An (Unofficial) Guide to Spotting AI-Written Fics and What to Do When You Find One
I've been wanting to talk about this for quite a while now because, as many people in this community already know, there's been a lot of accusations, hate, and drama surrounding AI generated writing and that made me want to add my own little grain of sand to the desert for two reasons: first, we can't go around anonymously hating people just because someone else told us they're doing something that goes against our morals or principles.
Second, we shouldn't base our opinions solely on what another person says. We should be able to recognize AI generated writing ourselves and know how to respond to it instead of simply following the crowd.
This is going to be a bit long, but I want to explain everything as clearly as possible, so I'll divide it into the following sections:
Common AI writing patterns that can help you identify it.
Things AI often does that aren't, by themselves, proof of AI use (context always matters).
What to do when you come across a fic that was written using AI.
Common AI patterns that can help you identify it
In this section, I want to focus on the recurring details I've noticed many newer "authors" using lately. These aren't just matters of writing style or prose, they're patterns in the structure of the text itself and, more importantly, in how consistently they appear throughout a work.
Paragraph spacing
One thing these fics often have in common is unusually large spaces between paragraphs, and there's actually a pretty simple reason for that. Whenever you copy text from one application to another (Word, Google Docs, etc), the paragraph formatting depends on the program where it was originally written.
Tumblr doesn't require double spacing between paragraphs. ChatGPT and similar AI interfaces, however, do use that extra blank line to distinguish separate paragraphs, and that formatting often stays intact when people copy and paste the text elsewhere.
Random bold dialogue
Before I get into this one, I want to make something clear: if an author bolds all of the dialogue in their fic, it's much harder to use this as evidence. That can simply be a stylistic choice to separate dialogue from narration or internal thoughts.
However —and this is something I've noticed a lot— AI tends to randomly bold certain dialogue while leaving the rest in regular text. Most of the time those lines aren't even particularly important. It'll just highlight four or five consecutive lines for no apparent reason.
Extremely short paragraphs (like... really short)
For some reason that completely escapes me, AI absolutely loves breaking paragraphs after almost every period, as if paragraph breaks and sentence breaks were the same thing. Using this once or twice is perfectly fine, especially for emphasis, dramatic pauses, gestures, or the classic "Oh. Oh." that we all love. But doing it every single chance you get? That starts feeling strange. If you're reading a long fic and you keep seeing two-line paragraphs where, as a reader, you can clearly tell the entire thought could have stayed together, you've probably found another clue.
Heads up!! this doesn't necessarily apply to paragraphs that include dialogue. Those naturally tend to be shorter lol.
"It wasn't X. It was Y/But Y."
A lot of people have probably heard about this one already, and I also understand why many people don't consider it reliable proof of AI use. Honestly, I use this structure myself from time to time. But once again... context is everything.
These tips are useless if you, as a reader, don't consider the author's overall style and the context of the fic. AI often pairs this structure with very abrupt, isolated sentences. Here's an example:
"It wasn't annoyance. It was passion. Desire."
Compared to something like:
"It wasn't annoyance that he felt. No. It was something far greater than that, passion, desire, for something he could never have, for something he longed to hold in his arms even though he knew it could never truly belong to him."
The difference might not jump out immediately, so here's what I mean: AI tends to lean toward one of two extremes: it's either very direct or excessively poetic.
When it uses this particular structure, it usually falls into the first category. Why? Because it's trying to show the emotion through short, impactful statements. Expanding on the feeling, in its "logic," risks weakening the emotional punch, so it prefers brief, declarative fragments instead.
Things AI often does that aren't, by themselves, proof of AI use
In this section, I want to talk about a few things that, as both a writer and a reader, I know can easily be misinterpreted as signs of AI use. Personally, I don't think any of these should be used on their own to accuse someone of using AI (and honestly, no single "sign" should ever be enough to justify attacking someone.)
The em dash (—)
Yes, I know. This is probably the most common one. Even so, I still want to mention it because it's always worth remembering that not everything you see with an em dash was written by AI (despite it being one of the main things people point to when accusing writers for some reason).
Is it something AI uses frequently? Absolutely. We all know that, but it only becomes suspicious when it's being used constantly, over a short span of text, for every pause, every explanation, every interruption, every transition.
Like everything else on this list, frequency and context matter much more than the feature itself.
Perfect grammar and no spelling mistakes
Honestly I've never really understood this one. A perfectly polished piece of writing doesn't automatically mean AI had its digital hands on it. Grammar checkers exist (which I absolutely love using), authors spend hours editing and revising their work, and most writing platforms even have built-in spellcheck.
On the other hand, there are also people who do use AI and intentionally add mistakes afterward just to make it look more "human." So the presence —or absence— of spelling mistakes tells you very little by itself.
Posting fics consistently
I've seen people accuse authors of using AI simply because they post stories frequently, which is genuinely wild to me. Do people forget that writers can have stories sitting in their drafts for months, or even years? Or that some people simply write faster than others? There are plenty of authors who've been writing for years without posting anything online, either because they didn't know where to share their work or because they weren't confident enough in it at the time.
Then one day they change their minds and finally decide to publish those older stories. How quickly someone uploads new work doesn't necessarily prove anything.
That's why I always recommend checking the author's profile instead. Read what they write outside of their fiction. Look at how they interact with readers. Even something as simple as reading the author's notes can tell you where the story came from and what inspired it.
In my opinion, there's no better way to get a sense of whether someone genuinely writes their own work than by listening to their own voice, the way they naturally express themselves outside of the story.
What to do when you come across a fic that was written using AI
This section is much shorter because the answer is pretty simple: "Okay, but what am I supposed to do if I come across someone whose writing checks every single box on this list?"
Well, dear reader, it's as simple as ignoring the account and blocking it. Should you go around telling everyone about them? Should you publicly accuse them and make them feel like bullshit just because they fit all of these patterns? Absolutely not.
That was never the purpose of this post.
I understand the frustration that comes with seeing someone you strongly believe is using AI receive attention and praise. I really do. As a writer, I feel it too. Watching people gain recognition for work that feels so obviously generated can be incredibly discouraging.
But that frustration doesn't justify harassment of any kind. Of course, you can warn your close friends or the people you trust in this community so they can avoid content they'd rather not support, but public call-out posts aren't a solution, confronting people usually isn't either, because honestly... do you really think they're going to admit they're using AI? Most of them won't.
Whether we like it or not, those stories will continue to find readers, the only thing we can truly control is our own response.
We can learn to recognize the patterns, avoid the stories we don't want to support, and move on. And most importantly, we can keep creating, keep reading, and keep doing our part to keep this community alive with stories written by real people.
summary: a glimpse into what loving geum seongje looks like—messy, soft, deeply yours. and after all these years, he still has all of your heart.
pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader
genre: romance, slice of life
word count: 5.1k
first.
you and seongje had been together for a while now. you'd somehow made it through that rocky stretch hand in hand, and now here you were, college students at different schools, in completely different rhythms of life, but still orbiting each other.
at first, everyone had an opinion. they had plenty to say when you started openly seeing the mad dog of ganghak high. but after a few months, the noise died down. there was simply nothing left to say. you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.
your parents had been the hardest. not surprised, really. they weren't strict about dating, never hovered too close. but the night they saw him for the first time, walking you home, eyes dark, cheek split, knuckles raw, it was written all over their faces. alarm. disappointment. a hundred questions they didn't want the answers to.
he looked like every bad decision a parent warned their daughter about.
still, they didn't try to tear it apart. maybe because you've never given them a reason not to trust you. you were a good daughter. they hated the idea of him, hated the way he looked at you like the world owed him blood, but they didn't interfere. not yet. not unless they had to. you could feel it hanging in the air though. one day, they'd say they wanted to meet him officially. and when that day came... well. you'd deal with it.
college life came with its quiet perks. one of them being the blessed indifference of your peers. no whispers. no curious stares. no one cornering you to ask what you saw in "that guy". people mostly kept to themselves, and for the most part, you liked it that way. you were finally able to like him without feeling like you owed the world an explanation for it.
which is why it threw you completely off when he showed up. out of nowhere. again.
you had told him you were going out with your friends, just a casual hangout after class. you hadn't bothered to mention where, because you didn't think you needed to. it wasn't like you were hiding anything. but it turned out you didn't even need to tell him. somehow, seongje always found you. like he had a sixth sense for when you were around other guys. or a tracker. you still weren't sure which one it was.
and this time, he didn't just lurk from afar like he sometimes did. he walked straight into the middle of your day and picked a fight. literally.
he didn't like the look of the guys in your group. or maybe it was just the fact that there were guys. you could tell he had already made up a story in his head about who they were and why they were there, and that was enough for him to square up like it was high school all over again. you tried, really tried to pull him aside, to talk him down, to tell him that he was blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't even look at you. like your voice didn't matter once his temper had already started rolling downhill.
and to make things worse, it turned out the guys in your group did have some kind of history with the union. not deep, but enough to make seongje grin like he'd just been handed an excuse on a silver platter.
the tension cracked. words were exchanged. chairs were scraped back. and you stood there, stuck, watching the day spiral while your friends looked at you with wide eyes and quiet apologies.
one of the girls leaned over to whisper, "sorry... the guys shouldn't have egged him on."
but all you could do was shake your head, eyes still fixed on seongje like you were trying to make sense of how quickly things had unraveled.
"no," you muttered, jaw tight. "i should be the one apologizing."
because he came uninvited. he started it.
and it wasn't just the fight, it was the way he completely brushed off your voice when you told him to stop. like your presence wasn't enough to make him pause. like your boundaries came second to whatever score he thought he had to settle. you knew how seongje was, violent, impulsive, always bristling with the urge to break something, but he wasn't supposed to treat you like noise in the background.
he didn't need to protect you from anything today. he just needed to respect you. and right now, he didn't.
the doorbell had been ringing for ten minutes straight.
you'd muted your phone after the fifth message. then came the calls. then knocking. then the doorbell again, rhythmic like he was playing a game. you didn't have to check to know who it was. no one else was that annoyingly persistent. eventually, your patience snapped, and you stormed to the door just to shut him up.
he barely looked relieved when you opened it, like he expected you to slam it in his face instead. his phone was still clutched in one hand, unread messages stacked like unfinished apologies. his hair was a mess, his jacket crooked, but his eyes were locked onto yours.
"...can i come in?"
you didn't answer. just stepped aside.
you didn't say anything as you walked back in either. didn't acknowledge the way he followed you like a puppy that didn't know where to sit. his mouth opened, maybe to try something stupid, but when you shot him a look over your shoulder, he shut up for once.
he settled on the couch. quietly. which was almost suspicious.
you turned, intending to retreat to your room, but the second you passed him, he hooked a lazy finger into your belt loop. the tug was gentle, but it halted your escape. you huffed, glaring down at him, but he didn't even look fazed. he just pulled you in.
you didn't resist, though you did sigh in disbelief as he shifted you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrapped loosely around you waist, then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder.
no smirk. no cocky remark. just stillness. he stayed quiet, but it wasn't peace.
it was tension. his arms were around you, but his jaw was clenched. you could feel it, he was holding back, like if he spoke, the wrong words would come out. again.
you sighed and stared straight ahead. "we already talked about this."
his fingers tightened a fraction around your waist. "...i know."
your throat tightened. "i already told you not to pull that shit again, seongje."
"...i know."
you pulled back, just enough to look at him, and he didn't meet your eyes. that alone annoyed you more than the words. it was like he was agreeing just to make it stop. like this whole thing wasn't serious, like he hadn't embarrassed you in front of your new friends, ignored you when you told him to stop, acted like you didn't matter in the middle of it all.
"if you're gonna talk like that," you said, voice sharpening like a blade, "then don't talk to me at all. and don't bother showing up if you're just gonna ignore everything i say."
that landed.
you felt it immediately, the way his arms stiffened around you, the sudden cold edge that cut through his expression. his head lifted slightly, and when he looked at you, his eyes had lost that sheepish desperation.
not angry at you, not quite, but he was frustrated. at the situation. at himself. at the fact that this wasn't going his way. seongje never liked not getting what he wanted. and right now, what he wanted was you to forgive him without making him feel small.
but he wasn't stupid. he knew what would happen if he pushed you again.
you'd gone silent on him before. days of unread messages, no answers, no sightings. it drove him halfway mad.
he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let that happen again.
"...fine." his tone came sharp, his voice clipped. "i won't do it again."
you narrowed your eyes. that tone—like he was doing you a favor.
you stood up.
he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, firm but not forceful. he didn't pull, just held.
then, in a voice that barely registered above a breath, he said, "i'm sorry."
you froze. he didn't look at you when he said it. his head was lowered again, gaze locked somewhere near the floor. his grip loosened slightly, as if expecting you to pull away. as if he'd already braced for the worst.
you didn't say anything.
you were still pissed. but still... there was something about the way he said it.
he did not apologize. not to anyone. he didn't believe in it. thought it was dumb. weak. but ever since he met you, he'd been doing a lot of things he never thought he would. giving in. holding back. trying.
and right now, it was written all over him, the struggle, the resentment, the need.
you didn't melt, not entirely, but something in you softened. just a little. because you knew what it took for him to say that word. and how much it killed him to be the one begging to be forgiven.
you stayed still. not because you didn't hear it, but because you did. because it sounded so unlike him that you needed a second just to let it settle in.
then with a quiet motion, his hand slid gently around your wrist, then your waist, coaxing you toward him until you were standing between his knees. he wrapped his arms around your hips, slow and steady, and leaned his head against your stomach.
not a word. just his arms, warm and solid. his forehead pressing into your shirt like he was waiting. not demanding, not begging. just waiting for you to forgive him.
you let out a long sigh, loud enough for him to hear. you weren't ready to let him off easy, not when you had every right to be upset, but you also weren't cruel.
your hand moved slowly to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, rubbing at his scalp in small, deliberate strokes. that was all he needed.
seongje exhaled deeply, almost in relief, and pulled you into his lap again without a second's hesitation.
his forehead met yours, eyes locked on you with something softer than guilt. apology. maybe even gratitude. you could feel it, the way he was turning soft for you, even if he didn't know how to hold it. his rage never vanished, it just curled its way into something quieter.
your hands came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing gently into his cheeks. "i'm serious." you said, tilting his face toward yours so he couldn't look away. "you don't get to pretend like nothing happened. you have to actually try."
he didn't answer. didn't agree, didn't joke. just leaned in closer, and closer, waiting.
you didn't make him wait long.
the kiss wasn't rushed or hungry, it wasn't sharp like most of what existed between you. it was slow and careful. his mouth brushed yours like he still thought you might pull away. you didn't.
he sighed into your lips like he needed the kiss to steady him. and maybe he did.
when you finally pulled away, the kiss still warm on your lips, you let out a breath. not with frustration this time, but something gentler. something that settled deep in your chest.
you stared at him, eyes tracing every detail like you were trying to memorize him all over again. the dark lashes that curled a little too perfectly, the stubborn cut near his cheekbone, the beauty mark under his eye.
"you've got such a pretty face," you murmured, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "makes it easier to forgive you."
that was all it took. seongje flushed so fast it was almost impressive. his whole face went red, the color kept crawling down his neck and all the way to his ears.
"fuck off," he blurted and shoved you off his lap.
you stumbled backward with a yelp. but he was just as quick to shoot his hand out, fingers curling tight around your wrist to yank you right back in.
"fucking—stay still," he muttered, flustered beyond repair. he crushed you against his chest like a feral cat with its prey. his heart thudding hard against your ear, giving away everything he wouldn't say out loud.
you wriggled a little in protest, not really trying to escape. "you are so infuriating," you muttered, breathing out a laugh despite yourself. "you're lucky i love you."
you felt him stiffened. he didn't respond right away. just slumped forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like he couldn't take it. like those words short-circuited something inside him.
every single time you said it, he folded like a paper.
his breath faltered against your skin before he bit you. sharp and sudden, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. you jerked against him in surprise, only to feel the swipe of his tongue over the spot like an apology.
"fuck," he rasped, voice rough. "stop saying shit like that."
"like what?" you asked, breath catching. you were still reeling from the bite.
he scoffed, but it was weak. almost like he choked on it. "you know what it does to me."
"so you want me to stop?" you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "really?"
he didn't answer, didn't have to. because the look on his face said everything. the ache in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his hands were still gripping your shirt like he was terrified you'd slip away if he let go.
"we're getting sidetracked. you can't just bite me and hope i'll forget."
he scowled. "worked last time."
"it didn't," you lied.
he narrowed his eyes. "then why aren't you yelling anymore?"
you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "you are the worst."
eventually, he leaned in again. pressed his forehead to yours like he didn't know how else to be close. like saying sorry with words still felt foreign, but this, this closeness, he could do. you smiled.
"you're so adorable sometimes."
"shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, burying his face into your neck to hide what little pride he had left. his arms coiled tighter around your waist, every inch of his body pressed close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment.
god, he belonged to you in ways even he didn't understand.
you ran your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow circles until his breathing evened out. he melted further, practically boneless in your arms. it would've been funny if it weren't so stupidly endearing.
it was that time of the month again. and like clockwork, seongje was at your beck and call.
it was funny, really, how he responded to your cramps like it was a code red emergency every time. he didn't hover exactly, but he was always there. like a shadow. like a guard dog. like someone who had once made a silent promise to never let you suffer alone, even if the enemy was just your own hormones.
it was during the early months of your relationship, back when everything still felt too new. seongje had texted you one saturday morning, casually demanding your presence like he always did. as usual, he expected you to say yes.
instead, you replied with, 'not in the mood'.
it was short, not your usual way of responding to him. well, unless you were upset.
his call came seconds later.
"what the hell do you mean, not in the mood?" his tone sharp, offended, as if the very idea of you turning him down was a personal attack.
you didn't even flinch. just lay there in bed, clutching your stomach. "i'm on my period. i have bad cramps," you answered, voice flat, tired, unbothered.
then there was silence. total silence.
you pulled the phone away from your ear to check if the call had ended.
"hello? still there?"
"...yeah." his voice was lower now. unsure. "i'm here." he paused. "is there... anything i can do?"
you would've laughed, only if you weren't doubled over from pain. it was obvious he didn't know how to react, probably regretting all his impulsive dramatics from three minutes ago. his brain spiraling now that you dropped a truth too real and too biological for someone like him to handle without mentally imploding.
"no, you don't have to do anything. i'll see you next week once i stop dying."
you had imagined him on the other end, slack-jawed and helpless. no cocky comebacks. no pushback. just stunned silence as he tried to process that there were some things he couldn't fix by throwing fists.
but it turns out he had a way of surprising you.
later that same day, he'd shown up at your doorstep. no warning, no messages. just him, standing there with a plastic bag in one hand, a pint of your favorite ice cream in the other, and the most unconvincing attempt at indifference painted across his face.
you blinked at him, confused. "what are you doing here?"
"well," he muttered, eyes darting away. "didn't say i couldn't show up."
his tone was clipped, almost sulky, but you could see the way his eyes flickered nervously, scanning your face like he was bracing himself for rejection. he stood there stiffly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ready to bolt if you said the word. instead, you let him in.
you spent the afternoon on the couch. he kept his distance, which was weird, suspiciously well-behaved. seongje didn't like giving you space. physical contact had been his default setting ever since he stopped feeling awkward about it. but that day, he was stiff as a board, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tv like he was forcing himself to focus on the movie.
you didn't comment. just accepted the ice cream and slowly ate it beside him in silence.
and after a while, once the worst of the cramps dulled, you quietly shifted closer and tucked yourself against his side.
"thanks," you murmured, lips brushing the sleeve of his shirt.
he didn't say anything. just exhaled, and finally let his arm wrap around you. not possessively, not urgently, just enough to keep you close, careful not to press where it hurt.
it was the first time he took care of you like that. the first time he showed that he could. it became a routine ever since.
and now, he was still at it.
seongje was sprawled on the floor in front of you, leaning against the coffee table with a bag of heating pads and snacks. he reached up to hand you a warm bottle wordlessly, brows furrowed like he was the one in pain.
"you look like a kicked dog," you mumbled from your cocoon of blankets.
"i feel like one," he grumbled. "you act like you're dying and i'm just supposed to watch?"
"i am dying."
he rolled his eyes but didn't argue. instead, he sat back and stared at the tv, clearly bored. his leg bounced. his fingers drummed.
"wanna fight?"
you didn't even look at him. "no."
"not even verbally? i could call you something mean."
"you could leave."
"or i could stay and be annoying."
"you already are."
he smirked because you were talking. which meant you weren't mad at him for hovering. slowly, he crawled onto the couch, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to push him off. when he finally wedged himself beside you and laid his head in your lap, you sighed.
"i didn't forget your favorite dessert this time."
"that's called being decent."
"it's called caring, brat."
you snorted. "say that again. i dare you."
he sat up halfway, looking like he might say something bold, but thought better of it and flopped back down.
"don't die. i'll get bored." he muffled.
you laughed quietly. when you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his eye twitched, like his brain malfunctioned.
"what now?" he asked suspiciously.
"nothing," you said, lips curving into a soft smile. "i just really like you."
he grunted, annoyed. but the red tint in his ears said everything else.
you both weren't doing anything particularly special. just walking. trees lining the path had turned shades of amber, rust, and gold. seongje walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, completely at ease.
it was nice. quiet. comfortable.
and maybe that was why it hit you.
you blinked up at the sky, pale and moody in that late-autumn kind of way, and suddenly felt it settle in your chest—that ache. the one that always came with change.
"we're graduating soon," you murmured without meaning to.
he glanced at you, squinting against the sun. "yeah?"
you hummed. there was no need to elaborate, but your brain wouldn't stop there.
soon you'd walk across that stage. soon you'd be holding a degree in your hands. and what then?
what would you be without exams, without early morning classes, without the label of student tied neatly to your identity like a tag?
what would you do?
what would you be?
would everything change?
you didn't mean to spiral, but—
your eyes flicked toward seongje again. he was half a step ahead now, kicking at a stray pinecone. wind caught the ends of his hair, curling them against his cheek. his profile was all sharp lines and shadows, beautiful in the way he always was, aggressively so.
and just like that, it steadied you.
there was a time you thought you wouldn't make it past the first year. too different. too messy. too much history clinging to his name, and too much doubt hanging in the air.
but now, years later, here he was. still beside you. still loud and reckless and impulsive, but softer. only for you. not always, not overtly, but in the little ways that mattered.
he was still him. but somehow, better.
you didn't notice when your steps slowed. he did.
"you good?" he asked, brow quirking.
"yeah," your voice cracked on the word, embarrassingly emotional. you cleared your throat. "just thinking."
"that's dangerous," you let out a breathless laugh.
"do you ever think about how far we've come?"
he stared at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. "from where?"
"from where we started."
he rolled his eyes. "you hated me when we met."
"you deserved it."
"no arguments there."
you smiled. "but still. you're here."
something passed over his face then, brief, unreadable. but then he was looking away, jaw shifting like he didn't know what to do with the way your words made his chest feel tight.
you reached out and took his hand.
"thank you," you said.
"for what?"
"for everything."
"you're acting like i'm gonna die tomorrow."
you huffed. "you're impossible."
"and you're sappy."
"only when it comes to you."
he made a face, looked away quickly. you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.
maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the orange leaves. or maybe it was just the clarity of a moment where nothing else seemed to matter. but you felt it again.
the weight in your chest. but this time, it wasn't fear. it was peace.
with him, the world felt a little less terrifying. a little more manageable. like no matter what the future threw at you, how uncertain, how intimidating, how vast, he'd still be beside you. loud and annoying and occasionally stupid, but there.
yours.
you linked your arm with his, casual like it meant nothing. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. he didn't say anything. just bumped you gently with his arm.
you two kept walking.
but that was everything you could have asked for.
you were making something simple for the two of you, moving around the kitchen with that quiet ease he'd grown used to. the soft clinks and rustles of your movements, it filled the room like background noise he never wanted to lose.
it was the way your presence still settled into his space like it was meant to be there. even after all these years, it still caught him off guard sometimes. how much of his life had quietly shaped itself around you.
he'd never tell you this, wouldn't even admit it if you pried it out of his skull. but somewhere between the convenience store runs and moments he found you sleeping on his shoulder, something in him had slowed down.
he knew then. fuck, he knew. that this was it for him. that there was no one else, and there wouldn't ever be.
and if he wanted to keep you, if he wanted to deserve that kind of peace, then he couldn't keep living like none of it mattered. something had to give.
not because you asked him to. you didn't, even when he was at his worst. you never looked at him with disappointment, never threw his mess in his face like you could've. you saw him. took him as he was, back when he was still half-feral and too wild to sit still for anything except your voice. that was the thing. you loved him without conditions. and that's what made it worse.
because no one ever asked him to be better. and now he wanted to be. just for you.
so he started small. stopped smoking around you the second he realized you didn't like the smell. you never said anything, but then he noticed the way your nose crinkled slightly when he leaned in too close. you still held his face, kissed him like nothing was wrong. but that was enough. he wanted you to want to be close.
he stopped picking fights for the thrill of it. started actually thinking ahead. he still cracked jaws if someone touched you or looked at you the wrong way, but he wasn't out for blood just to feel alive anymore. not when he had you. not when you made him feel alive more than anything else.
he had something better, something real.
he didn't say anything at first. just watched you from the couch, arms draped across the backrest, hair messy, shirt still wrinkled from sleep.
you were just making breakfast like you sometimes did when you stayed over.
but goddamn, he could barely breathe just watching you move.
there were some moments, fleeting and unpredictable, when the weight of how much he loved you knocked the air straight out of his lungs. when his body didn't know what to do with the feeling, and his heart felt too small to hold it all.
this was one of those moments.
he got up without thinking.
you didn't notice him watching. you were too focused, hands moving with quiet intent, your eyes fixed, lips set in that soft line you always wore when you were busy doing something.
he hovered nearby, restless, pacing, almost like he didn't know where to put himself. until finally, he reached for you, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.
you looked up, and there it was again.
the second your eyes met his, the entire world silenced. your lips parted, breath hitching, because that look in his eyes, it always made you want to cry.
he was looking at you like you were the whole damn world.
and you were.
"something up?" you asked in a quiet voice.
he didn't answer. instead, he gently took your hand, fingers a little clumsy, a little too tight, and interlaced them with his own, like it was the only way he could keep the feelings from spilling out of his chest.
and then, with a quiet breath, he brought your joined hands to his lips.
he kissed your ring finger.
slowly. tenderly. reverently.
not like someone touching skin. but like someone touching a vow.
your breath caught.
he held your gaze. "i don't want anything that doesn't have you in it."
his voice was low. rough. not quite steady. his eyes flickered, not with fear, but something close to desperation. like the feeling was too big, too much, and he didn't know how to bleed it out except through touch.
and you understood.
it was all there. in the way his fingers clung to yours, in the way his lips trembled slightly as they brushed your skin, in the way he looked like he'd shatter if you even thought of letting go.
his face became blurry, but you blinked it away.
you just smiled softly and pressed your forehead against his. "good," you whispered. "you're the only one i want to do this life with."
he exhaled, slow and uneven, like your words reached somewhere deep in him that he didn't let anyone else near.
being with him was never easy. there were days he'd withdraw into himself, frustrated with things he couldn't name. times when you wouldn't understand why he shut down, or lashed out, or made things harder than they had to be.
there were arguments, silence, sometimes it hurt, and it took time to come back from that.
but love like yours and his was never meant to be easy.
it was raw. unforgiving in its honesty. and undeniably real.
you never regretted a second of it. not even the ugliest parts.
and maybe—
maybe he didn't have a ring now. maybe it was still hidden in a drawer, still waiting for the perfect moment.
maybe he'd already gone to your parents, awkward and twitchy and sweating like a fucking idiot, asking for your hand even though the very idea of "asking permission" made his skin itch.
maybe it was the first time in his entire life he had ever felt that afraid.
maybe they'd said yes.
they'd seen it, eventually. what you saw. what he'd become for you. what he would always be.
and maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you that ring on your graduation. when the future is right in front of you, when you'd already proven to the world and each other that you could survive it.
but for now, this was enough.
your forever didn't need a clock.
because he knew that he'd keep loving you like it was still the beginning. like every day was the first time you made his chest hurt just by looking at him.
even when life got dull. even when things slowed down. you'd still have all of him.
