrowed eyes as the man turned to him with a grin, gently setting down a cup full of a clear drink. “she also asked for a sprite.”
the man seemed unfazed, “oh, did she? i’m sure coke is fine for her, no?”
“why the fuck are you asking me?” martin asked, his tone clearly changed. you stared back and forth between the both of them, eyes almost bulging out of your eye sockets.
is this really happening?
“look, sir, watch your tone—”
“no, you watch your tone. what the hell is wrong with you? you’ve been nothing but an ass to her since we’ve been here. mind you, we haven’t even been here for 10 minutes.” he said loudly, pointing an accusing finger at the waiter.
“look man, we don’t accept foreigners here.” the waiter said. although your stomach dropped, you noticed how martin’s hands quickly turned into a fist.
“really? i didn’t see a fucking sign.”
“look, you we accept. at least you’re half asian, but she’s—”
“say some dumb shit about her and i swear to god—” martin said, standing up and stabbing his finger into the waiters chest. you quickly stand up, grabbing him by his forearm.
you gulped once you noticed that people were turning to give the waiter a dirty look. “martin, let’s just go.” you tried saying, but i guess you weren’t loud enough.
“is there a problem?” another man said, approaching y’all’s table. you let out a sigh, oh brother.
“yes, there is a problem. this man is being racist towards my girlfriend.” martin said even louder.
“let’s just go, martin!” you whisper shouted at him. martin gave you a wide eyed look, “hell no! he disrespected you, in front of me! he has to learn that there’s consequences for his behavior.”
“is this true?” the man wearing the fancy suit asked. the waiter gave a weak nod, “i’m just saying, there’s already a lot of foreigners in korea—”
“who are giving us business. look around, mr. kim! 50% of this building is filled with foreigners who reside here or are visiting! you know what, this is unacceptable. your apron, now!” he demanded, putting his hand out.
the shorter man looked up with a frown, “what?”
“he said he wants your apron.” martin instigated. you couldn’t help the little pinch you gave him on the back of his arm. the tall boy flinched but didn’t say anything.
once the shorter man finally decided to take off the apron and leave, the well dressed man turned towards you.
“i am so sorry about my ex-employee’s words and actions, your meal will be free and so will your next 2 meals that you decide to have here.”
martin nodded, pleased. “thank you sir. also, she wanted a sprite. he gave her a coke.”
the man looked even more disappointed. he took the cup with a nod, “one sprite coming up.”
once you and martin sat down, he gave you a wide grin. you leaned forward, giving him a deep kiss. “thank you, martin.”
“he’s lucky we’re in a restaurant. if he did that shit anywhere else, i would’ve stomped on him.”
you chuckled, shaking your head. “i fully believe you.”
example #4: the time you ignored him out of jealousy.
it started at a party. james had invited you and martin to his cousin’s birthday party and of course y’all agreed.
it began normally. y’all danced, sang along to songs y’all knew, and began catching up with friends you haven’t seen since school ended for summer break.
you looked good and you felt good, until she came along.
jiyoon always had a little crush on martin. you knew that because she made it so obvious. you vividly remember the time she sat in between you and martin while yall talked in gym class.
she practically ignored you, only trying to talk to martin.
your boyfriend immediately realized what she was doing and stood up, stepping over her to get in front of you.
“sorry jiyoon, but me and y/n were talking. see you later.” he said, grabbing onto your hand before dragging you behind him. you didn’t have to turn around to know she was fuming.
that was before y’all started dating, imagine the glares you got after y’all began dating.
now, you stood in the kitchen as you watched martin talking to jiyoon. you had stepped away from him to use to restroom, promising to be quick.
you didn’t know how to feel, but you couldn’t help the rage that crawled around your chest as you watched jiyoon throw her head back in laughter as she wrapped her hand around martin’s bicep.
you also couldn’t deny the fact that your eyes grew teary as you witnessed martin take ahold of her waist so she wouldn’t fall. it was stupid, right? he was just being nice.
then why was your throat closing up on you?
“y/nie?” you turned around at the random voice, only to realize it was juhoon. his face fell at the sight of your teary eyes. juhoon’s eyes followed your gaze and swallowed. “y/nie, i’m sure it’s not what it seems..”
you sniffled, “right. please tell him i don’t feel good. i’m going home.” you say, walking past him and walking past a cheerful keonho who began approaching the two of you.
“y/n!”
“noona! what happened?” you hear keonho ask juhoon. you didn’t stick around to find out what he said.
because you came with martin, you had to beg a friend for a ride. you weren’t even inside your home for 5 minutes before the texts came in.
giant lover 💘 : babe wya? juhoon said you left
giant lover 💘 : is something wrong?
giant lover 💘 : do you really not feel good? want me to stop for some medicine?
*one missed call*
giant lover 💘 : y/n answer the phone
*one missed call*
giant lover 💘 : pls answer the damn phone baby
*one missed call*
giant lover 💘 : did i do something wrong?
giant lover 💘 : i’m coming over
were you being petty? maybe. were you jealous? maybe. were you overreacting? who knows. were you going to open the door? fuck no.
“baby i know you’re here, i have your location!” martin said behind the door.
shit, he did.
“why’d you turn it off?!” he whined. “y/n, answer the door or i’ll call your mom!”
your mom didn’t scare you, not anymore at least.
“c’mon baby, i have food.”
you quirked an eyebrow. food?
“what type of food?”
“mexican tacos from down the street.” he replied.
oh, you’re not passing out on that. imagine your betrayal when you opened the door and there was no food in fucking sight.
“finally,” your boyfriend said, walking past you and into your home. “why were you ignoring my calls, my messages?”
“why don’t you have any food?”
“i asked you something first!”
“i don’t know, how about you go ask jiyoon. she seemed to clearly have all of your attention at the party.” you replied, slamming the door shut and walking past him.
martin frowned, following after you as you walked towards your room. “lee jiyoon? seriously? you’re acting like this over jiyoon?”
“you grabbed her waist, martin. so yes, i’m acting like this because of jiyoon.” you said, dropping onto your bed and getting on your phone.
“this has to be a joke. the same jiyoon i blocked on every social media platform i have because you don’t like her? the same jiyoon i got assigned with for a project yet i begged our teacher to change so i wouldn’t even have to look at her? that jiyoon?”
martin took your phone, forcing you to sit up before taking your hand into his. “juhoon told me you cried.” he mentioned softly.
you look away, your cheeks getting warm. “i almost cried, he should know the difference at his big age.” martin chuckled, leaving a soft peck on your forehead. “i’m sorry i made you feel that way, y/n. she came over and began rambling, i was stuck. and if you don’t like the fact that i saved her from eating shit, then i’ll let her fall next time. not that there will be a next time, though. just… don’t ignore me, okay?”
you bit your lip a little, looking down at his bracelets instead of his eyes. “you’re right. i’m sorry too, that was childish of me.”
martin shook his head, “no, it wasn’t. maybe the way you went about it, but you felt some type of way, that isn’t childish.”
you leaned forward, dropping your head into his shoulder. “why are you so amazing?”
“because i have an amazing girlfriend.”
sure, you didn’t know how to properly express yourself.
but you were always so grateful that you had a boyfriend who understood you without making you feel bad.
warnings + info. highschool au, fluff, mild cussing, reader is a bit awkward, shy keonho, 09 twins & 08 twins + reader are juniors while james is a senior.
synopsis. a bouquet of flowers are left on your desk like a trophy every day. you appreciated them, it actually made your day. there’s just one tiny problem, you don’t know who they’re from.
author’s note. some small cause we love keonho he’s so adorable im crine :( + just watched the new BTS interview and MY GOD HAVE I MISSED THEM </3! hyein (newjeans), rora (babymonster), ella (meovv) & yoonchae (katseye) mentioned!! no second part. divider credit!! @bhavihelps
wc. 2.4k words
▸ feedback & reblogs are heavy appreciated.
walking into class felt like a mystery, always wondering what type of flowers were going to be sitting on your desk. everybody in your class knew, they never asked questions after the first week it started happening.
they always got the same answer from you, "i don't know who left them, they didn't leave a note again."
you walk to your desk, already spotting the new bouquet of flowers. white roses, how romantic. you peek to your desk buddy who scrolled on his phone unbothered. after taking a seat, you tap his thigh.
"juhoon, quick question."
"shoot." he mumbled, not even looking up from his phone. "did you see who left the flowers?" you couldn't help but ask, even though deep down you already knew the answer.
it was the same answer you got everyday, "nope."
you sigh, shoulders slumping in disappointment. "they're gonna have to reveal themselves one day." you mumble, talking about your little secret admirer. "and they better make it quick."
you don't bother reacting to juhoon's stifled laugh.
in the cafeteria hours later, hyein stared at you with pity. "don't look at me like that," you mumble, picking at your untouched food. "it makes me feel like a loser."
"well, you look like one." she joked. you rolled your eyes, failing to keep a neutral expression. "it's just," you can't help the heavy exhale that left your lip-gloss covered lips. "it's so annoying. it's been going on since the beginning of the year."
"i would say put up a camera, but that'll never work. especially since we're at school.” hyein shrugged, stuffing her mouth with a nugget. "i wonder why it's taking them so long to fess up." you mutter, leaving hyein to shrug with a frown.
with your head in your hands, your eyes drift away from the only girl you pay attention to. you found yourself scanning the cafeteria tables around you, that were surrounded by teenage kids.
you spot yoonchae with her group. yoonchae talks to you during history class when the teacher isn't yapping his mouth off. now that you think of it, yoonchae knows everything that goes on in your school. mainly because yoonchae and her friends are everywhere, hearing drama from a student who heard it from another student.
"do you think yoonchae or her friend group know anything?" you ask hyein who shrugged. "maybe, those girls know everything. they congratulated me for recovering from the flu last week. how the fuck did they know i had the flu?" hyein said with food in her mouth. you gave her a look, making her give you a guilty look. "sorry.”
"i'm gonna go ask her. i'll be right back." hyein gave you a thumbs up with a smirk. when you reached yoonchae's table, the trio quickly quieted down at the sight of you. her friend, ella, gave you a teasing smile. "y/n, here to ask about your secret admirer?"
you frown, "uhm, yeah. how did you know?"
her other friend, rora, smirked. "why else would you be here?" she said while patting the spot next to her. you reluctantly sit, shoulders tense. "do you guys know who it is?”
yoonchae shook her head, "no, unfortunately. but we know who does." you perk up, "who? do i know them?" ella chuckled, "even better, you sit next to him everyday."
you frown once more, only one person coming to mind. "wait, are you talking about juhoon?" rora nodded, "that's the one."
"but he said he never sees the person who leaves the flowers."
"that's because he doesn't. juhoon leaves the flowers on behalf of your secret admirer." ella explained. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. you felt a sense of betrayal in your chest. juhoon knows how much you've been wanting to know the person who leaves you a bouquet of flowers everyday.
"how do you know this?" was the only thing that could leave your mouth.
ella smirked, "my associate heard juhoon talking on the phone with your secret admirer. quote on quote saying, "i can't keep leaving flowers on her desk, i'm waking up 30 minutes early to get here before anybody else" he was obviously unaware that somebody heard him."
"need help confronting him? i have a good angry voice!" rora said with a wide smile. you gave her a awkward smile,
"uhm no, thanks. thank you guys, i'll see yall later." you said before standing up and quickly walking back to hyein who was already staring at you with raised eyebrows.
"i'm assuming you heard something you didn't like, but that's just a quick observation." she said with a chuckle as you sat down in front of her. "they said juhoon knows who my secret admirer is."
hyein's face filled with shock. "holy shit, are they sure?" you nodded, shoving a fry into your mouth. "somebody heard him on the phone, complaining about how he had to leave flowers on the behalf of my admirer.
your best friend's mouth fell open, "and that bitch had the nerve to lie to your face, we need to beat his ass!"
you shook your head after rolling your eyes jokingly, "we're not beating anybody's ass. if anything he'd probably beat our ass. i'm just gonna talk to him." hyein perked up like a puppy wanting a treat. "i'm coming with you!"
"i regret coming with you." hyein groaned loudly, trying to get comfortable in the passenger seat of your car. "shh!" you whisper shouted, even though nobody could hear you.
you and hyein watched the school doors with an eye of an hawk, trying to spot juhoon.
you've been sitting in front of the school for almost three hours, waiting for juhoon to finish basketball practice.
"what if he already left and we missed him?"
you shook your head, "doubt it. he always leaves with james and his car is still here." you say, pointing at the senior's gray car that sat a couple of feet away from your own car.
hyein sat up, shaking your shoulder repeatedly. "he's coming out, let's go!" she said excitedly before opening the door. you follow quickly after her, catching james and juhoon's eye immediately.
"oh, hey girls." james said with a smile. you gave him a little wave before turning to juhoon. "we need to talk."
juhoon raised a brow at your non-sweet tone. "about what?" you give james a little side glance before turning back to the junior. "in private."
james pressed his lips together before turning to hyein, "let's take a walk i guess." hyein patted your back before following after james. juhoon walked closer to you, his brows frowned in confusion. "is something wrong?"
"i know you know, juhoon."
you could see the way he froze, the way his shoulders tense up before he shook his head. "know what?"
"stop playing dumb," you muttered annoyed. juhoon visibly gulped, you've never been mad at him. "you know who my secret admirer is."
he stayed silent for a couple seconds, a million thoughts running through his mind. juhoon looked away from your piercing gaze, contemplating his next words.
a heavy sigh left his lips, "fine, i know."
you gently slapped his shoulder, "juhoon! you know i've been wanting to figure out who this person is. i asked you everyday and you lied to me every time!"
"i know, i'm sorry y/n. truly. it's just.. he didn't want me to tell you." he said softly, not bothered by the hit he received.
"who?" you asked.
"i can't tell you." he whispered. you grabbed onto his shoulders, "juhoon, you'll be doing me a solid if you tell me who this person is. please? i won't say that i know, just.. tell me."
juhoon bit his lip nervously, but before he could answer, the front doors of the school opened, 3 figures walking outside right after.
you pull away from juhoon and turn, easily recognizing the boys that walked out as classmates from a couple of your classes.
the tall one with blonde hair, martin edwards. the one with the dimples, eom seonghyeon. and the shy quiet one that's always smiling, ahn keonho.
martin cleared his throat, sensing the tension. "everything good?" juhoon gave you a quick glance, "yeah, we're fine."
"are you okay?" keonho suddenly asked you. you nodded, eyes darting to hyein and james who was approaching the group.
"what were y'all talking about?" seonghyeon asked, looking between the both of y'all. juhoon shook his head, "homework."
"it looked pretty heated." keonho said, his eyes stuck on juhoon. you couldn't help but notice the look keonho was giving juhoon.
it was a nervous look, it almost looked like.. fear. for someone who's usually all smiley and joyful, he looked pretty serious. a sudden thought ran through your mind. what if he was scared juhoon spilled something?
nahhh, that wouldn't make sense. you and keonho barely talked. you could count with your fingers how many times yall have ever shared words (3 times in total). it truly wouldn't make sense for him to have any sort of feelings towards you. well, at least that's what you think.
"it was nothing important." you muttered out. "well, me and y/n are gonna get going." hyein said as she took ahold of your arm.
as hyein talked, you could see keonho staring at you from the corner of your eye. you shifted, your neck getting a bit warm. why was he staring at you? did you have something on your face?
"oh, where are you guys going?" keonho asked with a smile. he was cute, in a puppy kind of way. "oh uhm, my and y/n have to finish a project for ms.lee's class." hyein said.
seonghyeon nodded, "oh, well see you girls tomorrow." you both nodded, hyein getting ready to leave but before yall could leave, you pull juhoon to the side. "i'm serious ju, tell your little friend to stop leaving me flowers if they're gonna continue hiding behind you." you say.
you took notice of juhoon's nervous eyes, the way they quickly darted to keonho. it lasted for one second, but you saw it.
juhoon nodded, "alright, see you tomorrow."
"see you."
the drive to hyein's place was quiet. you couldn't help but think of all the signs that were there.
keonho's frightened stare, the look juhoon gave keonho, the way he was staring at you.
it all pointed back to him. ahn keonho.
"i can feel a headache coming, i want to punch juhoon in the ass." you grumble under your breath. hyein chuckled, shaking her head.
"you know i wasn't lying about that project, right? we seriously need to finish it or else ms. lee is gonna fail our asses." hyein said, making you whine.
"finee. we need to pick up ribbons to make it look presentable." you chuckled, turning the car into the local flower shop. they have the prettiest ribbons.
the bell above the door jingles as you and hyein walk in. and almost like it was fate, there he was.
ahn keonho.
how did he get here so quick? maybe james dropped him off? was the only thing you could think of when you saw him.
he's standing at the counter, holding a bouquet of orange tulips. you felt yourself freeze. nah, it had to be a coincidence. somehow he hasn't noticed you yet.
you feel hyein grab onto your arm, "no way, am i seeing this correctly?" she whisper shouted, but you couldn't find your voice to answer her.
keonho looked awkward at the register, digging into his pockets for cash. he looked so.. nervous. why was he nervous?
the elderly lady at the register gave him a soft, knowing smile. "ah young man, don't be so nervous. you've been buying flowers everyday like it's a mission. i'm sure who ever the lucky girl is will like you back."
your breath hitches.
he's been buying flowers everyday.
every. day.
now that, is not a coincidence.
you can feel your ears start to ring.
almost as if he sensed you, keonho froze up. quickly glancing towards the door and immediately locking eyes with you. it felt like everything stopped. you noticed the way his ears turned a rosy red along with his cheeks.
you felt like you couldn't move. not like you wanted to, honestly.
the cashier follows his gaze and gasps, "oh, is this the lucky girl?" keonho clears his throat, not answering and instead dropping the exact change on the counter. "thank you, mrs. kim."
hyein squeezed your arm so hard it hurt. "i knew it!" she hissed under her breath.
keonho turns towards the door, well, towards you. it almost looked like he was about to bolt. the way his eyes kept shifting around, looking for another exit maybe.
but instead, he stops in front of you. he won't look at you at first, keeping his eyes on the orange tulips instead of your dark, beautiful eyes.
"uhm.. i'm gonna go look at plants, or something." hyein quickly said, giving you a wink before disappearing behind an aisle. your gaze returns to keonho who is still keeping his eyes down.
before you could say anything, he speaks up. "these were going to be on your desk tomorrow." he said quietly. you almost wanted to coo out loud due to how red his cheeks were. your heart was beating so loud you're sure he could hear it.
"did you know? did juhoon tell you?" he asked, puppy eyes looking down at you. you shook your head, "nah, couldn't get him to break. but.. i did have a feeling."
he nodded, looking back down nervously. you shifted, deciding on your next step.
"why didn't you tell me?" you asked quietly. he stayed quiet for a second, before shrugging, one shoulder lifting. "i didn't think you'd want them.. from me."
your chest ached, hearing him so sad. you reach for the flowers, his fingers brushing yours. he almost pulled back, but you quickly grab onto his hand.
"i did want them from you," you say softly. "i do want them from you." his eyes flicker up to stare into yours, a look of disbelief painted on his face. "wait, really?"
you nodded, a soft look taking over your features when you felt his hand shake. "tomorrow, you won't have to make juhoon sneak them into my desk."
he blinks, clearly dumbfounded. "i won't?"
"no," you smirk a bit. "because you will give them to me yourself, face to face."
and for the first time since you entered the little flower shop, he smiled. so brightly that you couldn't help but copy him. "okay, i will. also.. how about i take you out friday night?"
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