➜ summary: jay’s always had everything. you were just the girl who followed him around until you became the one thing he couldn’t let go.
pairing: pjs x f!reader, wc: 16k words , genre: best friends to lovers, rich!jay, fluff, a wee lil angst w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
When you were eight, your pet fish died. Jay, being the perfect friend, snuck out of his house, hoodie zipped up to his nose, and stood outside your door with a juice box and a Pokémon sticker. He didn’t say anything, just left them there with a note that read: “U ken yoos the stikr four yur dairi.”
He wasn’t the best speller, but he was the best friend you could ever ask for.
When you were thirteen, you stayed up until 3 a.m. on the phone, ranting about how some snotty new transfer from Australia, Sim Jaeyun said your feet looked “weirdly shaped.” Jay spent an hour trying to convince you that Jaeyun had a thumb that looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and couldn’t tell a mermaid from a fish so he didn’t deserve to have opinions.
When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him.
And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.
“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”
“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”
“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”
You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything.
“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way.
He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”
“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.
You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.
You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.
It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong.
It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things.
You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.
Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.
His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.
But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.
Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.
But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.
Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.
And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.
You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.
And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.
You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.
You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.
“Baby,” his mum said gently.
You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.
So you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.
“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.
His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”
“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.
There was a pause.
“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”
“Mom—”
“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.
“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”
Oh. Oh. Oh…
So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him.
“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”
Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.
That hurt more than anything.
You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.
You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.
The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.
Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.
Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.
You weren’t laughing now.
Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.
While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.
—
Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁
You didn’t reply.
You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.
She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.
And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.
You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.
Your phone lit up again.
Jay: I’m coming over.
Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.
You: Don’t.
Jay: Huh?
You: I’m fine.
Jay: But you left so soon?
You: I had to take a shit so I left.
There was a pause.
Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.
You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.
Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more.
But you didn’t want him to pity you too.
—
Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule.
You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.
You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”
He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.
“Then go find something to do.”
“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.
You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”
“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider.
“Shut up.”
You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.
It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world.
He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.
You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.
“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”
You didn’t answer.
“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”
“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”
You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.
He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.
Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.
So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”
He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”
He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”
You stared at him flatly.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”
You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”
Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”
You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”
You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”
His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”
You exhaled shakily.
“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”
You laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”
You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.
The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays.
“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.
“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.
“Lover boy incoming.”
Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.
Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.
And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.
Your heart twisted.
Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.
He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”
“Jay—”
“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”
“Jay.”
He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.
He didn’t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.
You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day.
God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.
Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”
Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.
“A dollar,” he said.
Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”
“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.
Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.
Jungwon hadn’t moved.
He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.
You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”
“You want entertainment?”
“Desperately.”
You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”
He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”
“I don’t care. Just go.”
A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”
And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.
You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.
He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.
You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.
So you said it.
“I heard what your mom said that day.”
His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”
Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face.
You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.
“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”
“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”
You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.
“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.
His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.
You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”
“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”
He sighed when you cut him off.
“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”
Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”
Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.
“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”
The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.
You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real.
“Jay–”
“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”
You almost burst into laughter. Almost.
But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.
You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.
Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.
His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”
You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”
He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”
The both of you turned.
Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.
“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”
Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”
He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”
You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.
“No.”
—
The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.
A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.
Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.
You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.
Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.
It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”
You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.
Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.
She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.
One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.
“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.
“She’s literally my ride home.”
“I could give you a ride.”
You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”
“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”
“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”
Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”
You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”
Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”
Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”
“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”
—
It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.
The door creaked open a second later.
“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”
You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.
“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.
You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”
“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”
“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.
He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.
“Go,” he said gently.
And so you did.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.
She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”
“I think there is.”
Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.
Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.
He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.
“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.
She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”
“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.
Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”
“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.
“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”
“Don’t tell her.”
She froze.
“Baby—”
“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.
His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.
He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.
—
The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.
You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.
Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”
You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”
Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”
You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.
You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”
He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”
The silence that followed was instant.
Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.
You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.
“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”
Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms.
Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.
“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.
And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.
—
Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.
He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.
You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.
He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.
He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.
But you did.
He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.
“Jong?”
Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.
“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.
Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.
Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.
He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.
He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.
He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.
His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.
He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.
He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.
But he wasn’t Jungwon.
He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.
“Your dad wants to see you.”
Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.
Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.
“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”
Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.
With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.
With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.
Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.
With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.
He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.
“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.
There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.
“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”
His voice rose, firm and cold.
“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”
Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.
He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?
“I—”
“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”
“Dad—”
“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”
Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.
So she told him. About you.
Of course she did.
And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.
—
You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..
“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.
“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”
You stopped mid-sentence.
Jay wasn’t laughing.
He wasn’t smiling.
His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all.
Your smile faltered.
You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.
“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”
That finally pulled his eyes back to you.
He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.
“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.
Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.
“Baby,” he murmured.
“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.
He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t. Not even close.
Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think.
Not that he had a choice. He never really did.
Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved.
He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.
And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.
He didn’t know how to tell you.
Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.
Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.
But he had to.
Because he was leaving.
At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.
His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.
Remove the distraction.
Remove the attachment.
Remove you.
Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.
—
You were worried.
Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted.
Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.
So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.
“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”
Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”
“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”
“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”
“Jungwon, I swear to God—”
“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”
“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.
Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.
“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”
You and Jungwon both froze.
Then slowly, you turned to look at him.
Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”
Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”
You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”
“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”
Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.
Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.
Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.
–
You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.
You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.
“Oh—hey!”
You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.
She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.
“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”
She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”
You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.
Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”
“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”
She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.
A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.
“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”
You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”
Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.
“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”
“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”
She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”
She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”
And just like that, the world stopped.
The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.
But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.
Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
Oxford…
Oxford?
Jay was going to Oxford.
Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.
Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”
Your heart dropped.
Your ears started to ring.
“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”
End of next month.
That was four weeks.
Four weeks.
Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.
“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”
But you didn’t hear the rest.
You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass.
You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.
Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.
“You ready?”
You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.
Because right now, your heart was already cracking.
And he didn’t even know yet.
–
Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.
It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."
But now, you just sat there… quiet.
Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.
Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.
“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”
You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?
How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’
You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him.
“Baby?”
His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.
“Huh?”
Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.
He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”
You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”
Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”
“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.
Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”
You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”
He didn’t press.
He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.
The car locks clicked open.
You were already halfway out the door.
Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.
“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”
You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.
Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.
But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.
You turned.
Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.
Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.
“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.
“That you were going.”
Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.
“I…” He tried. God, he tried.
But the words didn’t come.
Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’
You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it?”
Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”
“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”
Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment.
“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”
Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.
“I was scared you’d hate me.”
You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.
“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”
Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.
“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”
You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.
He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.
“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”
And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.
Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .
“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.
You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”
You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”
“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”
“Jong…”
“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”
You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”
Jay sighed.
“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”
You searched his face, your chest tight.
“But your dad—”
“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.
“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I’m already enough.”
You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.
“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”
You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”
He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.
And then he kissed you.
There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.
His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.
Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.
“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”
You and Jay froze.
From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.
“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.
You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.
Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”
Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”
“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”
Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”
Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.
But Jay didn’t look at anyone.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.
You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow.
He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.
The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.
The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.
But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.
And now, he was choosing you again.
Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.
The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.
Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”
You moved before you could stop yourself.
Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either.
You slipped your hand into his.
Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.
And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.
“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”
You frowned. “Jay.”
He didn’t look at you.
“That’s not the real reason, is it?”
Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”
“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.
“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”
But you heard it.
The way he didn’t say it.
You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.
Jay nodded faintly.
You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”
Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”
“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.
Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”
But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew.
You blinked hard.
“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”
“You are. To me, you always have been.”
But that wasn’t the same.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”
He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”
No one spoke.
Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
Then, slowly, you stood up.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”
Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.
“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.
And just like that, it was only you and Jay.
He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.
You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”
He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”
“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”
Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”
And that cracked something in him.
Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.
He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”
“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.
“They’re not—”
“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”
Jay flinched.
You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”
You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”
You startled at the sharpness in his voice.
“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”
You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.
“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.
“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”
You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.
“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His voice softened, cracked down the middle.
“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”
He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”
Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.
And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.
It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.
–
Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.
You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.
Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.
When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.
His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.
“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.
Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.
The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.
His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it.
Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.
He cleared his throat.
“I’m not going.”
The typing stopped.
The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.
It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.
“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”
Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.
“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”
There was a moment where the room stood still.
Then came the slam.
THWACK.
His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.
His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”
Jay didn’t respond.
His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”
Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.
“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”
His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”
Jay stepped forward then.
“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”
You could feel your lungs struggle for air.
Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered.
His dad rose to his feet.
“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”
Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.
Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.
Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.
“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”
Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”
You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.
Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.
“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”
You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.
Then he felt it.
Eyes on him.
Jay turned toward the door.
His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”
His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.
“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.
“Jong, please,” she whispered again.
He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.
Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”
His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”
“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”
“He can. We can try.”
Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”
She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”
“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”
He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.
“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”
His voice broke completely.
“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”
The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.
His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.
Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.
“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”
Jay blinked. “What?”
The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.
His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”
You felt the breath leave your lungs.
Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there.
You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.
Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.
He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.
“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”
His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”
“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”
You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.
Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”
He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.
“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”
The room fell silent again.
Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.
“Then so be it,” he said.
Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.
“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”
And just like that, he turned and left.
The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.
You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.
His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.
You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”
He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.
“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”
“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”
Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.
Because this wasn’t a win.
But it wasn’t a loss either.
–
Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.
You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.
You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.
“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.
He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”
You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.
“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.
Both of you froze.
Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.
You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”
She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.
And then you understood.
She was helping. In her own way.
Your lips parted slightly.
Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”
Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.
“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”
She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”
You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say.
–
The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.
Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.
“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”
Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”
Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”
Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.
“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.
Too late.
Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.
You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”
You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.
And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.
The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.
“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”
Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”
Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.
“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”
You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”
Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”
“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.
“C’mon, please?”
“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”
“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.
You and Jay watched them go.
“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.
“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”
But then, a throat cleared.
You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.
Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.
Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.
But right now, Jay held his breath.
His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.
He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.
“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”
Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
And then, Jay’s father reached out.
To you.
He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.
“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”
You didn’t move.
Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.
“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”
That was it.
Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.
Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite.
Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.
Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.
“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.
A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.
“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”
“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”
“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.
You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.
Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.
“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.
You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”
“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”
You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”
“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.
You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.
“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”
Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”
“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.
“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”
The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.
You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.
“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.
“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.
Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.
“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.
Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.
or getting bossed around at work is never fun, especially when one co-worker uses you as a dumping ground to take time off. luckily for you, there's kimchi and an understanding boyfriend waiting for you at home. [ 2.9k]
↳ authors note: i'm gonna be so fr, i haven't written anything in almost a year (?) and it's kinda showing... but i'm proud to say that i am actually happy with this one, i mean i wouldn't post it if i didn't! (i lied, the ending was a little rushed) i got a lot of inspo from @jakesimfromstatefarm "no doubt" series (i hope you don't mind me tagging!) so thank you for bringing back my motivation!( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )
↳ genre: soft angst | hurt/comfort | fluff
↳ warnings: pressure from a colleague, hints of helplessness, soft love.
↳ featuring: Keeho | P1Harmony, Yunjin | Le Sserafim, Mark | NCT, and the rest of ENHYPEN (by name only).
↳ extra: vacillator | ethel cain - masterlist
It had been a very rough day.
An unexpected shift had dropped onto your lap- a co-worker, someone whom you’ve told times before that you can’t cover their shift last minute, had somehow convinced your manager that you agreed to take theirs, when in all honesty, the conversation ever occurring is nowhere near in remembrance.
You find yourself standing in front of your full body mirror, rustling with the cardigan you decided to wear despite the unwavering heat that terrorizes the people outside. A frustrated yet determined look on your face to try and tough it out, trying to ignore the cakey feeling that started to pool underneath your arms already.
Today was supposed to be relaxing, a feeling you miss already as you pass by your boyfriend with a fleeting kiss. So quick he barely has time to register it from where he sits on the couch; hair disheveled and body twisted, catching you as you fly by. He shouts something behind the already closed door but it's hard to make out, whispered in the shadows of your shallow breaths.
The clock is already at 12:30 when you make it into work, bowing profusely to your manager who insists that it’s okay, excusing you this once due to your impeccable record of being the only one in the store to be on time despite the flexible rules. The weight of the next 6 hours weighs heavily on your chest, fake smiles and sore feet are all you have to survive your shift.
“Why are you here today?” Your co-worker, Yunjin, mumbles through tight lips, smiling at a customer who comes up to her register hot and ready with a bundle of clothes. “I thought you had the day off?”
“You-know-who is back at it again,” despite the smile you give to the lady and her crying baby in front of you, your voice is rough with annoyance, and if anyone looked close enough they could see the twitch in your eye.
A laugh, “Why don’t you just report him?” asks another voice at the register on your left, “What is this, like the fifth time?”
“Seventh, Keeho, but thank you for your input.” You ring up the customers items, smiling politely with shaking hands as you hand her the bag. You watch as the customer walks off with her kid, who skips over the cracked grey tiles on the floor.
“The fact that you let it happen seven times is wicked,” he snickers, grabbing a price gun riddled with dirty tape off the shelf. He drags it across your skin a couple times, leaving blue and pink clearance tags in its wake. “If that was me I would’ve told him to meet me in the parking lot.”
Yunjin shoots him a look, one that screams ‘no tf you wouldnt’ and reaches across you to pick the tags off. You watch as every ‘Clearance: $14.99’ sticker falls into the wastebin beneath your own outdated register. “You sound dumb,” she retorts, flicking him on the forehead, “but seriously, why don’t you tell one of the higher-ups? It’s gotta be a violation in the book or something.”
“How would you know? You’ve never read it.” Reaching for your water bottle, you feel the condensation on your fingers as your hands continue to tremble, flicking the perspiration off the back of your neck like it's a bug. The A.C is on full blast in the store, yet it feels like you’re standing directly in the sun. “Besides, there's no point, you know the company doesn't care enough to even give out warnings.”
There’s a pause.
And a hum in agreement.
They each turn to help the person in front of them, thankfully they took the last two and the store is at its slow hours so it looks like there's no one left to check out. As soon as the bottle returns to the counter a soft buzz comes from your cardigan, so light that you wouldn't have felt it if you weren't hyperaware to everything.
Above the countless notifications in the center is a string of texts:
Ikeu [3:25 p.m]: hey baby
Ikeu [3:25 p.m]: u left in a hurry this morning, i think u gave me whiplash(◞‸◟,)
Ikeu [3:26 p.m]: nah but its ok, i jst wanna make sure u’re alright!
Ikeu [3:26 p.m]: i thought you had the day off
Ikeu [3:27 p.m]: anw, ill make dinner so when you get home it’ll be done, mybe just warmed up!
Ikeu [3:28 p.m]: love ya!‹𝟹
It’s overwhelmingly sweet, truly. How much he cares about you. A man who has so much love in his heart, who will wake up before the sun rises to pack you a lunch for work because he knows you’ll have no time to pick something up on the way. A man who leaves small notes in the lunch bag, and when he can’t do that he’ll send paragraphs of messages cheering you on for something you dread everyday. He has no idea about the manipulative coworker who teases and controls you to the point where some days you’ll have to remember who the actual boss is.
2 out of the 3 years you’ve been working at the clothing store it has been like that. The forceful demand of a shift is only something he started doing recently. He has been at the company longer than you have, giving himself some type of “seniority” meaning he believes he can do whatever he wants to anyone. Unfortunately, it looks like he deemed you as easy prey. You want so badly to tell H.R- to tell Jake but the fear of nothing working lingers on the back of your mind like the sweat that clings in the crease of your elbow. You've already reported it to the manager once, and nothing was done.
You need this job, it pays the bills even though Jake has made multiple statements about how his work pays well enough to support you both for a long, long time.
“Is that your boyfriend?” a crumb falls onto your shoulder, the pointed curve of a chin rests over it, peering noisily into the screen that darkens as you turn it off. Keeho pouts, backing away slightly, but only enough to quietly apologize for the mess on your shirt. “He texts hella.”
A smitten laugh escapes you, accepting the half eaten granola from his hands, “Yeah, I kinda flew out the house this morning without a proper goodbye,” you gesture to the phone you disgraced on the counter, “He was doing what I couldn’t.”
“Does he know?” Yunjin begins, wiping down the counter with a disinfectant rag so hard that the ends of it frays, “About Mark?”
A breath traps itself in the center of your chest, “No. And I don’t want him to.”
The two share a look.
Keeho, who has been very keen on voicing his opinion thus far, grows quiet.
Yunjin lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, her brows furrowed into something incommunicable. “You don’t think he’d be able to help?”
Help? The word is foreign, like a distant memory that begs to be held. As dramatic as it seems, the word is all that you could ask for. Every time your hand disconnects with your mind because of the increasingly violent tremor in your hand, or the bags that fight against the heavy amount of concealer you layer on to hide it, or the triple amount of coffee intake- because the regulated 8 hours no longer seems to do anything for your body when you lay down to sleep, when you awaken as fast as a blink the next morning to do it all again. You want him to help, but there's no point.
Once more, you smile despite the looming fear that festers deep within your chest. You extend a hand to pat hers, softs hands meet each other as you go to hold it, “Look, I get that you guys are worried, and I couldn’t be happier to know that I have friends that care,” you through a smile over your shoulder to Keeho, who stands unconvinced, “but trust me, I have it under control. Plus! How does a couple extra bucks hurt?”
You look back at Yunjin, she stands closer this time, though the indescribable look on her face has drastically changed. Her jaw is clenched, so firm that you can see the masseter muscle enlarge. “Y/N.” she shifts her over to grasp at your limp wrist. Holding it up, she brings it in front of you so you can see. Under the fluorescent light you can see what you’ve been trying to ignore, “Your hands are shaking.”
Two sturdy hands clutch onto your covered forearms, turning you around. “Y/N.” Keeho repeats your name the same as Yunjin, it comes out hoarse and small, “Don’t let that man boss you around, you are tired. Go home.”
It’s like they could read your mind, or they just knew you insanely well, because before you could object, two bodies drag you towards the employee break room to clock out.
By the time you get home all the lights are out in the house, the blinds are pulled inwards to block out the setting sun, though some of its shimmer peers through your window and onto the kitchen floor. Your feet drag, eyes heavy with exhaustion as you force yourself to close the door and hang up your bag.
As you take off your shoes- each one feeling like a boulder, a shuffle coming from down the hall followed by the soft patter of feet. You barely have time to lift your head up when two soft hands pull you in gently by the chin. Jake, hair still as messy as it was earlier, stands before you, a tender but concerned look in his eyes that doesn't quite match the smile he puts on. His collarbone is exposed, clothes twisted on his body haphazardly. You can tell that he was on the verge of sleep before you came home, and was actively fighting it off as he inspected your face.
“Hi baby.” He whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead. “How was work?”
Jake takes your cardigan from off your shoulders, throwing it on the couch, and you let him. Fatigue is slowly creeping up on you and your body can’t help but to lean into the warmth of his. A sigh, then a shake of your head. Words seem to have left as well.
Though Jake nods as if understanding. He never needed words to figure out what was going on, claiming it's because the two of you are so attuned that he can read you just by the way you breathe. “That bad, huh?”
A nod.
He kisses your cheek this time and lets go of your chin.
Leaning back, he smiles, so full out light and love it makes you feel just a little bit better. “I don’t know if you saw my texts earlier but I made you some dinner, it's just kimchi and tofu soup,” as he talks he wraps a firm arm around your shoulders, holding you up as you make your way into the kitchen. The smell of the meal still lingers in the air despite it being hours since he cooked it, but it's strong enough to make your stomach growl. Jake lets out a giggle and continues to ramble as he leaves you near the counter and opens the fridge, “and I made it separately- just how you like it, in case you wanted to combine it on your own, because I- why are you still standing? Sit down. I know how much I don't like it when I’m not given the chance to-”
When he turns around with three stained tupperware and chopsticks in his arms he looks around confused before looking at the floor. You had managed to slide down slowly off the cabinets, legs too tired to hold the weight of your body any longer. Looking up at him through your lashes, you pat the space beside and he happily plops down.
He hands you a pair of chopsticks and then opens tupperware, picking a piece of kimchi from the bottom and feeding it to you.
It is quiet for some time, the fading sunlight creates light orange and yellow hues on the floor, outlining the curve of your bodies as you feed one another food. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, it's a conversation without contact or words, one that feels like the air on a rainy day.
Jake tosses another piece of tofu from the soup into his mouth before turning to you, “So you want to tell me about today?”
You shoot him a glance, noticing the dip in his tone. A shrug and a shake of your head, “What about it?”
He stares at you for a second before sighing, dragging a hand down his face, “Y/N. I got a text from Keeho before you came home.”
“Okay? He messages you all the time.”
“It was about a guy named ‘Mark’.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction. You don’t give him on, instead you reach over his leg to steal some tofu, “He told me everything that's been going on. The teasing? Forcefully giving you his shifts without asking you first? Making you work overtime when you don’t need to?”
He sounds disappointed, not in you but in himself. Why hadn't he noticed even the littlest thing sooner? Why didn't he just ask?
The ridges in his back are stiff and his shoulders are tight, a hesitant hand reaches your knee. The touch makes you look up and his voice wasn't even close to expressing the emotion on his face. He's looking directly at you with wide eyes, there's a distant shimmer in them, the shimmer before tears. His bottom lip wobbles underneath his teeth, he's using it to control the movement but it grows intense the longer he stares.
Jake cups your face again, thumb brushing over the makeup you used to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. The concealer has faded away slightly by the time you got home, giving him a good look at you naturally for what feels like the first time in forever. His heart breaks even more.
“You know you can tell me anything right? That I won’t be mad? You shouldn't have to just deal with that because your company is insubordinate.”
Your hand finds his, resting your head back again against the wood behind you, smiling lightly, “I know.”
“And if you’re afraid of him beating me up,” he continues, shoving more kimchi in his mouth because of his nerves, “I hope you know there are multiple people willing to back me up. Like Keeho, Yunjin, Jay, Sunoo- well I don’t know about Sunoo, Ni-ki, Sunghoon-”
You stop him before he could finish. A delicate kiss falters his incessant rambling and for a second you think you broke him. Your hand lingers on his face, his eyes shining brighter than before. He looks so soft, like the most precious thing in the world, and you love him even more for that, “Jake. I know.” You reiterate, “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I guess I was just afraid of losing my job? I mean it's so strange, Mark has been there longer than I have and I don't want to overstep anything because I was just…scared? And it’s not like I haven't reported it before, I have many times, but I guess after a while, when nothing was being done…I gave up.”
There’s a helpless shift in the air as your voice cracks, the hand on his face drops into the space between your legs as you grow quiet. Saying it fully out loud feels so stupid, your mind trying to rationalize your feelings by hiding them- which only made it feel worse. Your eyes dip down to the porcelain tiles that hold your feet.
A quick sniffle emits from Jake as he grabs your hands. The grip is tight, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough to say ‘im here’. “You shouldn't ever have to feel that way,” his voice cracks under the pressure of his words, a tear slips from his eye but he quickly wipes it with the sleeve of his shirt. “Please don’t ever feel like you have to hide stuff from me because you don’t want anything bad to happen. What he’s doing is bad as it is, he’s just going to keep going because he knows you won’t object. And he knows that the company won’t do anything about it- obviously.”
There’s so much love in his eyes as he chases yours when you look away. He brings your hands to his face and gently kisses your palm. Paste from the kimchi that was still on his lip transfers to your palm when he pulls away, but you don’t mind, too focused on the overwhelming feeling of care he shows you in a single gesture.
But nights like these, hands between legs, eating food on the floor of the kitchen, just talking, makes you feel like no matter what happens at work, is irrelevant.
Thanks to him, you won’t give up, and will report Mark, together.
i say this alot lol BUT ACTUALLY! new fic coming out soon with Jake (ENHYPEN). im revamping my blog aswell @ like 4 in the morning because I have a burst of motivation for the first time in a while so I wanted to take advantage of it! anyway, stay tuned!!
Synopsis. When spiderman comes to your window after saving you a few days prior, you couldnt help but let him in, especially if it means a chance to kiss him!
Note: sooo so so messy ive been working on this at nightfor the past month so not checked (lmk if u find errors)!! 15k words, jakes lovestruck, no smut but a lot of kissing —
enha masterlist
The clock above the register ticked louder after midnight, each second dragging like syrup down a cold plate. You wiped the counter again even though it was already clean, more out of habit than necessity.
The diner buzzed in low fluorescent hums, casting pale yellow halos over the Formica tables and cracked leather booths. Neon light from the sign outside flickered like a broken promise—JIN’S DINER—the “I” sputtering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to exist.
There weren’t many customers left at this hour, just the usual scattered souls: a couple of old men nursing mugs of coffee that had long gone cold, a student passed out over a plate of untouched pancakes, and him—Jake Sim. He always sat in booth five, the one by the window, and never ordered more than a black coffee and a slice of apple pie.
You didn’t know much about him except that he always left a tip way too big for what he ordered and smiled like someone who’d grown used to hiding something behind it. You wouldn’t call him charming—at least not in the way he probably wanted—but he had this warm-eyed thing going for him, like someone who spent more time thinking than speaking.
He wasn’t here tonight.
You glanced at the door more than once, trying to play it off as routine, but your hand hesitated slightly over the stack of menus. “Guess he’s skipping pie tonight,” you murmured under your breath, unsure why you even noticed.
The wind outside howled against the big front window, and the smell of rain snuck in every time the door opened. You were halfway through re-counting the cash drawer when the crack of glass and a scream rang out from just outside.
“Shit.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it.
Instinct moved faster than fear. You rushed around the counter and through the doors, heart slamming hard in your throat.
The alley beside the diner was narrow, boxed in by dumpsters and metal fire escapes that moaned in the wind. A man had a knife—he looked twitchy, young, like he didn’t want to be doing whatever he was doing—and the woman pressed against the brick wall was crying, one heel snapped, her purse at his feet.
“Hey!” you called out, too loud and too brave for someone without a plan. “Leave her alone!”
He turned, wild-eyed and desperate, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth. The knife shifted in your direction.
You didn’t scream. You froze.
And then he dropped from the sky.
Or not the sky, exactly—but it felt like it. One moment it was just the attacker, the victim, and you holding your breath—and the next, something swung down between them, cloaked in red and black, a blur of motion and silk.
“Bad night to pick the wrong alley, man,” Spider-Man said casually, as if he were walking into a classroom late.
He moved fast, inhumanly so, a blur of limbs and precision. The man didn’t stand a chance—two webs, a thud, a grunt, and he was stuck to the brick wall like a forgotten poster.
“Let me go!” the attacker yelled, struggling against the webbing.
“You brought a knife to a web fight,” Spider-Man replied, his tone light but edged with something colder.
The woman scrambled away, crying thank-yous, and you stayed planted on the concrete, suddenly aware of how cold the rain had become. Spider-Man turned slowly, his chest rising with sharp breaths, and though his mask gave away nothing, you could feel him watching you.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now—deeper than you expected, a little out of breath but controlled.
You nodded automatically, then forced yourself to speak. “Yeah. I’m—fine. I think.”
His head tilted just a bit. “You’re shivering.”
You looked down. Your hands were shaking, your shirt soaked from the rain. “Didn’t realize I ran out here without a jacket,” you said, trying to play it off, though your voice betrayed the adrenaline still racing through you.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, quieter this time, more serious. “Running into danger like that.”
Your brows furrowed. “She was gonna get hurt.”
“I had it handled.”
“I didn’t know that,” you snapped, before softening. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
That made him pause. For a moment, the air felt charged, full of unsaid things. Then, quietly, he added, “I usually am.”
You blinked. “What?”
He looked up at the fire escape like he was about to leave. “Nothing. Just… be careful next time.”
Then he turned, climbing the wall like it was nothing, disappearing into the rain with one clean pull of his web. Just gone—like smoke slipping through fingers.
You stared after him for a long moment, heart still racing, the imprint of his words echoing through your head.
I usually am.
You didn’t know what he meant, but somehow, it felt personal. Like something about you had been on his mind before tonight.
The woman ran. The attacker sobbed, stuck six feet up and webbed like a fly.
You stayed there, the streetlight painting the puddles with soft golds and oranges, thinking not about the danger, not about the woman, not about your own shaking hands—but about him. About the way he lingered.
The next Tuesday felt heavier than usual, like the city had draped itself in thick fog and unspoken tension. Rain hadn’t returned, but the clouds hung low like they were waiting for a cue.
You arrived at the diner five minutes late, hair barely dry from a rushed shower, apron still wrinkled from where you’d crumpled it in your bag the night before. Jin—the owner—didn’t say anything, just grunted from behind the grill like always and slid you the list of specials nobody ever ordered.
The bell above the door jingled three minutes after your shift started. That familiar sound, sharp and casual, had always blended into the background—until now.
You didn’t look up at first, more focused on wiping yesterday’s fingerprints off the dessert case. But then you heard the voice.
“Black coffee. No sugar.”
Your spine went a little straight.
Jake Sim.
He stood on the other side of the counter like no time had passed, like he hadn’t vanished for a week after the most terrifying moment of your month happened twenty feet from where you were now. His hoodie was pulled tight around his shoulders, the drawstrings lopsided and frayed. There was a faint purplish bruise along his jawline, like someone had elbowed him by accident—or not by accident.
You looked at him for a second too long. “Rough week?” you asked, pouring the coffee into the thick white mug that had the tiniest chip on its rim.
He shrugged, then smiled. “You could say that.”
“You missed pie night,” you replied, sliding the mug toward him. “Thought the universe might’ve imploded or something.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “I had to break the streak eventually.”
“Mmm. Tragic.” You leaned your hip against the counter, tapping your pen against your order pad. “The usual booth?”
Jake hesitated. “Mind if I sit at the counter today?”
That was new.
You blinked. “Uh… sure. No law against that.”
He climbed onto the stool with slow movements, like something in his side ached. You noticed, because you always noticed small things—especially when people tried to hide them. Still, you didn’t ask.
“So,” he said, hands wrapped around the mug like it was doing more than just warming his palms. “Did you hear about the alleyway thing last week? By here?”
You raised a brow. “You mean the thing where some guy tried to rob a woman, and Spider-Man dropped from the sky like a horror movie jump scare?”
His smile faltered a little. “Yeah. That one.”
“Was there a follow-up? I haven’t seen anything in the news. Not that the news cares about stuff that happens in this part of town.”
“They caught the guy,” he said, eyes on the steam rising from his coffee. “Apparently Spider-Man webbed him up so tight it took three cops and a crowbar to get him down.”
“Sounds about right.” You didn’t mean to sound so casual, but the moment still lived behind your eyes like a photograph burned into your mind. “He didn’t say much. Spider-Man, I mean.”
Jake’s gaze flicked toward you. “What’d he say?”
You thought back. The way he looked at you. The way he told you to be careful. The way he lingered.
“He told me I shouldn’t run into danger,” you murmured, then forced a smirk. “Which is hilarious, considering he wears spandex and jumps off buildings for fun.”
Jake laughed at that, a soft huff that sounded more like relief than humor. “He’s probably trying to be helpful.”
“Yeah,” you replied, almost too quietly. “He was.”
There was a moment of silence after that—one of those heavy, stretching pauses that doesn’t feel awkward until you notice it. Jake sipped his coffee again, eyes distant like he was replaying something in his head.
Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Did he scare you?”
The question surprised you. Not just the words—but the way he asked it, like it mattered to him on some level you couldn’t see.
You shrugged. “No. He didn’t scare me. He just felt… I don’t know. Like he’d been watching already. Not in a creepy way, just—”
“Like he knew where to be,” Jake finished.
“Yeah,” you said, brows pulling together. “Exactly.”
He nodded, and that was the end of it.
You worked the rest of your shift like normal. The diner filled up briefly around nine—mostly tired truckers, delivery guys, and late-night wanderers. Jake stayed put at the counter, refilling his coffee twice and scribbling something in a small notebook he kept in his hoodie pocket.
You didn’t ask what he was writing. You weren’t sure you were supposed to.
When your break came around midnight, you stepped outside for some air. The alley where it happened was still roped off with caution tape that had lost its fight against the wind. You leaned against the brick wall and tilted your head back toward the sky.
There were no stars—just the faint glow of city haze and one flickering streetlamp near the end of the block. You thought about how quiet the alley had become. How fast everything had changed in one second flat.
The air moved behind you.
Not loud. Not enough to startle. Just enough to remind you that something was there.
You turned your head slightly.
A figure crouched on the edge of the rooftop—Spider-Man, perfectly still, the red of his suit a muted silhouette under the dim light. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just watched.
You didn’t know how long he’d been there. You didn’t know why he was watching you.
You also didn’t know why your chest tightened slightly when your eyes met, even from a distance. Not fear. Not discomfort. Something else. Something you couldn’t name.
You took a step back.
“I’m not gonna run into danger,” you said softly, half-smiling up at him. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
He didn’t say anything. But you could tell he heard you. His head dipped ever so slightly before he stood, turned, and vanished across the rooftop with one silent leap.
You didn’t realize you were smiling until you walked back inside, the sound of the bell above the door grounding you again in the real world.
Jake was gone.
His coffee cup sat empty on the counter, and there was a folded napkin under the edge of the plate.
You opened it and read the words scribbled in black ink.
You shouldn’t be alone out there. Even if you’re brave.
—J
Your fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
You didn’t think much of Jake Sim.
But that night, for the first time, you wondered about him.
The heat came early that week.
Not in temperature, but in the way the city moved—restless, sticky, unsettled. Even the diner felt warmer than usual, the ceiling fans spinning too slow, doing too little. Your apron clung to your waist, and you rolled your sleeves up higher than you usually did, trying to ignore how the sweat clung to the back of your neck.
It was Tuesday again, which meant Jake.
Booth five had already been claimed when you came in—he was seated there with a book he never seemed to read and a mug of coffee that hadn’t been touched. You slid behind the counter, tying your hair back with an old rubber band, and tried not to glance at him more than once.
He smiled when you passed by, that familiar half-tilted grin that felt like a habit instead of a greeting. “Thought you might call in,” he said quietly, voice soft beneath the sizzle of the fryer.
You looked over your shoulder. “Why would I?”
Jake shrugged, watching you with unreadable eyes. “Just a hunch.”
He looked like he hadn’t slept. The shadows under his eyes weren’t dramatic, but they were there. His hoodie sleeves were pulled down over his hands, but you noticed the slight stiffness in how he moved when he reached for his cup.
You frowned. “You’re limping.”
Jake didn’t flinch. “No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
He looked up at you—really looked. The air between you tightened like it had its own pulse.
“You’re observant,” he said finally.
“And you’re not good at lying.”
His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he dropped it back to his coffee.
“I’ll be fine,” he murmured.
You didn’t know why the words made your stomach twist.
Later, during your break, the sun had long dipped below the skyline. You slipped out the back entrance, ignoring the way the wind tangled your hair and caught on the corners of your sleeves. The alley looked the same. Maybe a little darker. A little quieter.
You weren’t afraid. Not really. Not anymore.
Your back was against the brick wall when you felt it—that familiar shift in the air. Barely perceptible. Like gravity had bent slightly.
“You’re starting to make a habit out of this,” you said to the shadows, your voice low and casual, almost teasing.
Spider-Man stepped from the rooftop edge, dropping into view with silent ease. His landing was controlled, slow, like he didn’t want to startle you.
He didn’t answer at first.
“I could say the same,” he said after a beat, and you didn’t miss the softness in his tone. “You come out here a lot.”
You crossed your arms, the wall cool against your spine. “Break time.”
His head tilted slightly. “Even when it’s not safe?”
You narrowed your eyes, not in challenge—but in curiosity. “Are you watching me?”
A pause.
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
The silence that followed was full—not awkward, not empty. Just full. Like the space between you two had become a container for all the things neither of you was saying.
He took a step closer.
You didn’t back away. You didn’t need to.
“I don’t mean it in a weird way,” he added quickly, his voice lower now, almost rough. “I just—keep an eye out. In case you ever…”
“In case I ever what?” you asked.
His breath caught. “Needed someone.”
You didn’t reply for a second. Your eyes met his—what little you could see of them through the mask. The fabric moved slightly with each breath he took.
The air between you felt warmer. The kind of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. The kind of warmth that started behind your ribs and burned slowly through your veins.
His hand twitched slightly at his side, like he thought about reaching for you. But he didn’t.
“You don’t have to keep checking on me,” you said, your voice soft now. “I’m not—helpless.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “That’s not why I come.”
You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have to.
He stood there, not even a foot from you, tall and quiet and still soaked with city noise clinging to his suit like dust. You could see a scrape along the side of his jaw—just under the mask, raw and red like it had only barely stopped bleeding.
“You’re hurt,” you murmured.
“I’ve had worse.”
You didn’t think. You just reached up.
Your fingertips brushed the edge of his mask, right where the fabric met his skin. Just a touch. Just enough to feel the heat of him underneath.
He inhaled sharply—but didn’t move.
“You should be careful too,” you whispered. “I get the feeling you’re not invincible.”
“I’m not,” he said. His voice was barely above a breath now. “Not around you.”
That stopped everything.
The wind. The sound. Even your heart.
You looked at him—really looked—and for the first time, you wondered if maybe you did know who he was. Not by name. But by presence. By the way he stood. By the way he spoke like he meant every single word.
Your hand lowered slowly.
And still—neither of you moved away.
Not quite a kiss. Not quite a touch.
Just that crackling, skin-humming closeness. Enough to make you feel like if either of you leaned in even a centimeter more, everything would come undone.
Then, just as fast as he arrived, he stepped back.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, like he’d never been there at all.
It started with a margarita the size of your face and a promise to “unwind” for once. Sophia had just broken up with her clingy on-again-off-again situationship, and Chaewon had decided that meant shots were mandatory. You didn’t argue. You never argued on Fridays.
You hadn’t even planned to go out. But your shift had ended early, and someone had said something about neon lights and karaoke and too much glitter on a bathroom mirror, and suddenly you were there—spinning in a booth, laughing at things that weren’t that funny, with a lime wedge in your mouth and someone’s coat draped around your shoulders like armor.
By the time you realized everyone else was leaving, your phone was already at 3%. Chaewon kissed your cheek, her eyeliner smudged and perfect, and told you not to talk to strangers. Sophia promised she’d order you a cab, but her app glitched, and your own screen had turned black by the time you staggered out of the bar and into the air that hit you like a soft slap.
You weren’t falling over. But you were floating a little. The sidewalk swam beneath your boots. You clutched your bag too tightly.
You turned down a side street to take the shortcut to the station.
And that’s when you heard them.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Your head turned slowly. There were three of them. Not old, not exactly young—just that bored, lazy kind of dangerous that always smelled like cheap cologne and entitlement.
“Little late to be walking home alone, isn’t it?” one asked, stepping into your path.
You blinked. “I’m not alone,” you lied, your voice fuzzy around the edges. “I—someone’s meeting me.”
They laughed.
Your heart kicked against your ribs.
“Where’s your someone, huh?” one said, and the other moved closer. “He let you out like this? Tight little dress and nowhere to go?”
“Back off,” you said. You meant to sound sharp. It came out slurry.
A hand reached toward your arm—gentle, but wrong. Too casual. Too assuming.
You flinched. “Don’t touch me.”
“You’re not scared, are you?”
You opened your mouth to scream—
—but it never made it past your lips.
Because he dropped from above like lightning splitting the sky.
A blur of red and black. The thud of boots. A body between you and the worst-case scenario. And silence, so sharp it cracked.
Spider-Man.
One of the men swore under his breath.
“Go,” Spider-Man said, voice low and lethal. “Now.”
They didn’t argue. They didn’t even try. Two ran. The third hesitated—until Spider-Man took one step forward and he bolted, footsteps echoing into the alley’s dark spine.
Your knees trembled, and you realized your palms were sweating. You hadn’t realized how cold it was.
He turned to you, fast but careful.
“Are you hurt?”
You stared up at him, throat tight. “I—I think I’m okay.”
“You’re drunk.”
You nodded, then frowned. “I didn’t mean to get this drunk.”
His eyes—wherever they were under the mask—felt warm. “You shouldn’t be walking alone.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you said again, suddenly emotional. “My friends left. My phone’s dead. I—ugh, I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not.”
“I am,” you insisted, swaying just slightly. “You shouldn’t have to keep showing up for me.”
There was a pause.
“I want to,” he said.
The words hit you harder than they should have.
Your voice cracked. “I don’t wanna go home alone.”
Spider-Man shifted. “Do you want me to take you home?”
You hesitated. Then nodded.
The city blurred beneath you.
His arm was around your waist, strong and steady, the wind biting at your cheeks. Your eyelids fluttered from the rush, the rooftops passing in flashes of shadow and neon. You’d never flown before—not really—but this came close.
He landed on your fire escape like he’d done it a thousand times.
You fumbled with your keys.
He watched, wordless, until you turned and looked up at him. “Do you—do you wanna come in? Just for a minute?”
His breath hitched. “Y/N…”
You blinked. “How do you know my name?”
Shit.
You stared at him.
He froze.
You stepped back slightly, lips parted. “Wait—how do you—?”
“It slipped,” he said, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”
You stared at him for a beat too long. The world tilted slightly again—not from the alcohol, but from something deeper. Something unraveling.
Still, you nodded. “I don’t care. Just… stay. Please.”
He stepped into your apartment like a shadow, quiet and careful, not touching anything. You flicked on the light and immediately regretted it—your little place looked smaller than usual, full of dishes you hadn’t washed and a half-made bed.
You kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto the mattress, watching him from over your shoulder.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured, voice half-gone. “I just—don’t want to feel alone tonight.”
Spider-Man stood in the center of your room, uncertain. You could hear his breathing.
“I won’t touch you,” you added. “I just… want you here. For a little while.”
Slowly, carefully, he crossed the room and sat on the floor near your bed, legs folded, arms resting on his knees.
Neither of you spoke.
You closed your eyes.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—your head heavy, the air thick with things unsaid. But for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.
He didn’t leave.
You woke up alone.
At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even been there at all—there was no note, no trace, not even a dent in the pillow beside yours. But the window was still cracked open, the curtain fluttering in the quiet morning air, and your boots had been lined up neatly against the wall. You don’t remember doing that.
You stared at the ceiling for a long time. The headache was manageable, the memory clear. He hadn’t touched you. Hadn’t crossed a single line. He’d just stayed—silent, steady, watching over you like you mattered.
No one had ever done that before.
You didn’t think about him for the rest of the day. At least, you told yourself you didn’t.
The sky was bruised that night—gray fading to violet, clouds cracked along the seams. You were just about to close up the diner when the bell above the door rang.
You looked up instinctively, expecting Jake. But no one came in.
Then you heard it—a soft, muffled knock on the alley door.
You hesitated. The last time someone knocked back there, it didn’t end well.
But something in your chest pulled you toward it anyway.
You pushed the back door open.
And he was there.
Leaning hard against the brick wall, half-sitting, half-collapsing, one hand pressed tightly to his ribs. His suit was torn—black and red fabric slick with blood, one shoulder gashed open, his breathing shallow and sharp.
Your breath caught. “Oh my god.”
His head lifted weakly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
You rushed forward. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ve been worse.”
“You always say that,” you snapped, crouching beside him. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
He let you help him inside. It wasn’t easy. He was heavier than he looked, and every movement made him wince. You dragged one of the chairs from the break room and lowered him into it, grabbing the dusty first aid kit from under the counter.
“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his side.
“I’m fine.”
You shot him a look. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
He didn’t argue again.
You peeled back the shredded suit carefully. His skin beneath was slick with sweat and blood, a deep gash running from the bottom of his ribs to just above his waist. You sucked in a breath.
“This needs stitches.”
He shook his head. “Just clean it. I’ll be okay.”
“Barely.”
You cleaned the wound as gently as you could, biting back every curse, every shake of your hand. His muscles twitched under your touch, and he hissed when the alcohol met open skin.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
“You’re good at this,” he muttered.
“I used to patch up my brother after every fight he picked. Got a lot of practice.”
There was a quiet beat.
“I’m not picking fights,” he said.
“I know,” you said, softer now. “You’re saving people.”
He didn’t reply. His jaw was clenched, knuckles pale where his hands gripped the chair. You glanced up at his face, and that’s when you saw it—a cut on his cheekbone, just under the edge of the mask. A streak of blood had already dried near his jaw.
“Hold still,” you murmured, and before he could protest, you reached up.
Your fingers found the edge of his mask. He tensed.
“I just want to clean it,” you promised, barely above a whisper.
After a moment, he gave the slightest nod.
You slid the mask up slowly, just over his lips and nose, revealing the sharp line of his cheek, the curve of his mouth, the vulnerable dip under his eye.
Your breath caught.
His eyes weren’t visible—but his lips were parted slightly, and the way he breathed—like he wasn’t sure what would happen next—made your pulse spike.
You dabbed the cut gently, your hand trembling. The alcohol made him flinch.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, not for the sting this time—but for the way your hand lingered.
He turned his head slightly toward your touch.
And suddenly, you couldn’t look away.
His lips were right there.
You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward—slowly, unsure—and pressed your mouth to his.
Soft. Barely a breath. Just enough to feel the heat of him.
He didn’t move for a second.
Then he kissed you back.
Not hard. Not greedy. Just aching.
Your hand curled near his shoulder, careful of the wounds, and his fingers brushed lightly—just barely—against the side of your hip, not holding, just present.
When you pulled back, you kept your eyes closed for a second longer than necessary.
You didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
He adjusted the mask back into place with shaking hands.
You went back to cleaning his wounds, pretending your heart wasn’t about to give out. Pretending you hadn’t just kissed a stranger whose name you didn’t know, but whose breath now lived inside your lungs.
And somewhere deep in your chest, you felt the first crack of something you couldn’t take back.
You were brushing your teeth in an old sweatshirt and socks that barely matched when you heard it—three taps against your bedroom window. Not a knock. Not a bang. Just a careful, light rhythm like someone testing the edge of your attention.
You froze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.
There it was again.
You padded toward the window, heart already halfway up your throat, and pulled the curtain aside.
Spider-Man stood on your fire escape, casual as anything, crouched low with his head tilted like a curious cat.
You stared. “Are you dying?”
He shook his head.
“Is someone else dying?”
He shook his head again.
You opened the window. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”
He stepped inside with practiced ease, barely making a sound. “Just… checking in.”
You blinked. “At midnight?”
“I keep weird hours.”
You raised a brow, still holding your toothbrush. “Do you always drop in uninvited?”
“Only when I think I might be welcome.”
The room felt warmer suddenly. Maybe it was the heat off his suit, or maybe it was just the way he stood there, taking up space in the quiet—like it was normal. Like this was something you did all the time.
You turned back toward the bathroom. “Well, I’m brushing my teeth. You can… sit. Or stand. Or crawl on the ceiling. Whatever.”
You expected him to leave. Or at least hesitate.
But when you peeked back into the room five minutes later, he was still there—standing at the edge of your bed, gloved fingers brushing over the spine of a book you left on your nightstand. The copy of Turtles All The Way Down that you never finished.
You leaned against the doorframe, towel slung over your shoulder. “You read?”
He looked over. “Not enough.”
You walked past him to sit on the bed, one knee tucked under your leg, watching him. “So what, you were swinging through town and thought, ‘You know who probably needs company? That girl who let me bleed all over her kitchen floor’?”
“Something like that,” he said, voice quiet.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was almost easy. The kind of silence that exists between people who don’t need to explain why they’re sitting still in the same space.
You glanced at him again.
His posture was relaxed now. Less superhero, more… person. The lines of his suit glinted faintly under the warm bedroom light, and you noticed again how close he was. Not hovering. Just there.
You tilted your head. “Why me?”
He looked at you for a long moment. “What do you mean?”
“You could be anywhere,” you said. “Saving anyone. But you keep coming back here.”
His breath caught, just barely. “Because you make me feel like I’m not just… a mask.”
That shut you up for a second.
You swallowed. “You’re not.”
He stepped closer. Just one pace.
“Then let me stay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”
You didn’t answer right away.
Then, without breaking his gaze, you pulled back the blanket beside you and nodded once.
He sat. Not on the bed—on the floor, next to where your knee dangled off the mattress, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed more than that.
You curled into the blanket. “You know you don’t have to act like I’m made of glass, right?”
“I’m trying not to scare you,” he murmured.
“You don’t.”
His voice was almost a whisper. “I want to kiss you again.”
You exhaled, heartbeat climbing.
You looked down at him—his face mostly masked, but you could still see the shape of his mouth under the fabric. Familiar now.
“I want to see you,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Just once.”
A pause.
Then: “Not yet.”
You nodded, slow. “Okay.”
He leaned his head back against the bed frame. Close enough to touch. Far enough not to.
You turned off the light.
And for a while, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the quiet rhythm of each other’s breathing—two people, a mask, and a thousand unspoken words between them.
You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard it—the soft tap-tap-tap against your window. It wasn’t cautious this time. It was quick. Urgent. Familiar.
Your breath caught.
You didn’t hesitate.
Towel still clutched around your shoulders, hair dripping down your neck, you padded barefoot across the room and pulled the curtain back with damp fingers.
He was already sliding the window open.
“Spider-Man?” you whispered, more breath than sound.
He stepped inside like he couldn’t wait another second.
His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t limping. But something in his body screamed need. Not for rescue. For you.
You froze. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer.
He reached for you.
His hands were still gloved, still trembling slightly, but they cupped your jaw like they’d wanted to forever. Your breath hitched. You didn’t move. You couldn’t.
“I tried to stay away,” he whispered, voice rough. “I thought I could. I can’t.”
Then he kissed you.
This time there was no hesitation. No pause. Just mouth on mouth, fast and full and wrecked with all the things he hadn’t said.
You gasped against him, your fingers tangling in the suit near his shoulders, and he groaned—soft, low, like your touch unraveled something he hadn’t let himself feel until now.
You pulled him closer.
He tasted like city rain and late-night fire escapes, like silence and wanting, like everything that had built up between you since the first time you looked at him and felt that tight, impossible spark.
He kissed you harder.
His hands roamed your back, slow but insistent, slipping beneath the edge of your shirt, touching skin like it was something sacred.
You broke the kiss only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, your chest tight with wanting.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered.
“I haven’t stopped since I left you,” he said. His voice cracked. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
You kissed him again—slower this time. You let it burn, let it sink in deep.
The kind of kiss that felt like a promise and a problem at once.
He moved with you toward the bed, not rushing, just guiding, as if his body already knew the rhythm of yours. You sat first, and he followed, settling between your knees, hands braced on either side of your thighs.
You could feel the heat of him through the suit. Your hands found the edge of his mask and he tensed.
“I won’t take it off,” you said, fingers curling against the fabric. “I just want more of you.”
You lifted it halfway—just enough to expose his lips again. The curve of his cheek. The jaw you’d kissed once before.
He leaned in.
The next kiss was deeper.
Messier.
One of your legs slipped around his waist, your hands gripping his back through the suit like he was the only real thing in the world.
His tongue slid against yours, slow and desperate, and you moaned—quiet and real and completely undone.
When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.
Your fingers brushed his bare cheek.
He stared at you.
You could’ve said anything. You could’ve told him how you’re getting fond of whatever this was between you guys. But instead, you kissed him again, hoping that it gets the message across.
The diner buzzed with the familiar noise of a Friday night rush — the clatter of plates, low conversations spilling across booths, and the steady hum of the old jukebox playing soft tunes in the background. You moved behind the counter, wiping it down carefully, your hands working on autopilot while your mind drifted somewhere else, somewhere quieter.
Sophia slid into the stool beside you, pushing a loose curl from her face with a playful grin. “Okay, spill it,” she said, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “You’ve been different lately. Happier. More… sparkly. What’s going on?”
Chaewon leaned in too, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, you’re practically glowing. We’re demanding answers.”
You laughed, the sound soft and easy, but a blush warmed your cheeks anyway. “It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been casually seeing a guy.”
Sophia’s eyes brightened. “Ooo, a guy? Spill! What’s he like?”
You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light and casual. “Nothing special, really. Just hanging out. No drama, no expectations.”
Chaewon gave a knowing nod. “Sounds like fun.”
You smiled, but didn’t offer more. The truth was, you enjoyed the simplicity — the way it wasn’t complicated or heavy. Just a guy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Unnoticed by you, Jake stood quietly near the diner’s entrance, leaning against the wall with a coffee cup in hand. His dark eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, tracing the easy smile you wore, the way your eyes lit up with your friends. There was a crease in his brow, a quiet ache masked beneath his calm expression.
He said nothing. Didn’t move or interrupt. Just listened.
You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, but by then he was already turning away, slipping out the back door like a shadow.
The air felt heavier suddenly, like you’d just let a secret out you hadn’t meant to share, even if the words themselves were harmless.
Later, when the crowd had thinned and the neon “Closed” sign flickered on, you leaned against the counter, the quiet settling around you like a soft blanket. The night air was cooler now, the streets bathed in amber streetlight.
You were just locking the door when Jake’s voice came softly from behind you.
“Hey.”
You turned, startled but not frightened.
He stepped closer, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
“You okay?”
You nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, just tired.”
He smiled briefly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You looked different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“Happier,” he said quietly. “Like someone’s got you walking on clouds.”
You laughed, brushing your hair back. “It’s just… casual. Nothing worth worrying about.”
Jake’s gaze softened, but the tension around his jaw didn’t ease.
“Just casual, huh?”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretched between you, thick with words neither of you wanted to say.
Jake swallowed. “I’m glad.”
You blinked, surprised by the simple honesty.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
He stepped back, hands lifting slightly like he was ready to disappear again.
But then, his voice dropped, hesitant. “If you ever want to talk… or if you need anything…”
You smiled, the warmth in his tone seeping into your chest.
“I’ll be around,” you said.
Jake nodded, then slipped away into the night, leaving you standing there with a new, quiet ache you couldn’t name.
It starts like always.
He climbs through your window with his suit half unzipped and his breath uneven, like he ran all the way across the city just to touch you. You don’t say anything at first. You just step aside and let him in, like you’ve been doing this for weeks.
He reaches for you without hesitation, fingers curling around your waist like a reflex. His mouth finds yours before you can even breathe his name, and it’s like flipping a switch—heat, pressure, want. All of it there in an instant.
He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s scared it’ll be the last time. You tilt your head and let it happen, let his hands pull you closer, let the weight of the day melt into something warmer.
“You looked so pretty at the diner,” he says between kisses, voice low and rough and close to your ear. “When you were sitting with Sophia and Chaewon.”
The words don’t register at first.
His mouth is on your neck now. His hands are at the hem of your shirt. He’s saying more—something about how you laughed when Chaewon told a story. Something about how you looked away when Sophia teased you. Something about your voice when you said you were seeing someone.
Your heart stops.
You pull away.
His breath hitches, hands still hovering near your waist. He looks at you with the mask still on, lenses wide, unreadable.
Your voice is cold. “What did you say?”
“I—” He straightens slightly. “I said you looked—”
“No. You said I was talking to Sophia and Chaewon.”
He goes still.
You stare at him. “No one else was around that night. Just us. It was slow. We were cleaning up. There were no customers. No one came to the counter.”
He doesn’t speak.
Your chest tightens. “Except Jake.”
His posture shifts. Not much. But just enough.
Just enough to confirm everything you didn’t want to believe.
Your throat burns. “You were sitting in the last booth. Hoodie. Headphones. Vanilla milkshake.”
The mask says nothing. But the silence behind it screams the truth.
You step back, blood rushing to your ears. “Say something.”
He doesn’t move.
So you whisper it, voice sharp with betrayal. “You’re Jake.”
Still nothing.
“Take it off.”
He flinches.
You take another step forward. “Take. It. Off.”
“I didn’t mean to lie,” he says softly.
“I don’t care what you meant.” Your voice is trembling now, but you don’t stop. “You touched me. You kissed me. You watched me talk about you without knowing. You owe me this.”
His hands slowly rise.
He presses his fingers to the edge of the mask and pulls it up—slowly, carefully—until it peels over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes.
And there he is.
Jake.
Messy hair. Wide eyes. That same guilty half-smile he gave you every time you refilled his coffee at the diner. But now it’s cracked open, raw and real and exposed in a way that makes your stomach twist.
You stare at him.
It’s worse seeing it for real. Somehow, it always is.
“I wanted to tell you,” he says, voice barely holding together. “But every time I tried… you looked at me like I was just Jake. And I wanted to be more than that to you.”
“You already were,” you whisper. “You just didn’t trust me to know it.”
He swallows, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry.”
You nod slowly, even though nothing about this feels okay. “You should go.”
He doesn’t fight it.
He just lowers the mask again, step by step, until it hides the truth once more.
Then he climbs out the window, leaving behind the version of himself you’ll never see the same again.
And you don’t cry.
You just stand there in the quiet and wonder if any of it was real—or if it was all just another mask.
The bell above the door jingled at exactly 9:42 a.m.
You didn’t look up.
You were pouring coffee into a chipped white mug, the pot warm in your hand, the scent clinging to your clothes the way it always did after an hour behind the counter. Sophia was already in the back prepping waffles, and Chaewon had just started sorting silverware into trays like it mattered.
He slid into his usual booth.
You could feel it without even turning around—the shape of him, the weight of his presence. You didn’t need to see his face. You could trace the silence he carried like a line straight through your chest.
You didn’t say hi.
Didn’t ask if he wanted the vanilla milkshake this time.
Didn’t ask if he was tired from swinging across rooftops and kissing you like you meant something.
You just grabbed the coffee pot again and moved toward him slowly, like your body hadn’t registered what your heart already decided: you weren’t ready to forgive him.
He looked up when you approached.
His hair was still slightly damp like he’d showered in a rush. His hoodie was soft and wrinkled. His fingers were curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You said nothing.
You poured the coffee into the mug in front of him—half full, just how he liked it—and turned to leave without another word.
“Y/N…” he tried again.
You didn’t stop. Not until his next words caught you mid-step.
“I didn’t sleep. Not at all.”
You turned your head, slowly, your eyes barely landing on him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied.”
His face cracked—just a flicker—but you caught it.
You were good at reading people. You just weren’t good at reading him.
He opened his mouth to respond, but you held up a hand.
“No, Jake. Not here.”
He blinked. “So… you’re just gonna act like you don’t know me?”
You gave a bitter little smile, one corner of your mouth twitching. “I know you better than I ever asked to.”
Chaewon poked her head out from the kitchen just then, eyes landing on you both with curiosity. She didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows raised a little like she was preparing for gossip.
You turned back to the counter, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.
Jake didn’t move.
He sat in silence while his coffee went cold. He didn’t drink it. Didn’t even touch the spoon.
Eventually, Sophia came out front and started asking him if he needed cream or sugar. You didn’t listen to his answer. You just watched the light on the countertop catch the reflection of the glass door as it swung open again.
This time, when it closed, Jake was gone.
And still—you didn’t feel better.
Just more certain that pretending he didn’t exist was going to hurt both of you.
The city never really sleeps, but tonight it feels miles away from your small apartment. Streetlights spill pale orange through the curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the floorboards. Outside, distant sirens echo faintly, reminders that life pulses somewhere else—somewhere you’re not sure you want to be.
You drop onto the couch, worn cushions sighing beneath you like an old friend. Your knees press into your chest, arms wrapping around them loosely, as if holding yourself together is all you can manage right now. The apartment smells faintly of cold coffee and something forgotten—a hint of vanilla from the last late-night batch you made.
Your fingers absentmindedly trace the frayed fabric of the cushion, each thread like a memory you can’t quite untangle. The words he said—no, the things he didn’t say—loop in your mind, turning over and over like a song stuck on repeat.
The way he kissed you, as both Jake and Spider-Man. The way he knew things no one should know. The quiet confession hiding behind the mask. The betrayal.
Your chest feels tight, the weight of it pressing down like a physical thing.
Your phone vibrates once, sharply, slicing through the silence. You glance at the screen. No name. No message. Just a notification that feels too heavy to open.
You don’t.
Instead, you push yourself up and walk to the coffee table where your old notebook lies. You haven’t touched it in months, not since life became a tangled mess of half-truths and broken silences.
The cover creaks as you flip it open, pages yellowed and edges curling with age. You pick up the pen beside it and press it to paper.
You don’t write about him. You don’t write about Jake or Spider-Man. You write about you.
The ink flows slowly, like breathing underwater—each word a step toward understanding the storm inside.
You write about the diner’s quiet hum on slow afternoons, the way the sunlight feels too sharp after nights like this, how you sometimes crave silence even when your thoughts are loud.
You write about trust—how fragile it feels when it’s cracked, how hard it is to rebuild something that’s broken.
You write about loneliness. Not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that comes from standing too close to someone who keeps parts of themselves hidden.
Hours pass as the ink stains your fingers and the city outside fades further into background noise.
Your breath steadies. The knot in your chest loosens, just enough to let a small, tired smile escape.
You close the notebook, tucking it back on the shelf with gentle care, like a secret you’re not ready to share.
Tonight is yours.
No masks. No lies.
Just the quiet truth, and the slow, steady beating of your own heart.
The morning light streams through the diner’s wide windows, soft and warm like a delicate invitation. It spills across the linoleum floor in golden patches, settling over the worn booths and gleaming countertops as if nothing had shifted in the world overnight.
But everything has shifted.
You stand behind the counter, hands moving out of habit as you wipe down tables and refill syrup bottles. Your fingers linger over the familiar glass jars, the sticky sweetness reminding you of simpler days—days before the mask slipped, before the lies took shape, before you realized how fragile trust could be.
Your mind drifts, weaving between the moments you replay over and over. The way he kissed you, both as Spider-Man and as Jake. The way he knew things you hadn’t told anyone, secrets shared in the quiet moments with your friends. The ache of betrayal still raw beneath your skin.
Sophia steps out from the kitchen, the clatter of plates quieting behind her. She pauses beside you, her gaze catching yours with a softness that makes you almost want to break down. Almost.
“You okay?” she asks quietly, voice a gentle thread in the morning hum of the diner.
You force a small smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She watches you for a moment longer, eyes sharp and steady. Then she reaches out, handing you a cup of freshly brewed coffee without a word.
Your fingers brush hers for a brief second, a simple contact that feels more comforting than any words could.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying beyond the counter.
Sophia nods, her presence steady and reassuring. She doesn’t press you for answers, doesn’t demand you to share what you’re not ready to say. Instead, she stays near, a quiet anchor in the swirl of your thoughts.
You take a slow sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through your chest and grounding you. For a moment, the chaos of last night recedes, replaced by the familiar rhythm of the diner and the soft murmur of customers beginning their day.
Chaewon joins you then, carrying a tray of freshly toasted bagels, her smile bright despite the early hour. The three of you share a quiet glance, an unspoken understanding passing between you—a small reminder that even in the midst of uncertainty, you’re not alone.
As the morning unfolds, you find yourself breathing a little easier, the tight knot in your chest loosening just enough to let a flicker of hope through.
Today is yours, even if the past still lingers in the corners.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.
The diner’s lights flicked off one by one as you finished the last round of cleaning, the soft clatter of dishes and low hum of the city outside creating a familiar lull. It was later than usual, and the air in your small apartment felt thick with exhaustion and something you couldn’t quite name.
Outside, the world was quiet — deceptively so. The kind of quiet that fills the spaces just before chaos erupts.
You slid your phone into your pocket, the vibration from an unanswered message still buzzing faintly against your thigh. No name. No words. Just a silent echo.
Locking the door behind you, you stepped out into the night. The cold air bit at your cheeks, sharp and electric against your flushed skin.
Then you heard it — a harsh, sudden crash that ripped through the silence like a jagged blade. It was close. Too close.
Without thinking, your feet moved faster, adrenaline snapping tight through your veins. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure it would burst free from your ribs.
Turning into the narrow alley beside the diner, you froze.
There, crumpled against the cold brick wall, was the flash of red and blue — Spider-Man.
His body was twisted, broken in ways no human should be. A deep, angry gash ran across his cheek, blood staining the fabric of his mask and trickling onto the pavement.
Your breath hitched.
Panic slammed through you like a tidal wave. Kneeling beside him, your hands trembled as you reached out, brushing damp hair from his forehead.
“Jake,” you whispered, voice trembling, barely daring to speak the name you’d come to know so intimately yet so secretly.
His eyes flickered open, dark and clouded with pain and confusion. For the first time, you saw him not as an elusive hero or mysterious stranger, but as a fragile, human man — vulnerable and broken.
Your chest constricted, a sharp ache blossoming deep inside.
You pressed your palm against the bleeding wound, fingers trembling as you tried to steady both him and yourself.
Tears blurred your vision as the realization dawned—this was more than admiration, more than curiosity.
You had fallen for him. For Jake.
Not the mask. Not the myth. The man beneath it all.
The distant wail of sirens grew louder, but you didn’t want to let go.
“I’m here,” you promised softly, voice steady even as your heart shattered.
And in the cold night, holding him close, you finally understood the weight of love—its fragility, its power, and its fierce, unrelenting truth.
You didn’t take him to a hospital.
You couldn’t. He whispered it once — not there, don’t take me there — voice broken and laced with panic beneath the blood and bruises. It wasn’t pride. It was fear. Fear of being unmasked, exposed, vulnerable in front of people who wouldn’t see Jake, only Spider-Man.
So you took him home.
It was slow, agonizing. He leaned heavily on you, half-conscious, his breaths shallow and uneven. Each step felt like a mile, his weight shifting in your arms as you tried to keep him upright. You didn’t stop. Not once. Not even when your legs trembled beneath his.
By the time you reached your apartment, your arms were shaking from the strain and your lungs burned from holding in every sound that wanted to escape — the panic, the heartbreak, the truth.
He collapsed onto your couch the second you let go, one arm slung over the backrest, the other curled protectively around his ribs. His mask was still on, though it hung loosely, barely clinging to his cheekbones.
You knelt in front of him, hands already reaching for the emergency kit tucked beneath your bathroom sink.
Your voice was quiet. “I need to see.”
He didn’t answer. Just nodded — a barely-there motion. Trusting you. Giving in.
You peeled the mask away gently, trying not to wince when it tugged against dried blood. His eyes fluttered shut as the air touched his skin, and for a moment, he looked like a boy. Not a hero. Not a name whispered in awe across rooftops. Just Jake. Broken and breathing.
Your breath caught when you saw the full damage — the bruises already blooming across his ribs, the cuts along his collarbone, the torn skin at his temple. His lip was split. His left wrist swollen and scraped raw.
You whispered his name like a question. “Jake.”
“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s a lie,” you said, your voice cracking.
Still, your hands moved with careful purpose.
Warm washcloth first — soft, wet, stained with the grime of soot and blood and the city. You wiped gently at the wounds on his face, watching his brow twitch with every press. His breath hitched when your fingertips brushed too close to the edge of a bruise, but he didn’t pull away.
Next came the antiseptic. The hiss of pain from his mouth made you flinch, but he didn’t curse. Just gritted his teeth and looked away, jaw tight.
You pressed a bandage to the cut on his cheek. “You’re lucky I didn’t listen to you and take you straight to the ER.”
He smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “You always this stubborn?”
“Only with people who lie to me,” you said.
His smile faded. The silence between you turned heavier, more intimate somehow. Fragile.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said softly. “Like I could break.”
You dipped your head, pulling gauze around his forearm with slow precision. “Too late.”
He exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re mad.”
You tied off the bandage, not looking at him. “You’re lucky that’s all I am.”
He was quiet for a moment, then: “You could’ve left me there.”
You looked up. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot. Honest.
“I couldn’t,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you like that. I couldn’t… lose you.”
The words escaped before you could stop them. And they hung in the air, trembling.
He looked at you like he heard everything you weren’t saying.
You pressed your hand against his chest, right over the bruise spreading beneath the suit. “You scared me.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve died.”
“I know,” he whispered again, voice thin. “I was thinking about you when I hit the wall.”
You blinked, breath catching. “What?”
He closed his eyes. “I thought about how I never told you properly. That I was Jake. That I was sorry. That I—”
“Don’t,” you said softly. “Not now.”
He opened his eyes again. “Why not?”
“Because I need you to stay awake. And alive.”
His lips curved gently, even through the pain. “Then sit with me.”
You didn’t hesitate.
You eased onto the couch beside him, lifting his arm carefully to rest against your shoulders. His head dropped slightly, forehead grazing your temple. He smelled like sweat and concrete and something warm beneath the bruises. Something safe.
You stayed there for hours.
And as he drifted to sleep, breath shallow against your skin, you pressed your hand to his chest again — to feel it.
His heartbeat.
Steady.
Alive.
Yours to keep safe tonight.
The apartment was quiet.
The kind of quiet that follows long nights and heavy truths — not heavy like sadness, but heavy like something honest finally laid down between two people.
The first light of morning slipped through your curtains, brushing against the edges of the living room like soft breath. You stirred on the couch before he did, one arm still looped around Jake’s shoulders, your other hand resting gently on his chest.
He hadn’t moved all night.
His breathing had stayed shallow and steady, his face peaceful despite the bruises, and you’d stayed exactly where you were. Awake for most of it. Watching him sleep. Listening to the sounds of the city slowly restart outside.
You weren’t afraid anymore. Not of him. Not of what it meant to know who he was.
You didn’t pull away when he finally stirred.
He shifted slightly, groaning under his breath, one arm tightening loosely around your waist.
“I didn’t die,” he muttered, voice low and cracked with sleep. “Cool.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head toward him. “Shocking. Your dramatic fall against a brick wall wasn’t fatal.”
His lips twitched. “I’ll try harder next time.”
“Don’t you dare,” you said, and even though it came out dry, he heard the weight in it. He heard the fear that hadn’t left you yet.
Jake’s eyes opened slowly. They were dark and warm and still tired. “How long did you stay up?”
You looked away. “I didn’t count.”
“You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“Nope.”
A pause.
“I didn’t want to miss anything,” you added, quieter now. “Like your breathing stopping. Or your heart. Or you just disappearing.”
“I wouldn’t leave like that.”
“You almost did.”
Jake didn’t argue. He reached up with his unbandaged hand and gently brushed your hair behind your ear.
You didn’t stop him.
There was no kiss. No bold declarations. No need to name what this was.
But something had changed.
The closeness wasn’t strange anymore. The touches weren’t careful. You both moved around each other like something shared had finally settled — something real. A middle place between love and caution. Between healing and wanting.
You sat up slowly, stretching your arms as the sunlight caught on your skin. “I’ll make you something.”
Jake blinked up at you. “Like… food?”
“Yes, genius,” you said, standing. “You almost died. You need eggs.”
He smiled fully this time. Not the nervous, half-smile you’d seen at the diner. Not the flirtatious smirk he wore behind the mask. Just Jake. Tired. Bruised. Comfortable.
You made scrambled eggs and burnt toast because that’s all you had, and he sat on your couch, wrapped in a throw blanket like a very injured and slightly cocky ghost.
He didn’t ask to leave.
You didn’t ask him to stay.
But you both knew he would.
It started to feel normal.
Not everything. Not the bruises that still dotted Jake’s ribs or the way you sometimes caught yourself staring at the scars on his back when he changed in your bathroom. Not the fact that his phone would buzz and his entire body would tense like the city itself was pulling him back through a tether.
But the rest of it — the in-betweens — started to feel easy.
He came through the window now, not like a secret, not like a ghost, but like someone who knew the way. You didn’t flinch when you heard the soft thud of boots on the fire escape. You didn’t rush to hide whatever you were doing. You just opened the window wider and stepped back so he could crawl inside.
“You keep leaving it unlocked,” he said one night, ducking in with his suit unzipped halfway and his hair damp from either rain or a rooftop leak — you weren’t sure which.
You didn’t look up from your book. “Maybe I just like the breeze.”
He scoffed quietly, toeing off his boots and setting them beside the window like he lived here. “Right. It’s the breeze. Definitely not the charming superhero with a mild head injury.”
“You hit your head again?” you asked, glancing over the top of your pages.
“Only a little.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. He knew where the first aid kit was now. He knew how to use it. You weren’t going to hover — not anymore.
Instead, you scooted over on the couch.
He hesitated, just for a second, then sat beside you with a soft groan. The blanket was already pooled on the cushion. You didn’t offer it. He didn’t ask. He just pulled it over both your legs like he belonged there.
And maybe, in this moment, he did.
You read while he rested his head back, eyes closed, breathing steady. Not asleep, just… still. Like he was giving himself permission to stop moving for once.
After a while, he spoke. “I told Heeseung I was hanging out with someone.”
You turned a page. “You told him it was me?”
Jake smirked faintly, eyes still shut. “No. I told him I was ‘seeing someone who likes their eggs too dry and their coffee too sweet.’ He figured it out.”
You nudged his knee with yours. “Rude.”
He hummed. “You like your coffee sweet.”
“Not that sweet.”
He opened one eye and looked at you. “Okay. But the eggs part was accurate.”
You bit back a smile, lowering your book. “So… you’ve told people.”
“Just him. And Sunghoon maybe suspects something.”
“Are you going to tell him you spend every night at a diner girl’s apartment in flannel pajamas?”
“I don’t spend every night,” he said, grinning now.
You arched a brow.
“…Okay, most nights,” he admitted.
You let the silence fill the space again. Not heavy, not awkward. Just comfortable. Like music that didn’t need to be played out loud.
Neither of you had called this anything.
Not dating. Not not-dating.
But the space between you had changed. No more pretending. No more hiding behind masks and diner counters and clever banter. Just late nights, burnt eggs, bruised bodies healing slowly, and the occasional forehead touch when words felt too big.
And every time the window opened, so did something else.
The rain starts around midnight.
Not a storm, not quite — just a steady, silver hiss outside your window, soft against the glass, soft against the fire escape. The kind of rain that makes everything quieter. Slower. Softer.
You’re already in your pajamas — a threadbare tee and sleep shorts — when the knock comes. Not on your door, but rather on the glass.
You don’t flinch anymore.
You cross the room barefoot, your toes brushing against the cold hardwood, and pull the curtain aside.
He’s there.
Jake.
Not in the suit. Not this time. Just a hoodie and jeans, both slightly damp. His hair is wet too, clinging to his forehead, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets like maybe this wasn’t planned. Like maybe he didn’t know he’d come here tonight but somehow ended up here anyway.
You open the window without a word.
He ducks inside, movements quiet, careful not to drip too much on your rug.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like the rain outside.
“Hey,” you say back.
No explanation. None needed.
You hand him a towel from the bathroom. He pulls it over his head and ruffles his hair while you move toward the kitchen.
“I was going to make grilled cheese,” you offer, like he’s just any friend stopping by and not the boy who bled on your couch last week.
He perks up. “With tomato soup?”
You glance over your shoulder, lips curving. “Do I look like I have tomato soup just lying around?”
“…Yes?”
You snort. “You’re in luck.”
He smiles, the warm, quiet kind he only gives you now. Like he’s finally stopped waiting for you to shove him away.
Ten minutes later, the soup is bubbling, and the smell of butter and cheese fills the apartment. He’s leaning against your counter, damp towel draped over his shoulder, watching you slice bread like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
“You always make that face when you’re concentrating,” he murmurs.
“What face?”
“That one,” he says, pointing at your mouth. “The pouty one.”
You swat a dish towel at him. “Shut up and go set the table.”
It’s not even a real table — just the low coffee table in front of your couch — but he does it anyway. Two bowls. Two mismatched mugs of water. He even lights the small vanilla candle you forgot you left there.
You sit beside him, the grilled cheese warm in your hands, the soup steaming gently between you.
He dips his sandwich first. You watch the way his eyes flutter closed when he takes a bite.
“I’d die for this,” he says dramatically.
“You almost did.”
He opens one eye.
“…Fair.”
You both laugh — soft, sleepy laughter that settles between you like a blanket. The food disappears slowly. Not because you’re distracted, but because you’re both enjoying the silence. The nearness.
You take his plate when he’s done.
He follows you into the kitchen, trailing a little too close behind, fingertips grazing the small of your back. Not obvious. Not urgent. Just… there.
You wash. He dries.
At some point, you both end up in your room — not rushed, not planned. It just happens.
He lies down first, facing the window. You crawl in behind him.
Your knees press into the backs of his. Your hand slips into the space between his shoulder blades. Your forehead rests against his spine like it belongs there.
“Stay?” you whisper.
His answer is immediate. “Always.”
And in the quiet hush of rain and candlelight, you fall asleep like that.
You woke up to buzzing.
Not the lazy kind. Not the 7:00 a.m. alarm you always snoozed or the “we’re out of eggs again” group chat from Sophia and Chaewon.
No — this was frantic buzzing.
Back-to-back notifications hammering your phone like someone set the internet on fire.
You rubbed sleep from your eyes and grabbed the phone from under your pillow. The screen was lit up with texts. Mentions. Twitter screenshots. Names you didn’t recognize. And one group chat name you did.
[Chaewon 🪩]
GIRL.
GO.
LOOK.
RIGHT. NOW.
You’re viral.
Your heart skipped.
The first post you opened was blurry — pixelated and shot from below — but unmistakable.
A streetlamp. The shape of Spider-Man crouched on the edge of a fire escape. His mask pushed halfway up, just enough to show his jaw. His hand reaching down.
And you.
The photo wasn’t clear enough to catch your face fully, but it was you. You knew it. The diner uniform. The hair. The way you tilted your head when you were trying not to smile.
You knew the moment.
Last week. You’d been locking up the diner. He’d dropped down from the roof like always, dramatic and a little smug. You told him to stop scaring you like that, and he laughed.
He kissed you before vanishing again, slipping between buildings like smoke.
And now it was everywhere.
“SPIDER-MAN SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL — COULD IT BE LOVE?”
“Brooklyn’s Friendly Neighborhood Hero Might Be Taken 👀”
“Who Is Spider-Man’s Real Life MJ?”
You dropped the phone.
It hit the comforter with a dull thud, and your stomach followed.
The knock on your window came less than five minutes later.
You didn’t open it right away.
Jake knocked again, this time gentler. You could see him through the curtain — no mask, just a hoodie pulled low over his brow, eyes anxious even from this distance.
You opened the window.
He stepped inside, quiet. Careful.
“They got a photo,” you said before he could even speak.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”
“I didn’t even see anyone. How—”
“I don’t know. Someone probably lives in that building. It was… stupid of me to do that there. I wasn’t thinking.”
You didn’t answer.
“I never wanted this to touch you,” he said, voice low. “I’ve kept my identity hidden for this long for a reason. Not for me. For people around me. For people like you.”
“But now it has,” you said, words falling heavy between you.
He looked up at you, eyes dark and threaded with guilt. “We can shut it down. Deny it. Say it wasn’t you.”
You almost laughed. “Jake, I was wearing my name tag.”
He flinched.
You stepped back, away from the window, arms folding tight over your chest.
He followed, just far enough to keep the space between you soft but careful.
“They don’t know your name. They won’t find your apartment. I’ll keep you safe,” he said.
And maybe he believed that. Maybe he could fight off half of Brooklyn’s crime ring and swing through fires and save kids from collapsing buildings.
But this?
This was different.
This was people watching.
Talking.
Wanting something from the both of you.
You looked at him — this boy you’d held while he bled, this boy you fed soup in silence, this boy who looked at you like he already knew how you tasted when you laughed.
“I don’t want to be your headline,” you whispered.
Jake swallowed, stepping closer, close enough to lower his voice.
“Then let me be yours.”
You blinked.
“I don’t care if the city knows. I don’t care if they guess. I care that you don’t run.”
You were quiet for a long moment.
“I won’t run,” you said finally. “But I don’t want to be someone’s theory or some TikTok guessing game.”
He nodded. “Then we don’t give them anything. We keep it how it’s been. Quiet. Ours.”
You looked at him.
And slowly, you nodded back.
Still not dating or defined, but something real and even now — especially now — worth protecting.
The diner was already buzzing when you walked in.
Not busy. Just buzzing. Like the air itself had caught wind of something and couldn’t stop humming about it.
Sophia looked up from where she was leaning over the counter, scrolling on her phone with a smirk already tugging at her lips.
“Well, well, if it isn’t New York’s most mysterious love interest,” she said.
Chaewon popped her head up from the pastry display. “Are we still pretending you don’t know Spider-Man?”
You froze halfway to the break room, then let your shoulders fall with a practiced sigh.
“Guys.”
“No, no, don’t ‘guys’ us,” Chaewon said, rounding the counter and pulling you by the elbow. “We gave you weeks. We gave you space. But now you’re literally a trending topic.”
Sophia held up her phone screen. Your face, blurry and tilted, next to Spider-Man’s unmistakable red-and-blue suit, was on every gossip account in New York. #SpiderBae was trending.
“You look cute,” Sophia added. “Also terrified.”
“I was terrified,” you muttered. “He dropped out of the sky like a vampire. It was dark.”
Chaewon narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a denial.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Then opened it once more just to say, “We’re not dating.”
“But you know him,” Sophia said.
You hesitated. “I know… a version of him.”
Chaewon gave you a look. “So you are his Pepper to your Tony.”
“I am nobody’s Pepper,” you said, sliding into the break room before they could follow.
They didn’t push it. Not yet. But you knew this wasn’t going away.
By noon, five customers had commented on how much you “looked like that girl.” One even asked for a selfie “just in case.” You laughed it off. Smiled through it. But the back of your neck stayed warm the whole time.
And then the door chimed.
You were pouring coffee, distracted, half-listening to Sophia hum a Taylor Swift song behind you, when you turned — and froze.
Jake.
Not Spider-Man.
Not swinging in.
Not masked.
Just Jake. In a gray hoodie, jeans, windblown hair, and a look on his face like he already regretted this.
Your breath hitched.
He met your eyes. Briefly. Softly.
Then sat at the counter like he belonged there.
Sophia blinked. “…Is that?”
Chaewon squinted. “That’s the guy who always orders cherry pie on Wednesdays.”
You nearly dropped the coffee pot.
You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over slowly, heart hammering.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, low enough that no one else could hear.
He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You always talk about how good the soup is.”
Your eyes searched his. “Jake—”
“I used the front door,” he said. “I thought maybe it was time I stopped hiding.”
You stared at him. At the quiet bravery in that sentence.
“Okay,” you said. Then, gently: “Don’t look too heroic while you eat. Someone might take a picture.”
He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
You walked away.
And when Sophia and Chaewon cornered you in the kitchen three minutes later, you didn’t lie.
You just smiled. Shrugged.
“Okay,” you admitted. “He likes my eggs. I like his face. That’s it.”
Chaewon screamed. Sophia threw a napkin in the air like confetti.
And through the diner window, Jake lifted his spoon like a toast — just for you.
-> p1harmony x seventh member! male reader, this was giving more platonic love but i think its still sweeeeeetttt
warnings : none , i think talk of getting old, i guess
rating : fluff 🙏
yoon keeho
- he loves including aesthetic pictures of you (and him) in his dump.
- he likes keeping the messages short and sweet on the internet, but trust the first thing you see and hear when that clock strikes 12 on your birthday is either: a lengthy heartwarming text from him or him just going to your room and smothering you in love.
- he probably will be the first member to greet you because he takes wishing happy birthday to people seriously (secretly holds grudges on everyone that doesnt wish him happy birthday in the first minute of his own) (he does not play when it comes to birthdays). but its because he thinks that theyre such important and sentimental dates.
- always makes it a point in each post and each year on your birthday to say that he can’t wait to grow old with you because he thinks that is one of the most raw forms of love and admiration you can have for someone. envisions a future with you constantly and just gets even more mushy and sensitive about it when your birthday comes around because it’s like, actually real and happening. you two are really getting older together and he just lowkey tears up at the thought of it.
- tries using his persuasive leader skills to get the company to give them all a singular day off to properly celebrate and will try his hardest to fight for this one day off, entirely for you.
- probably cries in his room about it too LMAO i just see him as someone overly sensitive and invested in the idea of growing old with his loved ones, which obviously would include you. thinks about how you two even first met and how you’re both so different now and it lowkey feels like a punch to his gut because the time really is flying so fast.
- keeps the fesitivities of the day wholly centered around you; whatever it is you want to do, he wants to do too! it’s your birthday, they’re all just coming along for the ride since it’s your special day.
choi taeyang
- makes it a point in his message every year to emphasize the fact on staying happy and prioritizing your happiness above else.
- never wants you to forget that you are one of his strongest pillars of support and motivation to keep him going and he very literally needs you to be healthy, happy, and content in order to have peace of mind. he places personal happiness of an individual above everything and really hopes you share that same sentiment so that you can put your own happiness above everything else, too.
- pics he drops of you are very bf-coded lmao don’t ask him if it was purposeful because it wasn’t, he just likes taking off-guard photos of you. he thinks that that is when you’re the most handsome to him, hence why he posts them because he wants others and p1ece to be able to appreciate those photos too.
- makes a lot of jokes on your birthday about how you’re getting old, but are still younger than him therefore a baby.
- i can just imagine him affectionately rubbing his hand on your head or up and down your neck and softly saying that you’re still so young. he feels like reminding you of that fact is important on your birthday, as well as just making you remember that just because you’re a year older doesn’t mean you need to feel rushed into doing something, such as obtaining your goals or dreams. he knows how hard you are on yourself and wants you to know that just because you’re older now doesn’t mean there’s now a timer on how “far” your dreams are now. pulls the “oldest is the wisest” card definitely when he gives you that talk because he’s speaking so articulately on it and solemnly trying to remind you of that fact.
- i feel like he’d be one to reminisce a lot on when you two were younger together, maybe when you were trainees together or just little things you experienced together that you can’t now due to whatever circumstances. speaks fondly of those times, but his heart does ache to see that time is passing by and how different things are now.
- in general, he tries not to be too sappy, but rather keep the mood uplifted and high. he wants you to keep a positive outlook on your life and will remind you that he’s always there for you, to talk or whatever it is you need him for.
choi jiung
- wishes you a happy birthday with the softest smile on his face and maybe even leaning in for a hug, and if he’s really feeling soft about it being your birthday he’ll even kiss the top of your head. it depends on the year, honestly, he’s only done it a total of five times for all the years he’s known you.
- kind of likes to be in control of what goes on on your birthday BUT NOT IN THAT WAY. he obviously doesn’t make the plans for you, chooses things for you — not like that. he just wants to make sure everything is perfect for YOUR day. so he likes to be in charge of cleaning up the place for the celebration, decorating the place, even little things like being the one to place the candles on your cake because he needs them to be perfect and he knows he can do that.
- genuinely will lowkey get pissed or annoyed if any of the members do anything to slightly ruin the plans that were made, shoots them a warning look if even the slightest thing is out of line. he wants you to have this special moment and memory in your mind of how everything was on your special day.
- likes to linger close to you, surveying all the surroundings to make sure it’s too your liking and everything is comfortable.
- in his birthday post to you, he likes mentioning some term of endearment just to show that, while he might not always physically show you how much he loves you, he still harbors such strong feelings of love, admiration, and care for you.
hwang intak
- intak is so incredibly loud and proud each year when it’s your birthday.
- after keeho, he’s probably the next member to eagerly wish you a happy birthday, smothering you in hugs and kisses, squeezing you tight as he proclaims how happy he is that it’s your birthday. jokingly will call you an old man at least once in the day.
- p1ece love his birthday post to you because he drops some of the most top tier pics of you, everyone say thank u intak.
- physically cannot be away from you for too long or else he will start whining about how you have to be near him for your birthday. likes holding onto your arm as an anchor in keeping you close.
- probably another member to quietly cry about how you’re getting older in the privacy of his room or when you all are around the cake, he just randomly lets a tear or two slip. but they’re happy tears, he swears! he’s just sososo happy that you’re life is continuing on for another year AND MANY MORE !!!!!!!! and he just feels so grateful to be able to see you actually grow into such a strong individual, becoming a man he loves and truly admires.
- scrolls through old photos of you and him from your pre-debut days and the smile on his face when he does is so unbelievably wide.
- just a smiley guy throughout the entire day, physical affection amped up to the max, and maybe a tear or two slipping,
haku shota
- the only person to explictly say that they love you in their online post to you.
- loves posting the silliest photos that you two have together, he thinks that that side of yours is one he loves seeing because it reminds him of how the two of you would goof off a lot when you were younger. obviously, having debuted there is almost always some level of maturity and professionalism that you need to show in public. but those silly pics he has of you two together are just cute ways of shota showing everyone, and reminding himself, that at heart, you’re just a silly guy.
- another latcher, along with intak. likes to just be on top of you the entire day, have fun carrying around two fully grown men around with you because these two seriously won’t be away from you for longer than a minute.
- incredibly vocal on your birthday, way more than he usually is because he just loves talking about how it’s your special day, how you’re getting older, but still remaining the same boy that was guiding him when he was a trainee, how much he loves you, how much he hopes you enjoy your day, how- the list goes on.
- will hand you your gift with an eager look on his face, wanting to see you open it right then and there because he was so particular in picking it out for you and wants to see if he did a good job (tell him he did because he did. do it rn. don’t be RUDE tell him or else.)
- definitely not the type to get sentimental though, he doesn’t like looking at birthdays like that. instead, he’s in a completely celebratory mood and outrageously positive the entire day. someone would think it was his birthday from how excited he is about today.
kim jongseob
- jongseob’s post about you is absolutely beautiful and it makes him bashful to read what he feels being made public, but he gets over it rather quickly because he knows that that is how he truly feels and that there’s no other way he could have worded it to you. he also wants people to know how deeply he cares for you and how much admiration he holds for you in his heart. it’s slightly embarrassing, but he gets over it when he hears you acknowledge how his words have touched you.
- he is taking pictures of you the entire day. his film camera, his phone, videoing you as well, he just really wants to commemorate this day and have something to look fondly back on.
- shows you privately, probably at the end of the night when everyone is more worn out, all the photos and videos he had taken of you from all your birthdays prior to this one, smiling into you as you hug him tightly and thank him. he squeezes you just as tight, softly whispering a happy birthday to you and pulling away with a wide grin.
- doesn’t really get sentimental PUBLICALLY, but understands why the other members would. he is secretly super thankful that he gets to be present in your life for each birthday you have had since he’s met you and whenever you blow out your candle, he is, again, secretly wishing with you that you have nothing but a healthy future in front of you. and maybe, also how he wants to be in your life for forever and be there to celebrate every single future birthday with you.
- the next day he looks at the special photo that he has of the two of you in his studio (the one from when you were trainees still — i mentioned it briefly in my other seventh member post) and smiles really sadly at it. realizes that you two will never be those kids again, but snaps himself out of his by reminding himself that he can’t take this present time for granted either.
- jongseob has an undying devotion and care for you that he translates into photos and videos captured of you, smiling softly at them whenever he is in his alone time and just feeling so lucky he gets to really be by your side as you grow older.
| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎
my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae!
warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level.
songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys
“dude this sounds like shit.”
“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”
“tell that to carti.”
jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.
you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.
"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."
a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.
"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."
he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."
you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.
"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;
"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.
at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.
"what even is your inspo?"
"'bambi', baekhyun."
he makes a face, "sexy, no?"
you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"
he doesn't respond.
the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.
you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.
"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."
"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."
his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.
"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."
a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.
you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"
jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.
the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.
as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.
"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.
he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.
after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”
“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”
he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.
"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.
"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.
he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."
you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;
멘토르 (mentor)
come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)
"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."
he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.
as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"
jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."
you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."
you close the door and head towards the elevator.
⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!
Hello! We all know that there is a steady decline in interactions and reblogs in fandom and I think a lot of new readers are very nervous to interact with artists on here. So as a somewhat seasoned Tumblr user, I figured I’d make a little guide for those who might feel they need it. :D
Disclaimer: This is by no means a rulebook or a demand. I am not forcing you to do any of these things. This is simply meant to be helpful towards those who might be new to the app or are nervous about interacting with people.
Also: Since I write fanfiction, most of these examples are gonna be rooted in fanfiction. However, this can be applied to any other form of art on here as well!
FIRST OF ALL:
Customize your blog. A lot of people think blank blogs are bots. It doesn’t have to be a big thing but go on Pinterest, and find a cute profile pic. Choose a cool colour. Give your blog some personality.
It is completely fine and normal to want to remain anonymous on here. If you want you can choose a cool pseudonym (Alba is not my real name and I know for a fact that most of my mutuals’ “names” are pseudonyms.) but your blog can also just remain nameless.
If you are going to interact with NSFW fics and art I highly recommend putting your age in your bio. A lot of NSFW artists are not comfortable interacting with minors and ageless blogs and will block you if you don’t have your age somewhere.
It’s important to remember that writers and artists love interactions! We are here because we love a certain media and want to talk about it.
Secondly, Tumblr is not Instagram or TikTok. There are no “tumblr influencers”. Most of us are just normal people who do this as a hobby.
While it’s completely okay and normal to look up to someone or admire someone’s work, try not to put people on pedestals.
Lastly, fan fiction and art do not have a time limit. It doesn’t matter if it was posted yesterday, a year ago or ten years ago. It cannot expire. The love you feel for it now is just as valid as the love someone felt for it ten years ago. So please do not hesitate to interact with art just because it was posted a while ago.
THE BIG NO-NO’S:
“Part two?” It’s fair that you’re excited about a fic and want to read more, but simply just asking for part two without saying anything else can make a writer feel bad. We are not robots or content machines.
“X is stupid” “Your characterization is bad” “X wouldn’t do this” It’s okay to not like someone’s fic or art but commenting that it is bad or that you don’t agree is not okay. If you don’t like a fic you click off. If you don’t like someone’s takes or posts, you block them. You are responsible for curating your own online experience. Block what annoys you and move on.
Hate anons. I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but people still do it so I’m gonna say it anyway. Don’t send hate anon to people’s inboxes.
Don’t demand things. “When is the next part coming out?” “You promised you’d post” etc. Life happens. Most of us have school or jobs or both.
Use Character AI, Chatbot, etc. Do not use AI. Do not put other people’s art into AI machines without their permission or knowledge. AI steals people’s writing and art. Do not use it to finish unfinished fics for you, do not use it to get a part two, do not use it.
Do not repost* art without permission. Do not repost art on other platforms. Do not post people’s fics on Wattpad or other platforms without permission. Do not post artists’ art on Pinterest or TikTok without permission. Do not translate writers’ fics without permission.
*Note: reposts and reblogs are not the same. A reblog is when you press the 🔁 button at the bottom of a post. This is encouraged. Reposts are when you make your own post with the stolen art.
SO WHAT CAN YOU DO?
Reblogs. Reblogs, reblogs, reblogs. Reblogs. I cannot stress this enough. Tumblr’ algorithm sucks and sometimes posts don’t show up in tags. When you reblog someone's art you help more people see it!
Also, reblogs do not only help the artist but it also helps you! You can create a tag system on your account so you easily can find works you liked again. It’s much easier to find reblogged works than it is to go through your 300 liked posts. (Also if an artist deactivates you will still have the post instead of it disappearing.)
Comment on people’s art! Tell them what you liked! I promise you it will make their day!
Ask questions! Did you notice a specific choice the artist made that you found interesting? Is there something that intrigued you or you want to know more about?
BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY?
It’s important to remember that your support does not have to be some profound intellectual conversation. This is Tumblr, we’re all just having fun.
“I loved this!” “Your writing is amazing!” “This art is so pretty!” “The way you draw/characterize X character is cool!”
What did the art make you feel? “This made me happy” “This made me sad” Your emotions about the piece do not have to be positive. If someone wrote a 6k fic about the SatoSugu breakup then their goal probably wasn’t to make you feel joyous. Tell them how you feel! It will make them happy to know that their art evoked emotions in you.
Predictions! Did you catch some foreshadowing? What do you think happens in the next chapter? It's super fun as a writer to read what people think is going to happen!
Okay, folks. I think that’s all I have for you. Remember that we’re all just here to have fun. We want to interact with you. Reblog and comment on the fics you like! Send your thoughts to people’s inboxes! Once you get over that initial fear, I promise you, it becomes so much more fun. Fandom is supposed to be fun.
i’ve said this before, but i don’t think people (especially non-creators) on tumblr realize how important interacting with the content you enjoy is. speaking from a writer’s perspective, the feedback readers give me are what motivates me to keep going. i can love my story all i want but when the only thing reacting to my content is a bunch of numbers (aka the likes) is pretty hard to really know if what im putting out is being received with the same love i give it.
please, if you like somebody’s content (edits, art, fics, etc) engage with it! a simple comment or a reblog with a few tags is more than enough!
jongseob has problems coming up with a song for the upcoming album, as one of the main producers of p1harmony, you’re (kinda) happy to help. [09/07/24]
| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎
my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae!
warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level.
songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys
“dude this sounds like shit.”
“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”
“tell that to carti.”
jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.
you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.
"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."
a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.
"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."
he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."
you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.
"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;
"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.
at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.
"what even is your inspo?"
"'bambi', baekhyun."
he makes a face, "sexy, no?"
you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"
he doesn't respond.
the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.
you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.
"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."
"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."
his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.
"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."
a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.
you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"
jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.
the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.
as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.
"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.
he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.
after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”
“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”
he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.
"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.
"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.
he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."
you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;
멘토르 (mentor)
come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)
"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."
he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.
as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"
jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."
you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."
you close the door and head towards the elevator.
⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!
my notes⎯ hey...how y'all doing? I know it's been a long time since I've posted something but I'm in college now! and life is busy, but I promise i'll get better at it. hopefully after I post this I can begin another one! here's my man in a fanfic for y'all( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ).
warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread.
songs⎯ 2 am | SZA and pain | pinkpantheress
"do I really to come over now?"
"well, yes."
an exasperated sigh leaves your lips as a heavy hand drags at your cheeks, "jaehyun, I love you, I do, but it's 2 am."
the luminescent glow from the device next to the pillow dims from being untouched. being the only light in the dark room, you can see the dark shadows beneath your lashes on the screen.
"okay but I need to show you something! It's important!" he rebuttals, his words slowed due to his own exhaustion. there's ruffling on the other end that follows.
"so important that you can't wait until the sun comes up?"
the sound stops, breathing; soft and quiet replaces it while he hesitates. it had been a long time since you had last seen jaehyun. him always busy flying to different countries, visiting onedoors all around the world while juggling intense practices and concerts, and you; buried under the weight of being a 2nd year in college, trying to get used to the mountains of school work assigned along with working an exhausting job.
there is no word strong enough to convey the feeling of the empty bed beside you. his space cold and open from where he usually laid. he couldn't make it home tonight, trapped in by the walls of the dorm due to a late night and scheduled activities for the following day.
you shudder as a cold breeze passes by you, "I'm waiting?"
"I miss you." he says after a moment. there's a heaviness to his voice, he's pouting, you can tell. his bottom lip poked out as he gazes at the contact name he put for you. "I wish I could come over but...you know how management is."
"I know." you unconsciously match his tone. a sigh. "yeah, I know."
"but..." he starts back up again. there's movement on his side and you hear him huff with effort as he tries to sit up. "they never said anything about you coming over here."
"sure, but that's because I've never been over there. you always come to my place." you finger for the switch to the lamp on your bedside table, tired of being surrounded by black. "I don't want to start now and then have to put rules in place that weren't there before. it'd be troublesome."
a long whine leaves his lips, thumping his fists lightly in a miniature tantrum, "but they know who you are! they trust you."
you sigh for the umpteenth time, "jaehyun." your voice trails off.
"what?" an abrupt scoff catches itself through the speaker, "you don't want to see me?"
"no, not at all!" you get out hastily, "you know how much I've missed you since you've been on tour; hell I'm pretty sure our texts show it, but I've been working too dude. and I'm sorry but I'm even too tired to even get up to use the bathroom."
"ew." it comes out quietly but still audible. "sounds like you need to invest in a catheter."
"die."
the line goes silent. the window on your left was propped open with a wooden stick you found at your job. the street below sings with cars passing through the leftover rain. it lulls you to sleep, the weight of your eyelids slowly closing in on itself.
"jaehyun." you mumble, finally feeling the effects of a tiring week. "why are you so quiet."
he clears his throat, "I can't be quiet?" the words rush out in a hushed voice, each one colliding with another.
"no." the duvet beneath your back shifts, "it's weird."
he pauses, a garbled noise releases from the back of his esophagus and it causes him to hesitate longer than intended. "how mad would you be at me if I were to say, hypothetically, that I was, hypothetically, on my way to your apartment with an overnight bag." he takes a breath and sheepishly adds, "hypothetically."
a sigh much deeper than the last deflates your body as you finally relinquish. you should've know playing this game with jaehyun wouldn't mean a thing to him. when he wanted something he got it, no matter if he had a packed day to come in the following hours.
"at this point," you start hiking the covers up closer to your chin. "I don't give a damn."
"I figured." you can hear the smug smile in his voice, the beep of the elevator doors opening for him and promptly closing as coded. "I'll be there in ten babe."
defeated, you turn your back towards the phone on his pillow, "yeah yeah, you know how to get in."
he laughs wholeheartedly, a sound resonating deep within his chest. it's easy to envision the cheeky grin that graces his face.
