I’M GON’ RIDE in which James -your ‘friend’ just bleached his hair blonde but you’re atrociously down bad for each other.
༝ 赵雨凡 ༝ 𝒙 idol!reader
♯ MDNI, friends-with-benefits, blond hair!james, semi-public heated interaction (for a lack of better words), needy and vocal james, oral (m. receiving and f. receiving), riding, extreme eye contact, unprotected sex.
〆the number of requests for blond hair james was concerning. is everyone okay? anyways thanks for 2k my gooner team!
𓏸 7k ╱ 𝓶. list
‘Do people have a sixth sense that-‘
You clicked the delete button furiously, fingers shaking.
‘Can someone feel when another person is-‘
You closed the Google tab, seconds away from throwing your phone out of the window- but the specific feeling that lived right between your thighs magically dragged your fingers back to the screen, opening a brand new one instead.
‘Is it possible for someone to feel when another person is aroused?’
Aroused was a weak word. Fuck that.
‘Is it possible for someone to feel when another person is wet, without touching them?’
You added a single word at the end of your question- reddit. Because somehow these forums had all the answers to every single question.
It had been like this all day -ever since the moment James stepped in the building with that new blonde hair. Platinum, almost silver under certain lights, falling in soft spikes that framed his sharp jawline and made his dark eyes pop like a fucking sin.
The internet was losing its collective mind; and you weren't ready to face the thousands- screw that- millions of thirsty comments.
Blonde James was lethal.
But blonde James was yours first and foremost.
You clicked on the first reddit link, foot tapping on the floor anxiously.
‘You probably can't help being turned on by certain people, but as long as you are polite and don't stare, you'll probably be OK. Just don't do anything to make it worse, like actively fantasizing about sex with them.’ one netizen said.
Funny.
Cause you were pretty sure today, that blonde hair had flipped a switch inside you. Every time James moved, your gaze locked on the way the strands caught the light, he looked like a glorified anime character, sharp and lean everywhere. And then your eyes would drift lower: the corded muscles of his forearms exposed by rolled-up sleeves, the prominent veins that traced paths over his skin, pulsing faintly with each gesture.
His hands- god, his hands.
Long fingers, knuckles that flexed when he adjusted his mic pack, veins standing out against the back of his palm. You kept imagining them on you, in you, gripping, teasing, spreading.
‘Just don't do anything to make it worse, like actively fantasizing about sex with them.’
Oh you were fucked.
Because that's exactly what you were doing since 9 am sharp this morning, with no break whatsoever.
Get it together, you thought, clenching your thighs together as you waited in the wings during soundcheck.
You aggressively turned off your phone and put it back in your pocket as if it was mocking you with these reddit threads. Your body felt hypersensitive, skin prickling under your stage outfit, heat pooled low in your belly, a constant throb that made your lace panties feel too tight, too damp already.
Just from hair? Pathetic.
But it wasn't just the hair. (It was the hair.) It was also how it made everything about him sharper, the way the strands brushed his neck when he tilted his head and-
Had you mentioned his hands? Oh yeah you were screwed.
Break time. The hallway between dressing rooms was empty for once, staff scattered for lunch. You slipped away, heart hammering, only to feel a warm hand catch your wrist.
And obvious-fucking-ly, it was James.
James your handsome... There was no word to describe what James was.
James was what he became the moment he slipped in your bed and spread your legs with that cocky smirk of his. Which was happening a whole lot lately ever since you'd made that whole fuck-buddy arrangement on a drunken night.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like velvet.
Since when did you throb when someone greeted you? You were going to have to have a pep talk with the girly downstairs, as soon as expeditiously possible.
James pulled you into a shadowed alcove near the emergency exit, the door clicking softly shut behind you both before you could even greet him back.
Up close, the blonde was devastating. A few strands fell over his forehead, and he brushed them back with long fingers. He was still a little sweaty from dancing, having changed his tee shirt into something more comfortable- but also more revealing; his strong arms now completely bare- shoulders and all.
Your breath hitched audibly.
You were so easy, it was terrifying.
"You've been staring all day," he observed, a small smile playing on his lips. Not smug but rather warm- appreciative even.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting your ear, carrying the faint scent of his shampoo mixed with stage makeup and clean sweat. "Something on your mind, baby?"
You swallowed hard, your back pressing against the cool wall. His hands. Those veins. You wanted them wrapped around your throat, your thighs, inside you.
The thought made your nipples tighten against your top.
Reddit girl would be so mad right now.
"Is it that obvious?" you managed to squeak out, though your voice sounded much deeper than you intended.
You tried to look anywhere but at his mouth, but- there were no buts- James was just all over you, playing with the knowledge that you were currently as red as a tulip.
He chuckled, a vibration that you felt in your own chest and he stepped closer, closing the microscopic gap between your bodies until you could feel the heat of his bare arms. He raised one hand, long fingers grazing your jawline before tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
You let out a shaky breath, your knees feeling dangerously weak. You thought you could die right then and there.
"It's more than just staring," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip, pulling it down just enough to reveal the damp pink of your inner lip.
James' gaze darkened, dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes. The playful warmth was still there, but it was being rapidly overtaken by something hungrier, something you knew all too well from how many times you'd explored him.
"You look like you're about to pounce..." He leaned in even closer, his nose brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. "what's wrong baby?"
What's wrong? You wanted to scream in his face, pull on his hair- but the thought only made you wetter- so impossibly wet- you thought you had never been this turned on in your whole entire life.
All because of some bleach and dye.
He didn't wait for an answer. He slid his hand from your face, his palm flat against the small of your back to pull you flush against him, the hard planes of his chest pressing against your breasts and the solid weight of his thighs slotting between yours. You let out a small, broken moan, your hands instinctively flying to his bare shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle there.
You were so incredibly, hopelessly wet it was pathetic- and the friction of his denim against your damp lace was almost too much to bear.
"James," you breathed, his name a plea.
"Yeah, baby?" He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you arch into him. "Tell me what's wrong sweet girl."
Your hands, still anchored to his bare shoulders, slid upward, palms grazing the warm, slightly damp skin of his nape. Your fingers tangled into the short, silky strands of his new hair that was softer than expected. Your nails grazed at his scalp, scratching lightly, the way you knew he loved.
"Nothing’s wrong," you whispered, though the way your hips involuntarily hitched against his told a completely different story. You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "It's just... you. How am i supposed to focus when you're walking around looking like that?"
James let out a soft, breathless sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh and leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he soaked in your words.
"Shit." he let out a breathy laugh, nose brushing your jawline.
Your whole body was on fire, his skin brushing against yours like he had all the time in the world and you weren't standing in a hallway of your workplace.
You didn't answer his cursing with words. Instead, you tilted your head, your fingers tightening in his hair to pull him down just an inch more. You leaned in with a slow and agonizing movement that forced him to hold his breath in anticipation.
When your lips finally met his, it wasn't as frantic as usual; it was a languid, melting sensation. You started with the lightest of brushes, just a ghost of a touch against his bottom lip, teasing him, dragging a needy sound out of him.
You could feel his hands tremble against your waist, his grip tightening as he leaned into the sensation, desperate for more.
Then, you deepened it.
You let your lips part, your tongue sweeping out to graze the seam of his mouth before sliding inside. The kiss was heavy, wet, and incredibly unbearably slow, as you moved your tongue against his in a rhythmic, swirling motion, tasting him the faint hint of mint and the heat of his mouth.
Every time he tried to increase the pace, to suck harder or pull you closer, you slowed down even more, forcing him to endure the delicious torture of your restraint.
James let out a low, broken sound deep in his throat a needy, desperate hum that vibrated against your tongue. He was melting and you could feel him sagging against you.
His hands migrated from your waist to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide you.
He was so responsive, so hungry for the contact that it made you feel less insane for being so aroused by his goddamn hair.
Every time your tongue swiped against his, he let out a tiny, hitched breath, his hips stuttering a frantic, rhythmic press against yours. And when you finally pulled back just a fraction, leaving a thin, glistening thread of saliva connecting your lips, you didn't let him go far.
You stayed in his space, your noses brushing, your breaths mingling in the small gap between you.
James' eyes were hooded, lips swollen and red from your teasing, "You're gonna kill me, you know that?" he dropped a wet kiss on your collarborne.
You didn't give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer- yet again. Instead, you took one of his hands from your waist and guided it downward, moving slowly, watching his eyes widen, his breath hitching in his throat as your fingers led his palm over the curve of your hip and slid beneath the hem of your outfit.
When his fingers finally made contact with the damp lace of your panties, James let out a choked sound.
He didn't even have to push; the moment he felt the slick, undeniable heat radiating from you, he knew. He felt the warmt of your need, the way the fabric was practically soaked through.
His eyes searched yours, blown wide.
"Fuck" he cursed, his voice cracking. "You're soaked y/n."
He looked like he wanted to sink to his knees right then and there on the floor, to worship you properly while you tugged at his blonde hair.
But just as he began to press a finger inward, seeking to soothe the ache, you caught his wrist.
You pulled his hand away, leaving him momentarily unmoored and breathless, and then you slowly drew his fingers out of the lace.
They were glistening, coated in your heat.
James didn't even hesitate, he brought his hand up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours, and licked his fingers clean with a slow stroke of his tongue. The sight of him as he tasted you sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to your core.
"Wanna bury my face between those thighs-" he started, breath fanning over your neck.
But life wasn't all rainbows and butterflies.
"James! Five minutes! We're back on!"
The muffled shout of a stage manager from down the hall shattered the moment in pieces.
The sudden intrusion made you both jump, a small gasp escaping your lips and James let out a frustrated, low groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a fleeting second, breathing you in as if he could store the scent of your skin to last him through the next fe hours.
"I'm gonna die." James exhaled shakily, eyes squeezed shut. "Why'd you have to be so fucking beautiful-"
The man made a low, pained sound in his throat. He glanced down, his face flushing a deep flustered crimson and reached down, awkwardly trying to shift himself, but the bulge in his stage pants was unmistakable and completely unyielding.
Despite his efforts, he couldn't hide the evidence of how much you'd just affected him.
He looked up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, completely overwhelmed and his hands hovered in the air, unsure of where to go, his shoulders hunching as if he were trying to shrink away from his own desire.
"I-I can't," he stuttered, his voice strained and thick. "I can't go out there like this. Fuck i'm so hard."
You started to move toward him, maybe to offer a reassuring touch or a lingering glance, but James stepped back, shaking his head frantically. He looked almost pained, his jaw tight as he tried to regain his composure.
"You have to go," he breathed through a pained chuckle, his gaze darting everywhere but your face. "I need a few minutes to cool down, or I swear i'm gonna forget every lyric to the songs."
He laughed, a shaky, breathless sound that lacked any of his usual confidence. He was trembling, his chest heaving as he tried to force his heart rate to slow down. "I can't get it down while you're standing there looking at me like that. You're too... you're too much. I can't think straight."
You gave him a small, knowing smile, enjoying the sight of him so completely undone.
“Good luck with that, handsome.” You began to back away, but he followed you with his eyes, his expression a mix of desperate longing and a sweet, innocent sort of agony.
"Hey, hey, come back here," he called after you, his voice a little louder now, "I mean no- don't come back- just text me when you're out. You're coming back with me tonight."
𓏵 𓏵
James was a man of his word- so as soon as the show ended, still sweaty and soaked in water from the bottle of waters his members had poured on him- he was looking for you.
The adrenaline from the final encore was still coursing through his veins, he didn't even wait for the staff to clear the wings.
The moment he saw you standing near the equipment crates, he was moving. He didn't walk; he practically stumbled toward you, his eyes wide and frantic, searching yours.
He looked like a man who had spent the last hour in a fever dream, counting down every second until he could touch you again.
"You're here," he breathed, the words coming out as a relieved, shaky exhale. He didn't care that he was damp with sweat, or that the scent of salt and stage musk was heavy on him. He reached out, his large hands finding your waist with a suddenness that nearly knocked the wind out of you, pulling you into the shadow of a heavy equipment trunk.
He didn't kiss you immediately. Instead, he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing. He was still vibrating from the performance, but the hunger in him was even more intense than it had been in the alcove.
"God, it was so hard," he whispered, his voice a low, wrecked rasp against your skin. "Every time the lights went down for a transition, all I could think about was you."
You let out a small chuckle, amused, but he didn’t let you speak.
"Can we go?" he asked, his voice pleading, his hands sliding down to grip your hips tightly. "Please, baby. I don't wanna talk to the guys, I don't wanna do the debrief... I just wanna be alone with you. I need to feel you."
He leaned in, his damp hair brushing your temple, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, waiting for your permission, waiting for you to lead him away from the noise and the lights and into the quiet of your bedroom.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your hands sliding up his damp chest to cup his face, your thumbs tracing the line of his jaw.
So needy, you thought, feeling a surge of affection so strong it was almost painful.
"Let’s go then, go grab your stuff," you whispered, leaning in to catch his swollen bottom lip in a quick firm kiss. You pulled back just enough to meet his blown out pupils, your eyes dark with the same hunger he was projecting. "We need to leave now before the hallways get crowded."
You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers tightly with his, and began tugging him toward the private exit.
"Right. Yes. Stuff. Going," he stammered, his brain clearly struggling to catch up with his body's frantic demands. He looked like he wanted to scoop you up and run, but the reality of the crowded backstage area forced him to maintain a shred of decorum. "Don't move. Don't move from this spot. If someone separates us, I’m gonna lose it y/n.”
He practically scrambled away, his movements uncharacteristically hurried as he grabbed his bag and his damp towel. You watched him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, feeling the weight of his gaze on you even as he turned his back to gather his things.
A few moments later, he was back, his hand finding yours with a desperate strength, his fingers lacing through yours so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse your skin together.
He couldn’t care less if the stylists or the other members saw him practically dragging you toward the private exit.
As you slipped through the back door and into the cool and quiet night air of the loading dock, the sudden temperature drop made you shiver, but James was there instantly, pulling you flush against his side. He was still radiating heat, unbothered by the possibility that his members might be looking for him.
"Call your driver, pretty girl," he whispered into your hair as he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and frantic.
The silence in the car was heavy, James didn't even bother to ask to turn on the radio; the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the frantic uneven rhythm of your breathing.
He sat in the back seat, but he wasn't looking out the window. He was turned toward you, his body angled sharply, one hand gripping the edge of the leather so hard his knuckles were white. Every time the car hit a small bump, his knee would brush against yours, and he would let out a sharp, hitched breath, as if the simple contact was enough to push him over the edge.
"It’s so hard to sit still," he finally groaned, the sound vibrating in the small space. He reached out, his hand trembling as he rested it on your thigh, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt. "I feel like if we don't get to the apartment in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to start unzipping my pants right here."
It was a joke- not that you would mind.
He let out a breathless, self deprecating laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way he was looking at you. His gaze was tracing the line of your throat, the curve of your lips, the way your chest rose and fell with your heavy breathing.
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that made your stomach flip. "The way you're sitting there... so calm... so pretty.”
“Shhh we’re almost there Yufan,” your hand hiked up his thigh, tracing over the hard muscles there.
His hips gave an involuntary, desperate twitch upward, seeking the pressure of your hand, trying to close the agonizing gap between your touch and his need. He was so hard, so incredibly sensitive, that even the slight friction of your hand against his trousers felt like a lightning strike.
"Don't... don't stop," he groaned, his fingers curling into the leather of the seat, his knuckles turning a ghostly white. "Please, baby, don't stop. If you stop now, I think I might actually die."
𓏵 𓏵
The second the apartment door clicked shut, he was on you.
James didn't even wait to turn on the lights. He didn't even make it past the entryway, he practically tackled you against the door, the heavy wood thudding against your back as his body slammed into yours. His hands were everywhere at once clutching your waist, tangling in your hair, pulling you so close that you could feel the thudding rhythm of his heart against your own chest.
"Finally," he choked out, the word sounding more like a prayer than a statement. "Finally, finally, finally."
He didn't kiss you gently this time. He devoured your mouth, his tongue sweeping into your heat with a desperate, rhythmic intensity that made your knees buckle. He was kissing you as if he were trying to breathe you in, as if he could absorb your very essence into his lungs.
Your hands slid under your top, his palms hot and slightly damp against your skin, tracing the curve of your ribs before gripping your waist to hoist you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs squeezing his waist, and the sensation of your damp lace pressing against his hard length made him let out a broken moan into your mouth.
"You're so hot," he whimpered against your lips, his voice wrecked and needy. "you're so fucking beautiful."
He began to move, stumbling backward toward the bedroom, never once breaking the contact of your lips or the frantic grip of his hands. He was stumbling, uncoordinated and desperate, his movements driven by a singular, overwhelming need to be inside you, to feel the friction.
You reached the bedroom and just as you were lost in the heat of his neck, James pulled back just an inch, his breathing still heavy but a glint returning to his eyes. That lopsided, cocky smirk the one he usually reserved for the stage spread across his lips, though his eyes remained soft.
“You know...” he started. He tilted his head, a stray lock of that platinum hair falling over his brow as he cupped your jaw “The hair... I dyed it for you.” He let out a soft, breathless chuckle, his hands sliding from your waist to cup your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a tenderness that contradicted his smug expression. “Figured since you like Bakugo so much... you might start to like me.”
You stared at him, momentarily stunned. Not a single fiber in your body was ready to think about whatever that meant.
But as you looked at him, really looked at him the way his chest was heaving, the way his eyes were dark with a hunger that bordered on desperation, and the very obvious, heavy ache straining against his trousers a different thought took hold.
Oh, James needs some head. Fuck it he deserves it. “You did?” you smile, breaking the contact. “Didn’t have to change your hair color for me to like you, i already did anyway.”
You slid down his body, your hands gliding over the firm muscles of his thighs, guiding him as you descende and James let out a startled sound as you sank to your knees on the hardwood floor in front of him. He reached out instinctively, his fingers tangling in your hair, his knuckles white as he braced himself against the wall for support.
"Baby?" he breathed, his voice trembling, his eyes wide and blown out as he looked down at you. He looked completely undone, his smugness melting instantly into a state of pure, vulnerable anticipation. "Wait- are you…“
He didn't finish the sentence. He couldn't. He just stood there, trembling, his head tilting back as he watched you, his breath hitching in his throat as he waited for your next move.
You didn't give him the satisfaction of immediate relief. Instead, you leaned in just enough to let your warm breath ghost over the fabric of his trousers, right where he was most sensitive. You watched his eyes flutter shut, his head lulling back against the doorframe with a shaky, expectant groan.
You started with a tease, your tongue tracing the hard, pulsing line of him through the cloth, circling the head of his length with agonizing slowness. You could feel him shudder, his hands tightening in your hair, his hips jerking forward in an uncoordinated attempt to meet your touch.
"Baby... please," he asked, needy "Don't... don't play with me like this. You know how much I need you."
You let out a low, muffled giggle against the fabric, enjoying the way he trembled under your control. You moved your hands up, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding the zipper down with a rasp that sounded like thunder in the quiet room.
When you finally freed him, the sight of him thick, heavy, and pulsing with his own heat made your mouth water.
Then, you finally leaned in.
The moment your lips made contact, James let out a low sound. You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head before sliding down the length of him in one long, wet motion.
The reaction was instantaneous. His entire body went rigid, his fingers clenching so tightly in your hair that it was almost a tug, but you didn't mind.
He was lost. He was completely, utterly gone. He leaned his head back, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his eyes rolling back in his head.
"Oh god..." he gasped, his voice breaking. "Right there angel... just like that. You're so good... so fucking good to me."
You picked up the pace, your movements becoming more rhythmic and intense. You used your hands to stroke the base of him, creating a seamless, overwhelming sensation that had him swaying on his feet. He was a mess of sensation, his breath coming in ragged, frantic gasps, his hips beginning to move in time with your mouth.
The rhythm of your mouth was relentless, a perfect, swirling combination of heat, suction, and the expert glide of your tongue. You weren't just being careful; you were being thorough, worshiping him with every wet, sliding movement. You could feel the tremors racking his entire frame, the way his thighs shook so violently he had to lean against the wall just to stay upright.
As you felt him reaching that final, frantic peak his hips beginning to stutter in short, desperate jerks you decided to change the dynamic.
You slowed down just a fraction, pulling back enough to let the cool air hit his slick, heated skin, and then you tilted your head back to look up at him. Your eyes were heavy, lidded as you looked up at him through your lashes, your lips glistening and we. Your gaze traveled upward, past his trembling chest, past his frantic throat, until it landed on his hair.
The strands were a mess, damp with sweat and tousled from his own fingers, catching the dim light of the apartment.
He looked so goddamn good-
James opened his eyes, his vision blurry and his mind a fog of pleasure, and he looked down to find you watching him with that dazed, worshipful expression. He saw the way your eyes lingered on his hair, the way you looked at him like you’d die if he didn’t touch you.
"Baby..." he choked out, his voice a mere whisper, his hands shaking as he reached down to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your wet lips. "Just- come up here. I’ll give you anything you need, yeah?"
Every time your glassy, dark eyes drifted up to catch his, his heart gave a violent, painful thud against his ribs.
James was not okay.
He felt dizzy a legitimate, spinning vertigo that made the room tilt. It wasn't just the physical sensation of your mouth; it was the way you were looking at him, you looked so hungry and that caused his undoing.
His cock was twitching in front of your face, the head of him weeping clear droplets of pre cum, reacting to the sensory overload of your presence. He felt like he was a live wire, a single touch away from loosing all control.
James reached down, his fingers trembling so badly he could barely grip your shoulders, his knuckles white. He felt like he could cum at any second, just from your eyes alone.
"Don't look at me like that and then stop," he pleaded, a broken, needy whine vibrating in his chest. He was practically begging now, his pride long since abandoned. "Just... finish it. Please. I can't... I can't hold it- I'm right there... I'm so close..."
His hips gave a sudden, violent twitch, his entire body tensing as he felt the first, unmistakable wave of a climax beginning to form through him.
Gosh- was he that down bad?
You didn't let him drift away, you leaned forward, your hands gripping his thighs to steady him, and took him deep.
The sensation of him filling you, the thickness of him sliding past your throat, forced a muffled noise from his lungs. His fingers tangled so violently in your hair that it was almost a pull, his knuckles white as he braced himself against the wall, his entire body vibrating with the force of his climax.
"Oh fuck fuck fuck- baby." he curzed, the word catching in a sob.
He was pulsing, his entire length twitching rhythmically against your tongue as he began to come. You didn't pull back; you leaned into it, your throat working, your suction intense and unrelenting as he poured himself into you. You felt the hot, thick waves of his cum hitting the back of your throat.
He was shaking, his knees finally giving out as he slumped against the wall, his breath coming in frantic, sobbing gasps. He was completely spent, his eyes glazed and unfocused, staring down at you with a look of pure, holy awe.
And you didn't miss a single drop.
You swallowed every bit of him, the thick, salty taste of him a final, intimate seal on the moment. You took your time, making sure he saw the way you swallowed, making sure he saw the way your throat moved, before you finally pulled back.
The moment you finished, James was a man possessed. He didn't let you stay on the floor for long; he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, his lips finding yours in a series of frantic, messy kisses as he laid you down.
He was still reeling, his mind a hazy fog of pleasure, but the sight of you flushed and breathless made his head spin.
He flipped you onto your stomach, hands sliding down the curve of your spine- and he leaned down, breath hot against the back of your thigh, as he began to work his way up.
When his tongue finally found you, nudging your panties to the side- he let out a low, needy groan, his face burying into your pussy from behind.
His strong hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you open for him as a moan vibrated against your soaked folds- his tongue dragging slowly from your dripping entrance all the way to your swollen clit.
James was completely lost in it. He licked broad, flat strokes across your pussy, lapping up your arousal like a man dying of thirst. His tongue circled your clit with teasing pressure before flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves, making your hips jerk involuntarily.
“Fuck… you taste so good,” he growled against your core, the words muffled as he pressed his face in harder.
He nudged your panties further aside with his nose, then sucked your clit between his lips, hollowing his cheeks as he drew on it with pulsing suction.
Your thighs trembled, a broken moan spilling from your mouth into the sheets. You didn’t even know what to do anymore- you were wrecked- completely.
You were grinding back against his face without shame now, chasing the building pressure which James only encouraged, his free hand kneading your ass, spreading you wider so he could eat you more thoroughly.
He alternated between long, hungry licks and focused suction on your clit, occasionally pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your overheated flesh before diving back in with renewed hunger.
"James..." you gasped, your fingers digging into the bedsheets, your hips arching instinctively toward him. The sensation was incredible, but the ache in your core was demanding something more something else. "James, stop... wait."
He paused instantly, his head lifting, his face flushed and his hair a beautiful, damp mess. He looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes wide and searching, looking like a puppy waiting for a command. "What? What’s wrong baby"
"Nothing’s wrong," you breathed, reaching back to grab his hands and pulling him upward. You rolled over, your eyes locking onto his, dark and commanding. "I don't want you down there. I wanna feel you. I wanna ride you."
James didn't argue. He couldn't possibly.
He simply sat back on his heels, his breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches as he watched you climb over him. His hands hovered near your waist, wanting to grip you, wanting to pull you down, but he held back, his fingers trembling with the effort of letting you take control.
As you settled onto him- hovering over his cock and slowly sinking down- the sensation of him filling you caused his head to loll back, a long groan escaping his lips.
When you began to move, the rhythm of your hips setting a pace that was both slow and punishingly deep, James fell into a trance of pure sensation.
He couldn't even find the words to praise you anymore.
He just sat there, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and wild as they tracked every movement of your body.
His mouth hung slightly open, his breath hitching every time you bottomed out against him, his gaze so intense it felt like witnessing something forbidden.
You leaned forward, your hands reaching up to find purchase in that beautiful hair you’d been admiring all day. You wound your fingers into the silky strands, tugging just firmly enough to pull his head back, exposing the lon line of his throat.
"You look so good like this, James," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry purr that seemed to vibrate through him. You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear, your breath hot and teasing. "This hair... you look so good.”
You gave his hair another sharp, commanding tug, pulling his face up to meet yours.
"Fuck..." he finally managed to choke out, though it was barely a sound, just a broken exhale of your name. He looked completely unmoored, his hands finally coming up to grasp your hips, not to guide you, but to hold on for dear life as you drove him closer and closer to the edge. "You’re gonna kill me... You're absolutely killing me."
The pace shifted from a slow, torturous grind to a frantic, rhythmic bounce that sent jolts of electricity straight to his core.
You leaned forward, your chest brushing against his, and reached down to grab his hands, guiding them away from your waist and to the swell of your ass.
“Feels so good- you’re so deep.” you keened, head lolling back.
As you picked up the speed, you began to consciously squeeze, your internal walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. You gripped him with a precision that was nothing short of calculated, catching him with every upward surge of your hips.
"Ah fuck-" he whimpered, trying his best not to make this end so quickly.
His hips began to buck upward instinctively, trying to meet your frantic pace, his entire body coiling into a tight, vibrating knot of pure tension.
"You're so tight... you're so fucking tight..." he gasped, the words coming out in broken fragments.
“I know, baby, I know fuck...” you moaned, your head falling back as you felt him bucking beneath you, “You’re so good, James... you feel so fucking good.”
He couldn't even keep his eyes open; he just stared up at you, his jaw tight, his entire body vibrating with the effort of not coming mid sentence.
"mmhh fuck," he choked out, his hands sliding from your ass to your hips, his fingers bruising your skin as he tried to pull you even deeper, to merge your bodies together. "Do it... do it again. Squeeze me like that... please, sweetheart, please."
So you did.
"You're so beautiful..." he said, the words catching in his throat as he watched you, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Oh fuck”you gasped, the words breaking into a ragged moan as his hips bucked violently against you, trying to meet your desperate pace. You leaned down, your hair brushing against his sweat slicked skin, and bit your lip to keep from screaming as the tension reached a breaking point. “I’m so close, James... so so close”
You reached down, your fingers tangling in his blonde hair to pull his head up, needing to see his expression when you finally broke.
He cursed sharply, hips snapping up to meet you with renewed force. One hand slid up your back, pressing you flush against his chest while the other slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.
“Come for me baby-” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Let me feel you.”
The tension snapped.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a white-hot wave that tore a loud, shameless moan from your throat. You clenched around him rhythmically, pulsing, soaking him as pleasure ripped through every nerve.
You did it one final time, and that was all it took.
James came with a groan that tore straight from his chest. His whole body seized beneath you -every muscle locking up tight as the first spurt of his cum flooded deep inside you. He couldn’t stop moving. Even as his orgasm ripped through him, his hips kept thrusting up into you in short, desperate, uncontrollable strokes, chasing the pleasure, fucking his cum deeper with every erratic snap of his pelvis.
“Fuck- fuck, baby- ” he gasped, voice hoarse.
His arms wrapped around you like a vice, clinging desperately as he pulled your body flush against his. One hand splayed wide across your back, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, while the other gripped the back of your neck, holding you in place. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your sweat-slick skin, panting and moaning as another thick pulse of cum spilled into you.
You could feel everything- the way his cock throbbed and twitched violently inside your pulsing heat, his hips kept rolling in shallow, stuttering thrusts even as he came down, like he physically couldn’t stop claiming you. His lips pressed open-mouthed against your throat, teeth grazing your skin as broken whimpers and curses vibrated against you.
For a long minute he stayed like that -buried to the hilt, still giving tiny, involuntary thrusts as the last drops of his cum leaked into you, arms locked around your body like he never wanted to let go.
“Fucking hell…” he finally breathed, voice wrecked and muffled against your neck. He pressed a sloppy, lingering kiss just below your ear, then another, softer this time. His hold slowly loosened, but only slightly- one hand still stroking down your spine while the other stayed tangled in your hair.
“You okay, baby?” He nuzzled deeper into your neck, pressing another kiss there. “I think I lost the ability to think for a second…”
You softly giggled, breathless- and you kissed him right back on the temple. “Cute”
James looked up, his eyes always told stories but right now- they told you all you needed to know about the nature of your relationship.
There was no way in hell you could both pretend this wasn’t more than a stupid drunken arrangement anymore.
“I should dye my hair more often if it means you’ll ride me like you just did.”
that shit was so long idk what possessed me i’m so down bad it’s so unfunny.😭✌🏻
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── juhoon who was never good at telling his emotions started crying infront of you after a heated argument between you two
★ bf ! juhoon × fem!reader
word count ── 3.2k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! JUHOON GOTTA BE THE PRETTIEST CRIER IVE EVER SEEN LIKE WHY IS HE JUST SO PRETTY ALL THE DAMN TIME 😓😓😓 UGH MY AEGI HES SO PRECIOUS TO ME 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
The fight began the way most disastrous arguments do—not with screaming or shattered glass, but with something deceptively insignificant.
A forgotten text, a delayed response, a sigh delivered with the wrong tone. By midnight, however, the tiny fracture had widened into something jagged and catastrophic.
Rain tapped relentlessly against the apartment windows while the city beyond the glass dissolved into blurred streaks of gold and gray. The kitchen lights remained dim, casting amber shadows across the marble counters and illuminating the tension suspended thickly between the two of you.
You stood near the island with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, nails digging crescents into your sleeves as though physically holding yourself together.
Across from you, Juhoon leaned against the counter in suffocating silence.
That silence again. That unbearable, impenetrable quietness that made every disagreement feel one-sided, like throwing your emotions against a locked door and hearing nothing echo back.
His expression was composed in the infuriating way it always was—controlled, restrained, unreadable. Even now, during an argument that had your chest aching so violently you could barely breathe, he looked devastatingly calm.
You hated that, not because he was cruel, but because you could never tell if he cared as much as you did.
“You could at least look at me while I’m talking,” you said at last, your voice strained from holding too much emotion for too long.
His gaze flickered upward briefly before drifting away again. “I’m listening.”
“That’s the problem,” you replied bitterly. “You’re always listening. Never talking.”
His jaw flexed, a subtle reaction most people would miss.
You didn’t. You noticed everything about him because you had spent months teaching yourself how to love someone who communicated through fragments instead of sentences.
The way his fingers curled meant irritation. The slight tension in his shoulders meant discomfort. The silence meant he was overwhelmed.
Except tonight you were exhausted from deciphering him. “You always do this,” you continued, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. “Every single time we argue, you shut down and leave me to figure everything out on my own.”
“I’m not shutting down.”
“You haven’t said more than five words to me in ten minutes.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, already looking fatigued by the conversation. “You know I’m not good at this.”
A humorless laugh escaped you. “At what? Communicating? Having emotions?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No?” Your eyes burned. “Then tell me what is fair, Juhoon. Because I spend half this relationship wondering whether you actually want me here.”
That finally made him look at you directly, and the hurt in his eyes was immediate. But instead of softening you, it only made the frustration twisting through your ribs intensify. “You know that’s not true.”
“How would I know?” you shot back. “You never tell me anything.”
His patience began to fracture. You could hear it in the clipped cadence of his breathing. “I show you.”
“You show me in ways I have to analyze like I’m decoding some impossible language,” you said, voice rising. “Do you know how exhausting that is?”
He pushed away from the counter then, agitation radiating from him in restrained waves. “And do you know how exhausting it is feeling like nothing I do is enough for you?”
The words struck harder than expected. You blinked. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.” His tone sharpened. For the first time that night, genuine anger seeped through his carefully maintained composure.
“It’s always the same conversation,” he continued. “You keep asking for more and more and more from me like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”
“That’s not what this is!”
“Then what is it?” he snapped suddenly. “Because apparently loving you quietly isn’t enough. Remembering everything about you isn’t enough. Being there whenever you need me isn’t enough because I don’t say pretty things every five seconds.”
The accusation stole the air from your lungs. “I never asked for perfect words,” you whispered.
“Could’ve fooled me.” The cruelty in his voice was subtle, not loud nor explosive. Which somehow made it worse.
Your throat tightened painfully. “I just want reassurance sometimes.”
“And I’m telling you I’m trying.”
“You barely talk to me when something’s wrong!”
“Because every time I do,” he said sharply, “it turns into this.”
Silence crashed between you again, only this time it felt vicious. Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs. “You know what hurts the most?” you asked quietly. “I feel lonely even when I’m standing right beside you.”
Something cold flickered across his face then. Exhaustion, the kind born from feeling perpetually misunderstood. “And you know what I’m tired of?” he replied. “Feeling like I have to become someone else just to keep you satisfied.”
Your lips parted. “That’s not—”
“No, listen,” he interrupted, voice rougher now. “I can’t love the way you want every second of every day. I’m not overly emotional. I’m not good with words. And honestly?” His eyes hardened slightly. “Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation, we wouldn’t keep ending up here.”
The sentence landed like a blade driven straight between your ribs. The room went completely still. Juhoon seemed to realize it immediately.
You saw the regret flash across his features the second the words left his mouth. But it was too late, because suddenly every insecurity you had buried deep inside yourself came clawing violently to the surface.
Too clingy, too emotional, too much. Your face went blank in the terrifying way heartbreak sometimes empties a person instead of making them cry. “Wow,” you whispered.
“Baby, I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Your voice sounded distant even to yourself. “You meant it.”
His expression crumpled slightly. “I was angry.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
“It’s not true.”
But now you couldn’t stop hearing it. Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation. The sentence echoed viciously through your head.
You swallowed hard, suddenly unable to bear the sight of him. Without another word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair.
Juhoon straightened immediately. “Where are you going?”
“I need to leave for a while.”
“It’s raining.”
“I don’t care.”
He stepped forward then, panic finally overtaking the frustration on his face. “Don’t do this.”
You laughed softly, but the sound was hollow. “Do what? Leave before I embarrass myself by begging someone to love me correctly?”
His face paled. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“I was frustrated—”
“And I was hurt.”
Your voice cracked at last. Raw devastation bleeding through the numbness settling over you. “You know what the worst part is?” you whispered, eyes glossy now. “I defended your silence for so long. To everyone. I kept telling myself you loved differently, that you cared in ways people couldn’t see.”
Juhoon looked like he physically couldn’t breathe.
“But tonight,” you continued shakily, “you made me feel stupid for wanting reassurance from the person I love.”
The apartment fell deathly silent. Rain battered the windows harder. His eyes glistened with immediate remorse “Please don’t leave angry.”
You stared at him for a long moment. At the boy you loved so desperately it frightened you. The boy whose quiet tenderness had once felt safe. Now it only felt unreachable. “I think if I stay right now,” you said softly, “I’ll say something unforgivable.”
Then you walked toward the door.
“Baby—”
But this time, when he said it, you didn’t stop, and the sound of the door closing behind you felt far too much like something breaking forever.
The night had become glacial by the time you finally wandered back toward the apartment. Hours had passed in a blur of rain-slick sidewalks, blurred streetlights, and thoughts so tangled they felt impossible to unravel.
The city was nearly silent now, stripped of its usual vibrancy, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rush of cold wind biting against your skin.
Your fingers were numb inside your jacket pockets. Your chest hurt worse. The argument replayed relentlessly in your mind no matter how hard you tried to outrun it.
Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation.
The sentence echoed like a bruise pressed over and over again. Part of you understood he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. You knew Juhoon better than anyone. You knew frustration twisted his words sharp sometimes, especially when emotions overwhelmed him.
But another part of you, the quieter, more fragile part—couldn’t stop wondering if there had been truth hidden beneath the cruelty.
Maybe you were too much. Too emotional, too needy, too difficult to love properly.
The thought hollowed something inside you, and somehow, despite all of it, despite the hurt still lodged painfully beneath your ribs—You missed him desperately, pathetically.
It had only been a few hours, yet every second away from him had felt profoundly wrong, as though some invisible thread tethered between your hearts had stretched too far without snapping completely.
By the time you reached the apartment building, exhaustion clung heavily to your bones. Your phone read 2:07 AM.
The hallway outside your apartment was eerily quiet. Even the usual flickering overhead light seemed dimmer tonight.
You stood outside the door for several seconds, staring blankly at the handle while anxiety twisted violently in your stomach. What if he was still angry? What if he regretted everything? What if—
You swallowed hard and unlocked the door anyway. The apartment was almost entirely dark. Only the small lamp beside the couch remained on, casting a muted golden glow across the living room. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls while rain continued murmuring softly against the windows.
And there he was. Your breath caught instantly.
Juhoon was curled awkwardly against the couch cushions, still wearing the same black hoodie from earlier. One arm lay draped over his face while the other rested limply against his stomach, like exhaustion had finally dragged him under after hours of waiting.
The sight alone nearly shattered you. He looked uncomfortable, restless. Like sleep had only claimed him out of complete emotional collapse.
Your chest constricted painfully. Slowly, carefully, you stepped closer. “Juhoon,” you whispered.
No response.
You crouched beside the couch quietly, your heart aching at how pale he looked beneath the warm light. Strands of dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, soft and disheveled in a way that made him seem unbearably vulnerable.
Tentatively, you brushed your fingers through it. “Baby.”
His eyelashes fluttered faintly. Then slowly, reluctantly, his eyes opened, and your entire body went still.
His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, wet. Like he had spent hours crying alone in the dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately. “Oh my god…”
The devastation on his face the moment he fully recognized you was almost unbearable to witness. Relief hit him so violently it physically altered his expression. His lips parted shakily.
Before you could even process it, Juhoon surged upright and wrapped his arms around you with desperate force, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs entirely, and then he broke apart.
A strangled sob ripped from his chest so abruptly that it startled you. His entire body trembled violently against yours while another shattered sound escaped him, raw and uncontrollable.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” you whispered immediately, climbing onto the couch beside him as your own vision blurred with tears. “Juhoon…”
He buried his face against your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you directly, fingers clutching the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it almost hurt.
But you didn’t care, because Juhoon was crying. Juhoon, the boy who concealed every emotion behind silence and restraint—was sobbing in your arms like he had been holding himself together by a single unraveling thread.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly. Your heart cracked clean down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”
Another sob tore through him, rough and uneven. You froze for half a second, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his grief.
You had never seen him like this before. Never.
Even during the worst moments of his life, Juhoon had always remained composed in that quiet, self-destructive way of his. He internalized everything. Buried everything. Suffered in silence because vulnerability terrified him more than pain itself.
But now?
Now he was unraveling completely beneath your touch, and somehow that hurt more than the argument ever had.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered frantically between shaky breaths. “I swear to god I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. His breathing came unevenly, fragile hiccups interrupting nearly every sentence.
“You left and I just…” He swallowed hard, voice splintering apart. “I thought you were done with me.”
“Oh, Juhoon…”
“I called you like ten times,” he admitted weakly, words muffled against your shoulder. “I kept trying to figure out what to say, but nothing sounded right and I—fuck—”
His voice dissolved into another sob. “I can’t lose you.” The confession was so painfully sincere it made your own tears fall instantly.
You cupped his face carefully, forcing him to look at you despite the embarrassment flickering through his watery eyes.
And god, he looked devastated.
Wet lashes clung together while tears slid endlessly down flushed skin. His lips trembled uncontrollably, breath hitching every few seconds as though his body physically could not calm down now that the fear had finally escaped him, and beneath all that anguish.
Love.
So much overwhelming love it nearly stole the air from your lungs. “You’re not losing me,” you whispered softly.
His expression crumpled further. “I thought I already did.”
You brushed your thumbs beneath his eyes gently, catching tear after tear.
“I know I’m difficult,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know I make things hard because I don’t talk right, but I swear I love you more than anything.”
The sincerity in his voice shattered whatever remained of your anger, because he meant it. Every single syllable.
Juhoon loved with terrifying intensity. He just expressed it differently—through actions, through presence, through quiet devotion hidden in places words could never fully reach.
“I don’t know how to explain things the way you need,” he continued shakily. “But I need you here. I need you.”
Your chest ached so violently it almost felt unbearable. Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him softly.
The second your lips touched his, he melted completely. A trembling breath escaped him, shaky and uneven, before his hands slid around your waist with unmistakable desperation. Not possessive, but clinging, almost fragile, like he needed physical proof that you were truly there and not about to disappear again.
The kiss carried remnants of tears and exhaustion and unspoken apologies.
Juhoon kissed you like someone starved for reassurance, every movement hesitant at first before gradually deepening with overwhelming emotion. His lips trembled faintly against yours while his fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your hoodie, anchoring himself to you with quiet urgency.
You could still taste salt from his tears. Could still feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing brushing shakily against your skin, and somehow, that vulnerability shattered you more thoroughly than the argument ever had.
When you pulled back only slightly, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the small space between you.
His eyes remained half-lidded and glassy, lashes damp and clumped together from crying. There was something devastatingly defenseless about the way he looked at you now, like every carefully constructed wall he’d spent years building had finally collapsed under the sheer magnitude of loving you.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered against his mouth.
He shook his head immediately, brows pinching together. “No, don’t apologize.”
“I left.”
“You were hurt.”
“So were you.”
That alone nearly made him cry again. A shaky breath escaped him before he buried himself against you once more, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as though separation itself had become unbearable now.
This time, he didn’t fight the tears. He let them come. Soft, broken sobs trembled through him while your fingers combed gently through his hair, untangling the storm little by little.
“I love you,” you murmured repeatedly against his temple. “I love you so much.”
Every single time you said it, his grip tightened, as though he was memorizing the feeling of hearing it.
Eventually his crying softened into quiet sniffles and exhausted breathing. You pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead. “Come to bed with me?”
He nodded weakly. The two of you moved through the apartment in silence, but it no longer felt hostile. Now it felt delicate, tender. Juhoon never let go of your hand once.
The second you both slipped beneath the blankets, he immediately curled himself against your side, burying his face near your shoulder while one arm wrapped securely around your waist.
Your fingers drifted slowly along his back beneath his hoodie, soothing the occasional tremor still lingering through his body.
The room remained quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows and his gradually steadying breathing. Then, after several long minutes. “I never think you’re annoying.”
Your heart squeezed painfully. You glanced down at him. His eyes remained closed, voice rough and sleepy from crying. “I like when you cling to me,” he admitted quietly. “Makes me feel… wanted.”
A weak, watery laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” His fingertips curled faintly into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant and delicate despite the vulnerability trembling beneath the gesture. “When you need me like that,” he whispered quietly, voice still rough from crying, “it reminds me I matter to someone.”
You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, because suddenly everything made sense. All this time, Juhoon had been loving you with the exact same desperation you loved him.
He just buried it beneath silence because he never learned how to voice it aloud.
Your expression softened entirely. The tension lingering in your chest melted into something overwhelmingly tender as your fingers brushed carefully along his cheek, your thumb grazing beneath his eye where faint traces of tears still remained.
He leaned into the touch instinctively. The sight nearly shattered you.
Slowly, you leaned down and kissed him again. This kiss was different from before, slower, sleepier. Overflowing with forgiveness instead of panic.
Your lips moved against his with lingering tenderness while his breathing softened gradually beneath the warmth of your touch. He kissed you back carefully, almost reverently, as though savoring every second instead of fearing its disappearance.
The room around you had become impossibly still. Only the rain tapping faintly against the windows and the occasional shaky exhale from Juhoon disturbed the silence.
One of his hands slid slowly upward along your side until it rested lightly against your ribs beneath your hoodie. The touch was featherlight, unhurried, his fingertips tracing absentminded patterns there like he simply needed to feel your heartbeat beneath his palm.
Yet even now, wrapped around you beneath dim bedroom lighting, Juhoon continued kissing you with heartbreaking sincerity, as if every unspoken emotion he’d buried for months was finally pouring out through touch instead of words.
Juhoon sighed softly against your lips before tucking himself impossibly closer, his face hidden safely against your neck now. “I love you,” he whispered once more, barely audible.
시놉시스 ┆ garage boyband leader!𝒎ar𝘁͟in, ─────⠀preppy f! reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +15k (17.450 and I'm not even sorry, I ate this one up!) ꒰ ⌗ coming of age, slice of life, attempts of rom-com, fluff, and one-sided enemies to lovers ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂
─────⠀slow burn rivals to lovers, mutual pining (hidden under sarcasm), high school setting (South Korea in the big 2004, and i think i kinda pulled off the correct amount of good cringe), band boy x class president dynamic, emotional tension, academic pressure, family conflict (parental slap + divorces), music as love language, heartfelt confessions, teasing + banter, teenage rebellion, emotional vulnerability, light touching (no explicit sexual content), implied attraction, healing through love.
EXTRAS !: PLAY THAT BEAT (Martin's songs for you) ───── FROM MY HEART (Your songs for Martin's) ───── I CAN WAIT FOR US
“Prez! Over here!”
Your nickname cut through the hallway, followed by the hand wave he was doing alongside a smile. Some students who were there glanced, waving less energetically than Yujin—everyone knew you as the 2 time class president. You pulled your bag higher on your shoulder, waving through clusters of lovely outfits, mostly ignoring the flyers taped on every wall: cram school promotions, mock exam countdown, “join the club” posters already, and one for a half-torn band audition, the ink smudged like whoever put it there didn’t even care.
Due to being the last first day of school, you spoke to the school headmaster to have permission to drop the uniforms and wear an outfit, which allowed you to be the only student to give a motivational speech in the gymnasium, but seeing how everyone was comfortable showing their identity through clothes, despite the already packed senior schedule that we will face ahead.
Senior year wasn’t going to be kind; the past students let you all know that.
“That’s a cute outfit.” You playfully did a princess bow, the outfit that you pulled the night before consisted of a white collared button-up shirt under your fitted, long-sleeve blue sweater, covering perfectly your exposed abdomen that your denim mini skirt showed. It was cinched in with a chunky black belt and some white socks with black shoes with a little bit of heel.
“Thank you, Yujin. You don’t look bad, either.” He spun dramatically in place, making his backpack bounce.
“Please. My mom picked this outfit. I had to wear it, otherwise she wouldn’t let me go to our karaoke tradition.” He opened his backpack, pulling out strawberry milk.
“You’re the absolute best,” you said, stabbing the straw through the foil and taking a sip without hesitation.
“So, how was your vacation?”
“It was good. I went to the beach for a week before going to visit colleges with my mom.” he gave a dramatic sigh.
“She is more obsessed with your future than you.” You raised your shoulders, way too used to his words.
“Well, sadly, I have to go along with—”
“Yah, Han Yujin!” The wall made that scream bounce, creating an echo where the two of you froze. As a matter of fact, everybody there did; you saw the unforgettable figure of your friend Leeseo running to you two, and you looked to your right to see the face of pure fear on Yujin’s face.
“What have you done?” you whispered, before he could speak. Leeseo was already trying to hit him. His hands went to your shoulder, and he started using you as a shield.
“Leeseo, stop!” you gasped, trying to wriggle out of Yujin’s grip.
“Oh, hi there, Y/N. Can you please move? I want to kick his ass.” It was comical how everything was going down, cameras shutting off as they captured the first banter of the duo. You decided to enter the class, and a spot near the desk and next to the window was your favorite.
“Leeseo—ouch! Wait!” Both of them entered as she finally left him alone after she gave a pretty hard smack on his back. Leeseo sat next to you, and Yujin took the spot behind you two.
“You idiot, why didn't you tell me that Martin is back?!” Her whisper made your ear raise at the name.
“I didn’t spend time here; I went to the countryside to visit my grandma. How do you know?”
“Because he was getting scolded by the teacher at the entrance.”
“Nothing new, then,” you spoke before you could think. You placed your pencil case and notebook on your desk. Leeseo’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide as if what you just said was the dumbest thing ever.
“Nothing new? Y/N, he was supposed to go to Canada for his senior year; he even spoke about it.”
“Now that you said that,” Yujin put his strawberry milk on his table, leaning between you two. “Yesterday, when I was leaving out to do the groceries for mom, Martin and his dad were discussing it; it looked pretty heated.”
“Oh great, the menace is back.” You keep your eyes focused on what you were writing in your notebook, which consisted mostly of a to-do list of the day.
“Why do you act like this news is a normal Tuesday’s cafeteria menu?”
“Because that’s exactly what it is. Martin gets in trouble like he has been doing for the past couple of years, the teacher yells, and the earth spins. What else is new?”
Yujin chuckled, “Careful tho. Keep talking like that, and he might think you missed him.”
You whipped around, smacking the back of his head with enough power to bother him. “Don’t even joke.”
People kept entering the classroom, some were going straight to their friend group, others to get ready, and a few simply lay on the desk to sleep for a few minutes before the usual first day announcement.
You grabbed your small makeup pouch so you could go to the restroom, standing in the middle sink and smiling at your polished reflection. Pulling the gloss, you painted your lips with a thin layer of gloss, the mascara was next to give volume to your eyelashes, and finally, some blush on your cheeks.
When you were satisfied, you left the bathroom, fixing your pouch, crashing with someone, and dropping everything inside them, you could bet your blush was broken into pieces.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said, bowing as you rushed to at least some of the remains.
"I can't believe the school role model is wearing makeup, breaking the rules already?" you sighed, still picking up your stuff, your mood completely dropping.
"I take that back, I'm not sorry." You finally got up and looked at what was supposed to be Martin's height last year, your neck hurting slightly as you looked a little more up. Leeseo was right, he got unbelievably tall.
He was wearing a band tee with ripped jeans that looked twice his size, hanging on his hips like they were holding on for dear life. Scuffed Vans dragged slightly as he shifted his weight, the hoodie unzipped and frayed at the sleeves. His hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed on purpose, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips only made it worse.
The outfit made you know that he would be the reason for your headaches for another year.
“Martin Edwards,” you said flatly, clutching your pouch like it was armor.
“Still bowing to people in hallways. How cute,” he drawled back, his smirk spreading slowly with his hand shoved into his hoodie pocket.
“Still getting yelled at by teachers on the first day. How predictable.” You stepped sideways, but he shifted too, blocking your path with a lazy lean against the wall, watching you close your eyes, irritated.
“You know that I can’t help it if they’ve missed me.” He tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
Your laugh came out louder than intended, calming down quickly. “Please. The place was finally quiet without you.”
“Quiet’s overrated.” You could see how his eyes flicked down, lingering on the glossy shine of your lips, making you look down briefly. “Besides, you look better with noise around.”
He leaned in slightly so you were the only one hearing. “Come on, Prez. Admit it. You missed me.”
“I miss the news of you moving to Canada.” You scoffed, you looked at his eyes, and you could see how that challenging look disappeared for a second.
“Damn.” He pressed a hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Still ruthless with the comebacks. What happened to the sweet, polite, and lovely person?”
“She’s still here, she just doesn’t like you,” you shot back, already making your way out. He appeared next to you, the height difference even more noticeable. You stopped on your tracks, him copying you after.
It was your turn to step forward, your chin high, although it didn’t make you look intimidating. “You’re going to make this year miserable, aren’t you?”
“Depends on how much attention you give me, pretty,” he said easily, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it was nothing, turning the tip of your ears slightly warm.
Before you could say something, the bell overhead rang, echoing through the hallway. The students started invading the hallways, brushing past the two of you with curious eyes.
You exhaled, finally brushing past him to go to your class to hide the pouch, coming back to see him waiting outside the class. “I’m making one thing clear. Give me some free time for our teachers scolding me because of you, I don’t want that on my record.”
You marched your way with your class, heels softly clicking.
“Can’t promise that, Prez!” His voice followed you down the hall.
It was official, this was going to be a long senior year.
Four months passed like a blur, and just like you predicted, everything stacked up to you. Not even a week in, and the classes and teachers nominated you to be the president of the school council. You were about to give up that opportunity for the sake of a slightly peaceful year, but when your mom heard about it, she forced you to keep it, not turning back even when your dad tried to talk her through it.
The school was quick to give you a list of activities you and the committee had to plan, and because of your last events as class president, students were quick to say the same sentence.
“We are having a prom AND a school trip? Y/N, you’re the best!”
Normally, the country itself wasn’t exactly used to having a prom the way other countries did, renting movies to watch on a Friday night was enough to plant the idea in every senior’s head, even yours, not believing that you were the one supposed to make it happen. Thankfully, the first big event on the calendar wasn’t prom—but the spring school trip.
With the help of Yujin’s mom, we secured a short trip of two nights in Gyeongju for the last week of October.
It was 7 pm, and you were walking back home with the rented DVD of 10 Things I Hate About You, ready to drown in ramen and your blankets. The reason? You were tired of council meetings, study schedules, and Martin already racking up three warnings from teachers.
“Why are you in pajamas?” Leeseo surprised you by being in front of your house.
“Because I’m staying at home…?” Your sentence sounded more like a question than you wanted it to, especially because Leeseo was standing at your gate with her backpack.
“Wrong answer,” she said, shoving past you. “Your mom thinks you’re staying at my house for a study-slash-sleepover. I’m telling you, she almost hugged me when I told her we are even reviewing college math problems.”
“What? Leeseo, I’m in pajamas. I bought snacks! I’m committed to my bed tonight.”
“You can change, and the snacks can wait.” She plopped the backpack on your bedroom floor before going straight to your closet, pulling out outfits that seemed fitting to fool your mom even more. “I’m not letting you waste your Friday night watching Heath Ledger for the 100th time.”
“Shut up.”
She threw your pink cardigan in your face. “Come on, your mom needs to see you leave like we are going to church."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Call me if anything happens, okay?” You nodded at your mom before she lightly hugged you. “Thank you for doing this, darling. I know you will match my baby’s commitment to college.”
Leeseo bowed down while you tried to hide your face, your head by lowering it. “Anything to get that 100, I will bring her tomorrow!”
You two started walking out, feeling the gaze of your mom behind you. “When we turn around here, Yujin and his brother are waiting for us.”
And just like she said, Hanbin and Yujin were there, opening the car right when they saw you two. “Were you two creating a summer season collection?”
“Quiet, Yujin. Hi Hanbin,” you said. Hanbin simply smiled at you.
“Where now, to our house?” Hanbin spoke, this time looking at Leeseo.
“Yes, we need to change her clothes,” you said, looking at her, confused.
“But why? I think it’s cute.” You looked down, a pink polo shirt layered under a pastel cable-knit sweater, khaki skirt, and pearl studs.
“Don’t get me wrong, it is cute, but it looks like you will hold a mass on the dance floor.” Now you laughed, already feeling at ease when the wind touched your face. “And then to Martin’s”
Once again, the mood turned down. “Wait—Martin? As in Martin Edwards?”
“Yes. Keonho texted me, and he said his mom’s gone, and his band has their amps set up in the garage. Apparently, half of the school’s going.” Yujin said, and that’s when you looked at Leeseo, who was actively trying to avoid your face.
“Oh my god! I love this song, turn it up, Hanbin!” she screamed.
The car ride to Hanbin’s house wasn’t long. Yujin’s house was empty when you arrived. Leeseo didn’t waste a second—the soft outfit was already in her backpack, so you can wear the black cropped baby tee with a rhinestone butterfly, a pleated low-rise denim skirt, and a chunky studded belt. Your makeup is slightly altered with the use of eyeliner, but since it was a style you have secretly wanted to try for a while, you enjoyed it.
Leeseo opened the door of Yujin’s room. The second you stepped out, both brothers gasped. You rolled your eyes with your face burning at the attention.
“Now that outfit is the one that will take your mom to a coma,” Yujin said. Hanbin punched him softly, and you simply laughed.
It took a few steps to arrive there since they were neighbors, and the bass from the garage was already rattling the pavement. Cars were parked crooked along the curb, kids were sitting on the front lawn with red cups, and some of them, who you recognized as graduates, were drunk.
“This looks safe,” you muttered. Leeseo slipped her arm through yours.
“Relax, it’s just a party. Besides, Martin’s band is playing. It will be good.”
You rolled your eyes. “Martin’s band will probably sound like three lawnmowers in a blender.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
The smell of cheap soju mixed with hairspray lingered in the air; there were some Christmas lights strung along the ceiling, casting the whole space in a warm glow. You moved between people to grab something to drink from the table.
“Noona?”
You turned around, half-expecting another stranger with either a can of soda or a red cup. Instead, it was Keonho—well, another version that was surely not the one you used to watch on council meetings.
It was almost comical the way your eyes widened at the same time, like you were looking at two entirely different people from the ones you’d last seen in pressed uniforms.
“...Keonho?” you blinked, scanning him from head to toe. “What are you wearing?”
Baggy jeans sagging low on his hips, showing a part of his boxers, a chain clinking against his belt loop, oversized sneaker, and a graphic tee layered under a half-zipped hoodie. His gel-free hair was messy, kinda like he came out of an MTV music video. He looked good, you had to admit.
Keonho gawked back at you with the same disbelief. “Me? Noona, look at your outfit.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, suddenly becoming hyperaware of your fit.
You crossed your arms defensively. “At least I don’t look like I lost a fight with my closet… but you look good, I guess.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair. But still… wow. Didn’t think you could look like that. It suits you.”
Before you could thank him, the garage speakers squealed as the music turned down. Keonho’s grin widened instantly. “Anyways, you have to come listen. Cortis is next.”
You arched a brow. “Cortis?”
“The band I joined!” he said, a happy smile showing his pride. “James is on drums, Juhoon’s rhythm, Seonghyeon on keys, I’m bass.”
“Oh, all of you sing?” you asked, following his steps to the garage.
“Sometimes, but the main singer—”
“What’s up, School of Performing Arts of Seoul!” Martin's voice resonated all over the place, the crowd screaming in response.
“Keonho.”
“I know you don’t like him at all, but listen to us for a moment, we practiced a lot.” he did a small pout, you had to nod to see him smiling, and run to his bass.
You scanned the group, eyes stopping on Martin, his guitar strap slung low and standing front and center.
“Thanks for being here. We’re Cortis, and we will do something old since classics never die.”
They surprised you by opening with a familiar riff of one of your favorite bands, blink-182. “All the small things” made the whole garage shake with the force of it, and you had to admit it—it didn’t sound half bad. They were all completely lost in their performance and interacting with people in the crowd who were busy nodding their heads and screaming their names.
The song ended, and the five boys were sweat-slicked and breathless, quickly grabbing a can of soda to quench their thirst. Martin left for a moment, arriving soon after to connect an acoustic guitar to the amps.
You audibly gasped when the familiar melody hit your eardrums. “Wonderwall”.
You moved through the crowd to get a clearer view, spotting Leeseo and Yujin by the first rows, both singing along dramatically the wrong lyrics—you didn’t mean to reveal your love for rock music there, but after securing your spot next to your friends, your body moved first, soon the lyrics easily feel off your lips like you’d been waiting for that exact song all night, far away from your mother.
For the first time, you let yourself loose. They weren’t perfect; the performance itself was pretty raw to the point that the energy could be felt all over the place. Martin looked up mid-chorus, eyes landing on you. You could see how his eyes opened at the view of you enjoying the chaos he was creating. It felt like the noise dimmed, even just for a second, before he went back to singing his heart out.
The night stretched on with more covers, every single one better than the one before. Eventually, the closeness got too much, making you slip through the crowd and push the back door open, stepping outside after grabbing a can of soda. The cool night air hit your face like a relief, although the sound of crickets filling the silence that the muffled music left behind wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.
You exhaled, leaning against the side of the house, closing your eyes for a moment, finally feeling a little sense of peace after what was probably the longest year so far.
“You hiding, Prez?”
You startled, spinning around to see Martin also leaning against the railing, hair damp with sweat, a crooked smile painted across his face. Even outside, he carried the same reckless kind of confidence that made people look twice.
“Not hiding,” you said flatly. “Just avoiding the noise pollution.”
“Funny that you say that, knowing how much you enjoyed back there.” His smile grew at the sight of you trying to play it cool.
You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised you didn’t completely butcher the songs.”
“Ouch.” He chuckled, pushing off the railing to stand a little closer. “You’re tough to impress.”
“That’s not new information.”
For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of my shows,” he said, quieter this time.
“Me neither. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, the words coming out before you could even stop yourself. “Wasn’t Canada calling your name?”
You stood there waiting for a silly comment like he always does, just to see your irritating face. But there was nothing but silence, and you were smart enough to know you messed up.
He let out a soft laugh, a bitter one. “Yeah, it was.”
Your silence was a cue for him to continue, which even made you question why you suddenly wanted to hear the rest.
“My dad wanted me there, to finish high school there, the same high school he graduated from,” he said. “Said it’s ‘set me for the future.’, but while he was setting me up, he was setting someone else up too. In another country.”
You froze, for the first time, not having an answer to talk back.
“My mom knew,” he added. “She knew the whole time and just… kept living like nothing happened. So I decided to stay with the person I’m less angry at—while making him angry enough that I like music.”
"He wanted you to be something else when you graduated?"
"Electric engineer. Just like him, so I can help with his company."
You suddenly remember the article that the principal showed one time — Edward Industries’ CEO invests in youth innovation — and the photo of Martin’s father shaking hands with people, smiling like his world was perfect.
“That’s… a lot to live up to and process,” you said quietly.
“Well, you know I’m not great at following instructions.” His lips twitched, but his usual smirk didn’t quite form this time.
You took a sip of the last part of the soda, swallowing it. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know you hate me enough to not care.”
Your breath caught at the way he said it, like it wasn't a joke, but that stung a part of you. You look at him and, for the first time in your eyes, he doesn’t look untouchable or smug. He looked tired.
“I’m so sorry, Martin,” you said softly.
“Don’t be. I’d rather be here playing and producing music with the boys and annoying you.”
You let out a small laugh. “You’re doing a great job at both.”
“Y/N! Are you here?!”
You both turned toward the sound of Yujin’s scream echoing faintly from the other side of the yard. Flashlights from someone’s phone swung through the dark as your friends searched for you.
“Your friends are calling you,” Martin said, stating the obvious. You ran a hand through your hair and twisted it into a messy low bun. He watched the motion quietly, cheeks warming before he could stop himself.
You met his gaze again. “Good night, Martin.”
“Night, Prez.” He added, finally smiling a little bit.
You started to walk away, then paused mid-step to look back over your shoulder.
“I don’t hate you,” you said. “I just hate that the only thing that damages my school profile is your warnings.”
He let out a chuckle, for real this time, his mouth now doing his familiar grin. “Then I guess I’m doing you a favor. Give your résumé some personality.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard, before a laugh escaped you, making his grin widen.
“Hey! Don’t laugh!” he said, though the lack of bite in the tone betrayed him, too focused on the happiness that you radiated outside the school.
From a distance, Yujin called your name again, his voice half-drowned by the music. You turned to glance at the noise, still smiling as you stepped back.
Martin stayed where he was, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you go, putting his hand on his chest to calm it down a bit at the sudden racing of it.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sitting again at your desk felt like hell. The summer break had been a blur, and what you wished to do the most—relaxing, catching up on your TV shows, and simply not thinking too much about high school—was replaced by college prep books and an endless to-do list dictated by your mother. You manage to sneak out with Leeseo and Yujin only once.
Long story short, you were practically glued to your desk. So the return to school felt more like a choker pressing even tighter around your neck.
“You guys won’t believe what I just saw!” Yujin entered the room, slamming the door closed before running to your spot.
“Yujin, tone it down! Drink some.” You gave him your water, practically chugging it down to ease his thirst.
“Thank you, I came here running as fast as I could.”
“Couldn’t tell." The sarcasm in Leeseo’s voice made him narrow his eyes at her. “Say what you saw.”
Before he could, the door slid open again, and a collective gasp rippled through the classroom.
Martin.
But it was Martin wearing the school uniform properly. Key word: properly. White shirt tucked in, tie actually knotted, blazer neat. The only nods to his usual style were a thick, silver ring on his index finger and the slight, purposeful messiness of his hair that framed his face.
He dropped his backpack onto his usual seat in the back, then strolled casually toward the front to grab a new syllabus. On the way back, he caught Yujin’s eye.
“Morning, Han, Leeseo, Prez.” he nodded coolly, taking a seat on the empty spot.
“That’s what I saw,” he whispered, wide-eyed.
Far from being discreet, Leeseo was already studying Martin, who was playing dumb and doing random poses. “I hate this. Bring back your ‘I hate the system’ attitude right now. That’s my only entertainment in this school.”
Martin looked up, grinning. “Can’t. I’m going for the rebrand. Gotta keep the audience guessing.”
You kept your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to write down something important, and you were hyper-aware of the space he occupied beside you.
Then came the knock on the wood right next to your pencil case. “Do I look good, Prez?”
When you finally risked a glance at him, it was enough to have the class eyes on both of you, especially his bold yet teasing stare.
“You look like a normal student. Congratulations.”
The bell rang, and everyone began shuffling to their seats. Martin kneeled in front of you and leaned near enough to whisper, “Thank you, princess.”
Yujin choked with the water again, and Leeseo was just there, wide-eyed and jaw on the floor. You froze, brain stuttering to find something coherent to say after that. It was well known that you hated nicknames like that, but why are you feeling your cheeks warming up so fast? The class started whispering.
Days passed, but something about him had shifted.
He still sat in the back (mostly because of his height), still wore that lazy smirk when teachers called his name, but between the sarcasm and the half-lidded stares out the window, you caught him writing. Even more, he divided the notebook into two, where he had both school material and lyrics alongside some guitar chords. Once, you even saw the corner of a paper titled “CORTIS - Set Ideas!!” when you were delivering lesson papers.
He wasn’t slacking off anymore. He was trying.
And since he was trying, the warnings of your bad leadership were almost nonexistent. And it was weird, mostly because you didn’t know how to feel about it.
By the second week, the girls' bathroom was starting to fill with rumors.
“Cortis is joining the Battle of the Bands next month! I’m going to support Juhoon.”
“Keonho and Seonghyeon are the youngest people to be there.”
“If they go and win, they will break Hamlin's streak of three years.”
You overheard it all, pretending not to listen, but it was inevitable, the emotions for everyone there, since it’s their big “gig”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
At home, though, things stop being simple. Your mother had entered one of her “planning phases,” consisting of color-coded schedules of times to study for the college entrance exam, college catalogs spread across your desk.
“Mother, I’m home,” you screamed. You heard the footsteps of your mother coming from the kitchen. She even has more college catalogs in her hands.
“Y/N, I made a decision. You're going to apply for early admission.” You stopped, looking at her in confusion.
“I thought we agreed that I would not do that.”
“You need to focus. You have the grades; now you need the commitment. No distractions,” she reminded you for the fourth time that week.
"Mother, I have all my study schedules already, and I'm on track for the mock exams. I'm literally planning the school's social calendar while keeping my GPA up. What more commitment do you need that you found the need to make that decision without consulting me?” you said, trying to keep your tone even.
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she snapped, the papers in her hands hitting the table with a dull thud. “I know what’s best for your future. You don’t. You think organizing dances and trips for your classmates is going to help you get into Seoul National?”
You clenched your fists. “It’s not about that! It’s about the fact that you don’t trust me to handle my own life!”
“You’re seventeen, Y/N. You don’t even know what you’ll want in five years!”
“Because you’ve never given me the chance to figure it out!” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your voice breaking slightly.
“I’m going to college and not mess it up like you!” Your mother’s palm slapped sharply on your cheek.
“What’s going on here?!” Your father’s voice came from the hallway. You hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. But you didn’t care.
You pushed past him, tears already blurring your vision as you ran out the door. You could hear him calling your name, but his voice faded behind you, swallowed by the night air.
You didn’t care about your mom.
You didn’t care about the neighbors staring as you rushed down the street, barefoot in house slippers.
You didn’t care about the way your chest tightened with every breath you took.
You just ran.
And when your legs finally gave out, you found yourself in a quiet park. The street lights flickered faintly, the world spinning around you.
Your knees hit the ground first. Then came the sobs. You pressed your palms to the dirt as your body trembled, the sound of your breathing broken and uneven. For once, you couldn’t hold it in.
The pressure, the expectations, the endless need to be perfect, it all cracked open at once. You barely noticed the screams of a familiar tune until a shadow moved a few meters away.
“Y/N! Are you here?!” Martin’s voice didn’t even make you look up at him. The footsteps grew closer until you felt his presence. “God, what’s wrong—”
Your arms wrapped around him, crying even harder. The bag he’d been holding slipped from his hand, hitting the grass with a muffled thud. A few things rolled out, forgotten.
He froze for half a second before his arms carefully wrapped around you as well.
“Hey… hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re okay.”
You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled by his hoodie. “No. I’m not. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just held you there as you cried, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. The only sounds were your uneven breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze.
When you finally started to calm, he shifted slightly. Your eyes analyzed his face, the worry etched across his face—the kind you didn’t expect from him.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard, voice breaking slightly, “My mother.”
His jaw tightened, eyes flicking briefly to the faint redness on your cheek. You saw the flash of anger there. “There’s a bench there, go sit there.”
You did what he said, and when he came to sit next to you after picking up the stuff. He pulled a strawberry milk and gave it to you, thanking him.
“I saw you running,” he said. “I was leaving the supermarket, and I just followed. It looked like you were about to disappear.”
You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t.” His voice softened immediately. “You don’t have to apologize for crashing out.”
You drank up the milk, sighing after.
“I’m just so tired, Martin.”
“I know.” He glanced up at the night sky for a moment. “You don’t have to keep proving you can handle everything. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”
You gave a small laugh. “That’s not really on my schedule.”
“Then it’s time to break it,” he said simply, his tone somewhere between teasing and kind.
That actually pulled a real laugh from you and a faint smile from Martin. His hand brushed the dirt off his uniform pants before doing the same with your knees. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll just sit here.”
You nodded, eyes still wet but calmer. “Thanks for following me, I guess.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Though next time, please don’t make me drop all my groceries.”
You two stayed there for a while; neither of you said anything. You just sat there sharing peace, a feeling none of you felt in a long time, and for different situations.
The night air had cooled a little by the time you both stood up from the bench.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the road. “I’ll walk you home before your dad sends a search party.”
You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. The street was almost empty as you walked side by side, your steps slow and the sound of cicadas blending with the quiet, distant buzz of traffic.
“Again, I’m really sorry,” you said after a couple of steps. “I must have been a burden to you today.”
Martin glanced at you, his expression unreadable in the streetlight glow. “You needed someone to find you. That’s all.”
After a few more quiet steps, you sighed, kicking at a pebble on the pavement. “It’s just not my mother. Everything’s been… too much. The prom planning, the trip, the mock exams—it’s like I can’t breathe without having something due.”
Martin chuckled softly. “Leave it to you to get stressed about fun things.”
“They’re only fun when people actually help,” you said, exasperated. “Even if the committee is completely involved in those two things, the principal is bothering me. I’ve been running back and forth with the school board about budget approvals, and I swear, if one more teacher calls me responsible like it’s a compliment, I’m going to scream.”
“Then scream. I’ll join you.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You? You’d probably turn it into a song.”
“Maybe I already did.”
You looked up at him, but he just shrugged. “We’re working on something for the Battle of the Bands,” he said. “Prize money isn't bad. Thinking of donating it.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Donating? Since when are you that noble?”
“Since I found out how expensive renting a DJ, using massive decorations, and the food is,” he said, giving you a sideways glance. “Keonho is stressed with that too, and we figured if we win, we’ll put some of the money toward your prom fund.”
You blinked, taken aback. “You’d do that?”
“For the school,” he confirmed, but the grin that followed made it impossible to believe him. “Well… mostly for you.”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head in disbelief. “And what exactly do you get out of that deal?”
He took a moment before answering, kicking at the pavement as if he were debating whether to say it. “A date.”
You stopped walking. “A what?”
“A date,” he repeated, meeting your eyes. “With you. Just one.”
You stared at him, heart skipping in that annoying wait it always did around him lately. “You’re joking.”
“Not this time.” His voice had softened, “I’ve kinda liked you for a while, Y/N. Like, since sophomore year, a while”
You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words and the mere sight of how he rubbed the back of his neck with the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks were enough to really blow you away.
“You probably thought I was just being annoying all the time… That was me trying to get your attention without, you know, getting expelled for it.”
You blinked at him. “Two years?”
He nodded, starting to walk again. “Two very long and humbling years.”
You looked away at the back of his figure, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. Once you reached him, you focused on looking straight.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just… let me win first. Then decide.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but I’m a ridiculous guy with a plan,” he said, lightly swinging his hips to move your body.
You reached your gate a few minutes later. The house lights were still on, the silhouette of your dad faintly visible through the curtains.
When you stopped, so he did, taking a look at your place for the first time. “You gonna be okay?”
You nodded. “I think so.”
He smiled. “Good. Don’t disappear like that again, okay? I can’t keep rescuing the class president from emotional breakdowns.”
You smirked faintly. “And here I thought you liked being the hero.”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Maybe I just like you.”
You froze at the words. You saw how he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“See you tomorrow, Prez.”
“Goodnight, Martin.”
He started walking away. You stood there for a moment, heart beating way too fast for someone who’d just survived a meltdown. Your feet started walking fast to where he was.
“Martin!” He stopped instantly, turning on his heel. The look on his face was equal parts concern and confusion, the grocery bag still dangling from one hand.
You walked up to him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Your hand reached for his tie, pulling him down gently.
On your tiptoes, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“I’m really thankful,” you murmured.
Neither of you moved. His eyes widened slightly before that boyish grin spread across his face, causing you to smile back. You stepped back quickly, cheeks burning, and darted toward the gate before he could say anything else.
Once inside, you shut it softly behind you, leaning against the cool metal to steady your racing heartbeat and touching your lips. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked through the small hole in the wall that your dad refused to fix.
Martin was still there, frozen in place, and soon enough, he pulled his fist to the sky while walking away, or more like dancing away, down the sidewalk.
“Let’s go!” you heard the scream, and you bit your lip, stifling a laugh of your own.
October came fast, mostly because your parents decided on an uncontested divorce and your dad got the apartment downtown. Yujin jumped when he found out it’s five minutes away from his house. The place felt quieter; your mother had thrown herself into work, and you into whatever kept you from thinking too much: school, council duties, and, against all odds, CORTIS.
Somehow, Martin had managed to stop getting detention every other week. He still mouthed off at the teachers sometimes, wore his ring and the smirk, but he wasn’t the same boy who used to skip class just to nap on the rooftop.
It was truly impressive, you saw how he actually took notes during math, how he waited for everyone after band practice instead of just storming off, how he asked the teacher questions about topics, and even delivered small notes on your desk, ones that make you happy, as if it was a normal thing to do.
Leeseo had caught all that and more, dedicating his free time to watching you watching him, whispering, “You’re so done for,” grinning and doing a couple of mimics with Yujin.
But of course, you denied it every time.
Because no one needs to know that you were actually falling for him.
Still, when the last high school exam ended, everyone started spilling out of the classrooms, screaming “freedom!” the second the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone stood up joyfully, and from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Martin coming your way, a bag lazily hanging on his shoulder.
“Everybody listen up!” Yujin shouted, standing on top of a chair and waving his arms dramatically. “Today, it’s the Band of Battles. Let’s all go and support our beautiful high school and CORTIS as a last act of love to this place!”
The whole class erupted in cheers, the rest of the students clapping at his words like he said something revolutionary.
Yujin’s friend, Gunwook, jumped onto a chair too, holding up his hand to point at Martin. “Martin, as the leader, pick a color so we can dress up.”
Martin posed theatrically, pretending to think it through before his eyes looked at you. His grin softened as soon as his fingers brushed the small red bow pinned in your hair.
“I like red today.” The whole class went wild, but his eyes simply scanned the redness that the tip of your ears caught. You tried to act unfazed, but the way he smirked at you made your stomach twist.
His mouth went near your ear, “You can wear whatever you like, you look good in anything.”
By the time the noise died down, so did your heartbeat when he left the classroom, mouthing, “I’ll see you there”. Everyone had plans and was starting to spread the word before heading home to change and go to the event.
You, on the other hand, had to stay behind, for quite a while, actually.
While your classmates flooded out of the building, already buzzing about the performance, you found yourself sitting across from the principal for more than an hour, finalizing the last details for the senior trip next week. Each little break, you looked up at the clock hanging on top of the wall, sighing in relief when he thanked you for your dedication, which was a nice way to say “you work too much” and finally let you go. You were already late, and you at least wanted to arrive one act before the boys.
The hallways were nearly empty now, sunlight slanting through the windows in soft orange streaks. You smiled faintly when you passed a whiteboard where someone had scrawled “CORTIS = Victory!” alongside other words of encouragement.
Your chest felt a little lighter reading it, even making you pull out your camera to snap a picture so you can show it to the band through Keonho later.
You were halfway down the front steps when you saw a woman standing outside the school gates, elegantly dressed in a cream coat and hair pinned neatly back. Without losing the beat of your quick steps, you continued until you felt a presence near you and soon, a hand on your shoulder that made you jump.
“Excuse me,” she called gently, laughing awkwardly at your reaction. “Are you Y/N?”
You hesitated before nodding, “Yes… Do I know you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Martin’s mom.”
You blinked before bowing down; you didn’t expect his mother to look that elegant yet have such an expression that felt oddly familiar.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m the one I should say that, darling. I’ve heard about you,” she said. “Martin speaks of you more than he probably realizes.”
You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face. “Thank you so much.”
“He’s changed lately,” she said. “He comes home earlier, studies, and seems steadier. And I know you might have something to do with that positive change.”
You weren’t sure how to respond. “Well, he’s been working hard in high school and for the band. You probably already know how much it means to him.”
Her smile faltered, just a tiny bit, before speaking again. “Yes, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“About the band?” you frowned, already thinking of what she was about to say.
“Music has always been a phase for him. His father has great plans, engineering, university abroad, to be specific. I was hoping you could talk to him, convince him to take his future seriously again.”
That’s the moment you went speechless. Your mind works ten times faster to choose your words carefully. “With all respect, Mrs. Park. I don't think it's a phase, and I won’t do that. At all.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, confusion flickering on her face.
“I’ve seen him when he’s performing,” you said. “When he’s practicing with the band, when he’s writing lyrics on the back of his notebook, he’s not pretending; he looks alive doing that. It's not just a distraction for him; it’s who he actually is.”
You could see how the first crack in her composure showed, lips parted. “You sound just like him.”
“Maybe that’s because you both underestimate how much he cares about what he does,” you vented. “I get that engineering might have been his father’s and your dream. But music as a whole makes him happy. Whether it’s producing or singing, that’s how he wants to live his life.”
There was a silence for a moment, so you took that moment to inhale briefly and continue.
"Martin listens to music when he’s feeling stressed. He’s not into literature, but he writes such good lyrics that you might even think he’s becoming some kind of poet. And the way he looks when he’s playing? That’s him in his element.”
The woman lowered her head, sighing. “I just don’t want him to throw his future away. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“Maybe this is his future, it just doesn’t look like the one you two pictured.”
“You’re a very smart girl, Y/N,” she finally said.
“I’m just honest,” you replied, offering a small smile.
“That’s even rarer,” she murmured. “I can see why he—” she stopped herself, simply smiling again, “Thank you for being good to him.”
An idea came to you, the backpack that was on your shoulder ended in the middle of you two, taking away the pamphlet Seonghyeon and James had given to promote, and extended to her. “He’s a good person, Mrs. Park. And just like how you believe in him to achieve the engineering future, believe and trust him with his.”
You bowed slightly when she took the paper, walking away to catch the bus that would take you home. Thankfully, you arrived safely.
You kicked off your shoes at the entrance, calling out, “Dad, I’m home!” before leaning down to kiss his forehead as he read through a newspaper on the couch with his work clothes still on.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a smile. “You look busy.”
“Always!” you shouted, darting into your room.
They were still scattered with open notebooks and the faint scent of highlighter ink, stuff you’d temporarily promised yourself to forget tonight.
After the divorce, your dad had insisted on helping you “reclaim the place.” He’d driven you to buy new clothes, helped you hang posters, and even tolerated the sparkly beaded curtain you’d begged to put on your door. For the first time in months, the room looked like yours, not your mother’s version of perfection.
You took the quickest shower and got dressed in record time, the white camisole layered under a cropped denim jacket, a mini skirt with a rhinestone belt, and your sports shoes. A knock on your door made you look away from the mirror.
“Come in!” you called, picking some blush on your brush to put it onto your cheeks.
Your dad peeked in, smiling softly as he stepped inside. “Are you still getting ready?”
“Almost done, thanks for driving me there,” you replied, setting down the brush.
He chuckled and sat on the edge of your bed, looking around and whistling. “Wow, you’re really made this place your own.”
You smiled at his reflection in the mirror proudly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“You also seem different lately. Happier.”
“Maybe because exams are over, both of us are in a good place, and I’m finally hanging out with my friends. Which, by the way, I’m grateful for.”
“Well, you deserve them since you’ve always worked hard,” he smiled. You felt that shift when he was done, suddenly suffocating.
He watched you for a moment, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So… what do you want to ask?” you said, already suspicious.
“Now, why do you think that?” he asked, laughing when you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him leaning forward with a grin on his face. “What’s his name?”
The mascara wand ended halfway to your lashes. “What's whose name?”
“The boy,” he said simply. “And don’t tell me there isn’t one. I’m not blind. You’ve been smiling more, playing music in your room, and I’m pretty sure he’s the same boy who brought you home that night.”
You covered your face, groaning, feeling your cheeks getting warmer with each second. “Dad, please.”
“So I’m right,” he said, amused that his dad instincts didn’t betray him. “What’s his name?”
The small silence was broken when you sighed softly. “Martin.”
Your dad nodded slowly. “Is that the boy who’s in that band you mentioned, right?”
“Yeah,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. “He’s their leader, and he has been studying with me since middle school. Kind of stubborn. Really annoying sometimes.”
“Huh—” you could tell by how he was clearly unconvinced. “And what makes him so annoying?”
You opened your mouth—ready to list something—but nothing came. Instead, what slipped out was, “He doesn’t quit. Even when everyone expects him to.”
Your dad hummed softly.
“And when he talks about music,” you went on, your mind planting words in a second, “he gets this look… like the rest of the world just disappears, he’s in his own happy place.”
You paused, but somehow the words kept coming. “He’s also funny,” you admitted, taking your hairclips to fix your hair with a smile tugging at your lips. “Not the kind that tries hard, it’s like, half of the time he says something and you can’t even tell if it’s a joke or he’s being serious. It makes you laugh anyway.”
You stood up to pick some rings to match the outfit, continuing to speak. “He’s kind, pretends he doesn’t care, but he remembers things. He smiles with his whole face, and when there’s something he likes, he won’t stop until he gets it.”
“I thought you were saying something about him being annoying, right?”
Heat crept up your neck immediately. “I—That’s not—I didn’t mean—”
“Darling. It’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t.”
“Oh my God, please stop talking.” You took your essentials quickly and ran to the front door, waiting in the car immediately.
The drive was calm, the windows cracked open, making the October air carry faint echoes of music from blocks away. The sunset was painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold.
He glanced at you as they stopped at a red light. “Sounds like you really care about him. And so does he.”
“I guess I do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
“I would love to meet him properly sometime,” you were about to protest, but he shushed you quickly. “No ‘buts’”
“Fine.” You both arrived at the youth center quite fast. The road was already lined with parked cars, students who didn’t receive a ticket and decided to enjoy from outside, a handful of paparazzi, and a lot of security.
You heard your dad’s whistle under his breath. “Looks like the whole district showed up.”
“It really does.” You clutched your bag a little tighter.
He slowed the car near the entrance, smiling as he glanced at you. “Are you nervous?”
You shook your head quickly. “Maybe a little.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“I’m not performing,” you laughed a little, confused.
He grinned, a hand on top of your shoulder. “Didn’t say you were. But I have a feeling something might happen.”
You rolled your eyes, unbuckled your seatbelt, and checked one last time that you didn’t forget the vip ticket Martin left on your locker.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing his cheek.
“Anytime, sweetheart. Tell me if you’re going somewhere else, and tell Martin I said good luck!”
“Dad!” You heard his laugh as you walked away, turning around to wave him off before stepping into the noise of the crowd after safely passing security, although you almost fell after a few of them tried to fight security.
The venue wasn’t really one, more like a repurposed parking lot with a stage at one end and strings of lights hanging overhead. Students from different schools packed the space, every single one was excited, waving balloons from side to side or a flashlight.
“Y/N!” Leeseo appeared right in front of you, hugging you, and Yujin arrived a little later. “You just missed like two acts, Hanlim was even better than last year!”
“How did your meeting go?” Yujin asked, and a smile was more than enough for them.
“The trip is completely done, there are no problems.”
“Finally!” Yujin grinned. “We deserve that trip; this year has been trash.”
“Not for Y/N, she finally has a crush,” she sang, Yujin and Leeseo start poking your sides. “You know Martin’s going to show off.”
You rolled your eyes. “He always does.”
But your pulse quickened anyway when the stage lights flickered to red and you saw the MC going to the center of the stage, gaining a scream from the crowd.
“What a performance from Hanlim!” she said. A roar of cheers from a group of students startled you. “Let’s keep this energy up for the next group, from SOPA… give it up for CORTIS!”
The boys walked to the stage, the excitement and screams from the place feeding them. James settled behind the drums, spinning a stick in one hand. Juhoon adjusted his guitar strap, Seonghyeon’s fingers danced over the keys to test it, and Keonho flashed his familiar grin from behind his bass.
Then Martin walked out.
Graphic tee with layered chains, jeans slouching low, sneakers unlaced. Stage lights caught on his chain as he leaned into the mic. “What’s up, Seoul!”
Cheers erupted again, a few girls screaming his name and the other guys. “Tonight, it’s a special night because we’re performing our self-produced song for the world to hear!”
Leeseo elbowed when you immediately started clapping and cheering.
“Enjoy yourself, love. You deserve this!” Martin started playing some guitar chords.
“Crash, smash, rock, mash up
Ooh, take what you want
돈, 멋, 명예, love, and what?
Ooh, take what you want.”
You remember hearing them practice bits of it during free periods when you walked by to give them some snacks and reminding Keonho about little details to fix for the trip.
Hearing it live was very different from it; all of the instruments crashed together in perfect sync, and you finally listened to all five singing together, which was uncommon for bands. Everyone was shouting along, even if they didn’t know the words. In a moment, Martin’s eyes found you. For that split second, you could feel your heart trying to escape from your ribs.
“Some people want this, some people want that
Same here, all seventeen years of my life.”
Martin started walking around to interact with people, standing in front of you three.
“Chased after love, chased after fame.
So now I want the whole world to know my name.”
He winked at you, feeling it like a spark as heat rushed to your cheeks. Yujin started laughing at your face, and Keonho smiled teasingly at you.
A couple of minutes later, the song ended with a burst of applause, Martin running a hand through his hair before grabbing the mic again.
“Alright,” he said, breathless but grinning. “We’ve got one more for you.”
He paused the moment his gaze found you immediately.
You smiled faintly, catching the flicker of nerves in his eyes, and mouthed, “Breathe.”
He huffed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting before turning his head to the band. Juhoon leaned into his mic.
“Go for it, dude.” The five boys laughed, Martin turning back to his mic.
“This,” he started, “is one of the many songs I wrote for this girl.” His eyes never left yours. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I’d have written any of them.
You looked at Leeseo and Yujin on your side; they were smiling already. They knew this would happen.
He stepped back slightly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder, and nodded toward the rest of the band. “It’s called ‘Iris.’”
"And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now."
The lyrics drifted through the air, and though he was looking out toward the audience, every few lines his gaze found its way back to you, long enough that it was impossible to look away.
He wasn’t performing anymore. He was confessing to you for a second time.
You felt your throat tighten, fingers twisting around the hem of your jacket, your heart beating full speed, and making you clear of one thing. You were completely in love with that person whom you thought you hated.
"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am."
The crowd swayed with the melody, arms raised, voices echoing when they learn a little piece of the song. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he smiled at you mid-line. The final chorus exploded, lights flashing, the crowd roaring. Martin’s voice cracked slightly on the last note—and somehow, it made it perfect. You screamed at the very end, chanting with your friends, “CORTIS!”.
The five joined Martin, bowing down in gratitude with big smiles on their faces. Juhoon was teary-eyed, and you could tell that it moved the rest of the members as they walked out. The MC came back, impressed.
“Wow! Cortis really wants the money. We will have a five-minute break so the judges can decide.”
Leeseo grabbed your arm, eyes wide. “Y/N… I think you just got serenaded.”
“Go see him.” Yujin pointed at the small hallway you could go to. You looked at him, panicking.
“Like now?”
“Yes!” Both of them pushed you there, moving for a couple of minutes before you reach it. You waited for the security to get distracted to enter there, closing it as fast as you opened it.
At a distance, you saw Martin laughing while watching James and Keonho jumping in happiness, James even half-yelling something about “not missing the last chord for once.”
You slipped past the curtain, unsure whether to find him or run before someone teased you for looking like you belonged there.
“Noona!”
Too late. You turned just in time to see Seonghyeon spot you instantly.
His shout was loud enough to catch the attention of all five.
“Prez!” Keonho was the first to move, practically launching himself into your arms before you could even react. “What do you think, Prez?”
You laughed, stumbling back half a step under his weight. “I think you’re all still dangerously hyper.”
“We totally killed it, what do you mean?” Juhoon cut in proudly, slinging an arm over Keonho’s shoulders. James raised his drumsticks triumphantly in agreement, and Seonghyeon grinned from behind the keyboard setup, already pretending to wipe sweat off his brow dramatically.
You shook your head fondly, brushing hair from your face. “You guys were amazing. Really.”
He was standing a few feet away, hair damp with sweat, guitar strap still hanging loose at his side. The grin he wore was boyish, tired, and radiant all at once.
“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “So? How’d we do?”
“You’re asking the school council president for a review?” you teased.
“I trust your judgment,” he said simply.
“More like his crush judgment,” Seonghyeon spoke, hissing later after Juhoon pinched him.
“Can you leave us alone for a sec?” Martin looked at James.
“You all heard him! Step back, ladies,” you laughed at the funny view of them trying to listen.
The grin softened before becoming quiet again. “So?”
You exhaled, letting yourself smile despite yourself. “You were amazing, Martin. Really.”
He froze for a heartbeat, eyes lighting up. “You mean that?”
You nodded. “Every word.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pretending to play it cool, but the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Guess that means I can cash in on my deal.”
You frowned. “Deal?”
“The one where if we win, you owe me a date.”
You scoffed, trying not to grin. “You haven’t even won yet.”
He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “We both know we’re not walking out of here without that trophy and cash.”
You were about to fire back something smart when the loudspeaker crackled to life outside.
“All bands, please gather near the stage! Results will be announced!”
He looked at you and smirked. “Come on, front row like before, Prez.”
The crowd was electric again when you came back, students pressing closer to the makeshift stage, voices rising in chaotic chants. Hanlim High’s band stood on one side, exhausted but smiling; CORTIS stood on the other. You could sense the adrenaline pulsing through their little group.
You stood with Leeseo and Yujin near the barricade, your heart weirdly hammering even though you weren’t the one competing. You three held hands.
“And the winners of this year’s Battle of the Bands…” the announcer said, drawing it out. The entire lot went silent for a breath.
“…CORTIS!”
The explosion of sound was immediate.
Students screamed, threw confetti, jumped, and cheered so loud you could barely hear the band’s name being repeated over the speakers. Keonho dropped to his knees, James banged a drum in celebration, and Juhoon lifted his guitar triumphantly in the air.
Martin just stood there for a second, blinking in disbelief as he grabbed the big cardboard check before looking toward you through the chaos.
You clapped your hands over your mouth, laughing, and he broke into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. Then, like it was instinct, he pointed right at you before turning to grab the mic.
“This one’s for SOPA High, and for the people who never stopped believing in us!” he shouted. “Especially one of them.”
Leeseo smirked beside you. “If you don’t date him soon, I will.”
You didn’t get a chance to reply because Martin had already jumped off the stage into the crowd, swallowed by a sea of cheering hands and students trying to high-five him. You decided not to bother the moment by moving near a corner to breathe properly with Leeseo next to you, who was almost suffocating.
Later, when the crowd started thinning, people made plans to celebrate at a nearby karaoke place. Banners were torn down, the lights dimmed, and laughter filled the streets as everyone drifted away in groups.
You were helping Yujin pick up some discarded signs when you noticed Martin slipping away from the commotion, walking towards you with a smile. Before he could reach you, he paused, looking right behind you.
Following his gaze, you saw her.
His mom.
Standing near both of you, clutching her bag, and if your vision wasn’t playing, you could see her eyes wet from what she’d just watched.
Martin froze when he saw her. For a second, he looked like a little boy again, before taking a slow step forward to be next to you.
“Mom,” he said quietly.
She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “You were incredible.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “You… came?”
“I had some help,” she said, glancing to your side, and your heart skipped when you realized she meant you.
Martin turned slightly. You gave a small bow before stepping back.
“I will give you two some space,” you bowed again before walking to where Leeseo and Juhoon were standing.
When he looked back at his mom, her eyes were already glistening.
“I see what she meant,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “What did who mean?”
“Y/N,” she said. “She told me that music isn’t your rebellion, it’s more like your peace.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her smile didn’t waver. “She was right. You looked… happy. Really happy.”
Martin swallowed hard. “Mom…”
“I’ve been thinking about something for months,” she continued, clutching her purse tighter. “And after tonight, I think I've finally made up my mind.” She paused, steadying her breath. “I’m going to file for divorce.”
His eyes widened in surprise, a sudden feeling of relief occupying his whole body. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. And I think you, your father, and I both deserve honesty, even if it hurts.”
Martin’s throat tightened. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”
Her smile wavered, tears finally spilling over. “No, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
He didn’t hesitate, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This was the first time in a while he gave and felt a hug that was that tight and overdue.
After a while, she pulled back and brushed his hair from his forehead, her voice quiet. “You’ve grown up so much. And that girl… she’s good for you.”
Martin blinked, glancing instinctively toward where you stood, half-hidden behind the fence. You were talking to Leeseo, occasionally looking at him with your smile.
“She’s a great girl,” his mom added softly. “Don’t let her slip away.”
He smiled, that same shy, crooked smile that only ever showed up when it came to you. “I won’t.”
“Cortis and friends!” she screamed, not even willing to bat their eyelids. “Grab your stuff and get in the car, food is on me.”
As his mom turned to leave for the car, he looked back toward you again. You were laughing now as you watched James running at the word food, the streetlights glinting off your red bow as you tucked your hair behind your ear.
And for the first time in a long while, Martin didn’t feel like the boy running away from everything. He felt like someone finally heading toward something worth staying for.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The school courtyard was anything but calm. Countless rolling suitcases, half-zipped duffel bags, and sleepy students chugging canned coffee like their lives depended on it to keep awake for at least of the way there.
After a weekend of endless messages about CORTIS’ victory on Cyworld and your classmates posting grainy flip-phone photos of Martin grinning with the trophy, it felt surreal that it was finally trip day. The band made sure they cashed the prize and gave you a big amount for the prom if they got to perform again, which you obviously agreed to.
You adjusted your backpack and sighed as Leeseo ran up to you, waving a folded permission slip.
“Can you believe they’re trusting us with three whole nights away from supervision?” she grinned.
“Please,” you said, smiling faintly. “You know half the teachers are going to patrol the halls like spies.”
Yujin jogged up behind her, yawning. “I’m only here for the free breakfast buffet.”
“You’re here because you begged to be in my room,” Leeseo shot back.
“Prez!”
You turned instinctively, only for Keonho to appear out of nowhere, blocking your view with a grin too wide to be innocent. Last time he gave you that type of smile, you were in the director's office.
“Morning!” he said brightly, holding a carton of banana milk. “You want one?”
You frowned, eyeing him. “You hate banana milk.”
“Do I?” He glanced down, pretending to think. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
Before you could answer, Juhoon popped up behind him. “Y/N! Quick question: if a band wins something again, should the prize money go into savings or celebration snacks?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Snacks,” James said immediately, dragging his suitcase past.
“Definitely savings,” Seonghyeon countered.
“Hold on, I didn’t even—”
“Exactly!” Keonho interrupted, looping an arm through yours. “We are the only ones who can settle it. Come on, let’s walk and talk, far away from the buses.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you guys up to?”
“Nothing,” they chorused, which was, of course, the most suspicious answer possible.
By the time you reached the front of the boarding area, the CORTIS boys had somehow managed to keep you talking about everything from “the ethics of snack budgeting” to “who snores the loudest during overnight trips” (it was apparently James).
Every time you tried to glance toward the loading buses, one of them moved strategically into your line of sight.
“Okay,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ again.”
Before you could press further, the teachers started calling everyone to board.
“Saved by the bell,” Seonghyeon muttered, pushing his suitcase forward.
You squinted suspiciously at all four of them. “You’re all terrible liars.”
Keonho only winked. “We learned from the best.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you followed them onto the bus.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The trip flew by in a blur of beach air, sightseeing, and several promposals that only happened when a hundred high school seniors were given freedom for three days straight and allowed their use of free will. You even helped out with Yujin’s promposal to Leeseo, to which she accepted happily.
You found yourself laughing more than you had in months, mostly because the CORTIS boys had taken it upon themselves to make every activity as dramatic as possible.
At lunch, James accidentally tripped and dropped an entire tray of kimbap, dramatically claiming it was “artistic sacrifice.” Juhoon tried to serenade a teacher with a guitar for bonus points on attendance. And the best for last was probably Keonho and Seonghyeon attempting to sneak extra dessert for everyone, only to get caught by the cafeteria lady, who then gave them more because she found them “charming.”
You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, their energy became the highlight of the trip.
Every so often, though, you caught Martin watching you from across the group, who you were impressed by how distracted he looked all this trip, exchanging some words with you now and then.
On the last night, during the “recreation period,” the teachers announced everyone could stay in the courtyard area to watch the sunset and enjoy the small outdoor stage.
You and Leeseo were sitting near the front, sharing a pack of chips on a break after a small duet given by Wonbin and Liz.
“Yujin, what are you moving your head like a meerkat? You’re stressing me out.” Leeseo’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Okay, don’t freak out, but I think something is happening.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, already getting stressed out. You might have changed a little bit, but you were still a little perfectionist.
Music started playing from the speakers, and your mind instantly recognized the familiar brass riff it had.
“You’re just too good to be true…”
Your jaw dropped at the voice of Martin. “Leeseo, is this real?.”
“Oh, yes,” Leeseo whispered, eyes sparkling. You didn’t notice how she was holding a recording camera, pointing it at you.
Martin opened the curtain that worked as a background on the stage, his gaze fully on you. Martin jumped off the stage, mic in hand, grinning as he began to sing the classic with over-the-top theatrics.
“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”
He pointed at you on the last word, and everyone screamed.
You covered your face, but it was useless. Martin was committed. He climbed onto one of the benches, sang to the teachers (who pretended not to laugh), and even slid down on one knee in front of a startled Yujin, who dramatically clutched his heart.
The entire class was upside down as the music built. He ran up the small aisle and stopped right in front of you.
You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Martin—”
He was interrupted by singing directly to you, his grin wider than ever.
“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright…”
You buried your face in your hands, but he gently pulled them away, still singing. The crowd clapped along to the beat, the boys behind him quickly moving. Martin spun around, giving a cue to Juhoon to give him a flower bouquet to go again in front of you, kneeling on one knee.
When the song finally ended, Martin was breathless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes never left yours.
Behind him, James and Seonghyeon were holding a banner, the phrase: “I may not be Shakespeare, but I promise prom with me will be a sonnet.”
The entire courtyard went silent.
He held the mic higher, the faint tremor in his hand betraying the adrenaline rushing through him. Despite the wide grin on his face, you could see his chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“So…” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s pretty obvious what my feelings about you are.”
“You drive me insane, make me want to be better, even when I swear I don’t care about anything.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “But I do. I care too much, especially when it comes to you.”
A few students in the front row let out small gasps, someone whispering, “Oh my god, he’s serious.”
Martin looked down for a second, the mic brushing against his lip as if he needed that pause to steady himself. When he lifted his head again, there was no smirk this time.e
“Maybe you don’t see it yet despite me saying I had this crush on you that night,” he said, voice softer now, “but when I look at you, it’s like the noise stops. And that’s saying something, coming from me.” The crowd laughed gently, and even you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your shock.
Then he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “So yeah,” he said, tone dipping back into that familiar warmth, “I had to do this your way because words weren’t cutting it anymore.”
The crowd burst into cheers again, clapping and whistling, chanting your name and his. You were still processing the words, your heart thudding painfully fast, when he looked straight at you again, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“So, Y/N,” he said, almost shyly this time, pointing at the banner behind him that was shaken by the boys, “will you go to prom with me?”
The crowd collectively held its breath.
You blinked, stunned, then let out a shaky laugh. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”
He grinned, his breath still uneven, voice hoarse from the singing and the nerves.
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”
You looked at him, the boy who’d spent half a year driving you crazy and the other half trying to make you smile. Your hand brushed against his as you took the bouquet. “Martin,” you said softly, eyes meeting his, “yes. Of course I’ll go with you.”
The courtyard erupted—cheers, applause, a few whistles from the back. Juhoon and James started playing the outro riff again, and Keonho let out a triumphant, “She said yes!” into the backup mic.
Martin blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait—really?”
You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. “Really.”
For a moment, he just stared, then he exhaled, his smile breaking into something so bright it made your stomach twist. “I’m—uh—wow. Okay.”
The boys were already pushing him forward, shouting for him to say something cool, but he just chuckled helplessly, scratching the back of his head.
“Hug each other, idiots!” Yujin screamed, and before you could react, Martin’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you clean off the ground.
Your surprised laugh got lost in the roar of the crowd. He spun you once, just enough for your shoes to leave the pavement, and when he set you down, your heart was racing far faster than it should’ve
As the music picked up again, his hand reached out instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. He looked like he wanted to say more—so much more—but instead, he whispered, “See you at night, Y/N.”
Your frowned. “Wait, what?”
Before you could demand an explanation, Leeseo grabbed your wrist. “No time for questions—let’s go.”
“What are you talking about?” you asked, stumbling after her.
She only grinned. “Operation ‘Date Night,’ obviously.”
“Excuse me, what?”
Yujin was waiting near the dorms, arms crossed like an overexcited manager. “Martin’s orders. You’re not allowed to show up in a school jacket in a romantic setting. Leeseo, you know what to do.”
“On it,” she said, pulling you inside.
Ten minutes later, your room looked like a battlefield of denim, perfume, and lip gloss.
Leeseo had raided your bag, holding up two outfits with the seriousness of a stylist dressing an idol.
“Okay, option one: the floral skirt and cardigan combo. It’s cute, safe, and very student council president. Option two…” She tossed a bundle at you. “Something that’ll make him forget his own lyrics.”
You gave her a look. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re welcome.”
Leeseo was taking her sweet time; everything she was doing was slow and steady, keeping you busy with prom details and suggesting matching colors and opinions for her and Yujin for the event. Which also made you think if Martin is into matching colors.
When you finally looked in the mirror, the second Leeseo screamed in joy, you barely recognized yourself. The simple denim skirt paired with a white tank layered under a cropped cardigan, your hair loose and soft around your shoulders. A thin silver necklace rested at your collarbone.
“Thank you, Leeseo.” You hugged her tightly.
“Anything to see you leaving this school with your first boyfriend and have your first kiss.” You laughed at her tease, face turning red. You left the dorm to start walking to the place, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and you were sure that it was leaving behind streaks of rose and violet across the water.
When you reached the beach, fairy lights were strung between two wooden poles, flickering softly. A small speaker played a slow guitar riff, so it was clear he was there.
And there, sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket with a basket on his side, was Martin.
He wasn’t dressed like the usual; he decided to wear a plain white tee layered under an open gray button-up, dark jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a simple silver chain that glinted every time he moved. His sneakers were scuffed, but clean, and his hair still messy from earlier, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it because he knew you’d recognize him anyway.
He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps, that same lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” you said, trying not to sound as breathless as you suddenly felt. “So this was your mysterious ‘see you tonight’ plan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah. The guys helped. Keonho almost set the lights on fire, but we made it work.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you sat beside him. “This is… nice.”
“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to look too eager.
“Yeah,” you said softly, your gaze drifting toward the waves. “Really nice.”
He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Good. I was worried it’d feel too much.”
“Not at all, Tin,” he laughed at the nickname.
For a while, you talked about everything and nothing while eating. The songs they were writing, the stress of exams finally being over, minus the one for college, and how Leeseo had forced you to change outfits under threat of “fashion failure.”
Martin was quieter than usual. His usual sarcasm softened into warmth, his eyes flickering between you and the sea from time to time.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” you said at one point, voice gentle.
He shook his head. “I wanted to. I just… wanted you to have a night that wasn’t about expectations or responsibilities. Just… you.”
That made you look up, startled, and for a second, neither of you said anything.
The wind tugged at your hair, and he reached forward instinctively like before, brushing it back behind your ear. His hand lingered, thumb grazing your jaw as his breath caught.
“Martin…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he were fighting himself.
“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, half to himself. “Not unless you—”
Your heart stuttered. “Unless I what?”
He smiled faintly. “Unless you’d actually let me.”
You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, a loud crash echoed from behind the dunes.
“REALLY YUJIN?!” Keonho’s voice.
You both jumped apart, laughing in disbelief.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face. “They were spying?”
Martin ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “I told them to stay in their rooms.”
Another yell followed. “Did they kiss yet?”
You looked at each other, bursting out laughing, really laughing, until your stomach hurt and the tension melted. Martin leaned back on his hands, still smiling. “Guess they saved us from doing something we’d probably overthink later.”
You nudged his shoulder. “Probably.”
He turned to you again, that same soft look from the concert flickering across his face. “Still,” he said quietly, “you make overthinking kind of worth it.”
Your breath caught, but you just smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” he teased.
“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him through your lashes. “Here I am.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Martin and you got closer than ever, and even though it wasn’t official yet, not even your father could deny the chemistry between you two. You spent afternoons studying together, stealing glances over textbooks, and laughing about how far you’d come. The bond grew quietly, in the little things: late-night calls, going out with all of them, and the way he always walked you home after those little evenings, even when it meant taking the long route.
By the time November came around, the entrance exam was long over. The pressure had finally lifted, replaced by a sense of pride and relief. To your fortune, you’d gotten the scholarship for the career you’d always dreamed of, and everyone couldn’t be prouder.
Graduation day was full of bittersweet smiles. You got your physical pictures, one of you and Martin, standing close with your caps tilted while he carried you, another with your best friends, not leaving behind Keonho and Seonghyeon, who came to see you all six of you graduate. All of you are holding onto that perfect moment before life pulls you in different directions.
“Can you please stop looking at the picture with your boyfriend and help me with my hair like you promised?” You turned your head to see Leeseo struggling to remove the hair rollers.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” she moved her eyebrows up and down, happily seeing the look on your face.
Leeseo had barged into your room hours earlier, armed with curling irons, body glitter, and enough lip gloss to coat a car. Your bedroom floor was a battlefield of shoe boxes, safety pins, and half-zipped purses.
“Thank you, now turn so I can help you,” she ordered, tugging at the straps of your satin dress. It was simple but elegant. Soft champagne color, an a-line skirt, and a ribbon that tied at the back. Your silver necklace gleamed faintly at your collarbone, the same one you’d worn at the beach.
“Leeseo, I think my ribs can’t breathe,” you muttered.
“That’s how you know it fits,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now smile. You’re about to make a boy combust.”
“Stop,” you groaned, cheeks already heating.
By the time you finished curling your hair, the doorbell rang, making you both freeze in place.
“They’re here,” she whispered dramatically.
Leeseo grabbed her clutch, smoothing her pastel blue dress. “You ready?”
You exhaled slowly, heart fluttering. “As I’ll ever be.”
When you opened your bedroom door, your father was already downstairs, peeking through the hallway mirror before unlocking it.
The door swung open to reveal Yujin and Martin. Yujin wore a pale gray suit that was clearly too tight around his shoulders, and Martin… Martin was in a black suit jacket over a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, and his signature silver chain glinting faintly at his collarbone. His hair was swept back loosely, enough to look polished without losing that “Martin” edge.
You heard your dad talking. “Ah, so these are the young men I’ve been hearing about.”
“Sir,” Yujin said quickly, bowing with his usual charm. “We promise to bring your daughter back before midnight.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow. “You'd better. I know where the school is.”
Martin laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will tell my mom that, sir.”
Then you appeared at the top of the stairs, and for a second—just a second—Martin forgot how to breathe.
He’d seen you in a thousand different ways: annoyed, serious, focused, laughing. But this was new, and it surely made his pulse stutter.
You hesitated halfway down the stairs. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said quietly, eyes following you until you reached the last step.
Leeseo descended right behind you, looking stunning in her powder-blue dress, immediately elbowing you when she caught Martin staring.
“Alright, everyone,” your dad said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “before you leave, I need a photo. This is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, you don’t see this in Seoul.”
“Dad—” you began, but he was already grabbing the camera from the counter.
“Line up,” he ordered.
Yujin and Leeseo posed first, grinning widely. Then he waved at you and Martin. “Your turn.”
You exchanged a helpless look with Martin before stepping closer. His hand brushed yours until your dad adjusted the frame.
“Closer,” he said. “You two look like you’re taking an ID photo.”
Martin chuckled softly, sliding an arm around your waist. His hand rested lightly against your back, and you swore your heartbeat could be heard across the room.
Your dad smiled behind the camera. “There we go. Perfect.” Click.
The flash went off, and you both blinked, still standing close, when he lowered the camera.
“Beautiful,” your father said warmly. “Now go, before you make me cry.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see you later, Dad.”
“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said, then glanced at Martin with mock seriousness. “Be safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Martin said, smiling.
“You clean up well,” you said, forcing a casual smile.
“You too. Didn’t know the Prez had a gown in her closet.”
“Didn’t know you owned a shirt with buttons.”
“Touché.”
Yujin cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, that’s enough flirting for the driveway. Mrs. Park’s waiting!”
You turned to see Martin’s mom, sitting in the front seat of her car, waving with a proud smile. “Come on, kids!”
She looked radiant, freer than she had the last time you’d seen her. When you climbed in beside Leeseo, she glanced back at you through the mirror. “You both look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you said, touched.
The car rolled up to the school gym, saying goodbye to his mom before going inside with your arm wrapped around Martin’s. The windows were glowing gold from the string lights inside that were giving out the theme “Golden Memories.” You could already hear the song mix the DJ was creating on the spot.
“I can believe the committee pulled this off,” You smiled proudly, thankful for the art club's offering to help out with the decorations art club did.
“Not bad for a bunch of overworked seniors.”
“You guys are late!”
James started to have his arms, Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Juhoon at his sides, waving calmly near the entrance. You find it funny how James’s tie was crooked, Juhoon was trying to help him fix it, and the other two were holding a notebook that you recognized as Martin’s.
“Nice of you to dress up, boys,” Martin called, grinning.
“Dress up?” Seonghyeon huffed, “It’s not even my graduation, and I look better than the three of you.”
“You girls look great.” Keonho smiled, walking up to hug you first before going to Martin’s.
“Our leader is all grown up. Wearing a tie, bringing a date… next thing you know, he’ll start paying taxes.”
“Don’t curse me like that,” Martin laughed it off.
You looked at Yujin and Leeseo. Despite laughing it off and teasing like usual, it was no news that it was their last big night as CORTIS before graduation. And although they were really committed to the band and set a goal to go a long way, it was their last performance in high school before life pulled them in different directions.
Seonghyeon must’ve felt it too, because when he clapped Martin’s shoulder, his voice wavered slightly. “Let’s have fun today.”
“Oh, we will have fun.” A song started playing, and Leeseo dropped Yujin’s arm.
“Come on, we’re not wasting a good song!” She immediately dragged you to the dance floor, feeling Martin’s gaze behind you.
Leeseo’s infectious energy made you join after a moment of hesitation; even the boys joined in after a few songs. Everyone lost count of how many songs they danced and went inside the circle, and by the time the slow songs rolled in, everyone started to pull their partners.
You were about to sit down, but you caught Martin’s eye once. He smiled at you while excusing himself to cross the floor toward you. The lights dimmed, and your teacher took the stage with a mic in hand.
“Okay, everyone. We are going to do this quickly. Let’s announce your prom king and queen. I need the president of the student council to come to hand the crowns.”
You left Martin to pick up the cushion that had both crowns and stay at the end of the stage.
“To remind all of you, the voting was done by taking paper and writing the name of the person you thought was suitable for the title. Let’s start by naming the king.”
He flipped the card, sighing at the result. He paused for effect. “Martin Edwards.”
Your jaw dropped, watching your friends go wild, shoving him forward as he was in disbelief. He walked to the stage, standing in front of you. You took the crown to neatly put it on top of his head.
“Congratulations, Tin,” he smiled, walking away to stand behind the teacher.
“Now, to our prom queen…” he repeated the pause from before. “It’s my honor to say this. Y/N!”
You blinked, the spotlight turning toward you and your shocked face. Martin went to you quickly, taking your crown and putting it on top of your head. He threw the cushion away to take your hand, interwining your fingers.
“Was this planned?” you said, laughing, slightly red from embarrassment.
“I don’t know. But I guess that makes you my queen tonight, huh?” he teased.
“Don’t push your luck,” you smiled.
“Now, the king and the queen will slow dance. Students, the floor is yours.” The crowd began to sway, and Martin offered his hand, his usual cockiness melting.
“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”
You tried not to laugh as you placed your hand in his. “Fine. But don’t step on my dress.”
“I’ll try my best,” he said, grinning.
As you both stood in the middle, his hands sat at your waist politely. Thanks to the heels, you could reach enough to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the back of his hair.
“Can’t believe I came with the queen of prom.”
“Say the king himself, I think we are both lucky,” he smiled. Neither of you spoke for a moment; the song made you replay some memories you had with your friends, and soon enough, with Martin.
“You know,” he murmured finally. “I never really liked dances, even more the ones where my mom used to force me to go for her work.”
You looked up, amused. “Why’s that?”
“Because I never had anyone worth dancing with.” Since you didn’t know what to say, you let yourself sway with him. Your head rested lightly against his chest.
You didn’t even realize that your friends and more couples joined in. You noticed when the music started to fade away. Martin cursed under his breath, looking at you.
“Is it time for your performance?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back. I promise,” he took your hands from his neck, kissing the top of them before going to the stage. You looked to your left, seeing Yujin and Leeseo smiling at you.
“What are you thinking?” you sighed, lovestruck.
“On how I will confess to him after this.” Both of them stopped their moves, the tap of the mic being tested rebounding on the gymnasium.
“We still have a little more than half an hour to end this night. And before we wrap up, let’s welcome CORTIS to the stage.”
The applause was quick to come, them moving on the stage, exchanging nods between them. Martin stepped forward while everyone got their instruments ready.
“Hey, everyone,” he said. “We didn’t plan to play tonight, but this is our last time together before we graduate. So… this is for all of you. For the friend who stuck around, the teacher who, although I knew I wasn’t particularly his favorite student,” the place laughed softly. “They still listened and advised us with warm hearts.”
He paused for a minute, looking at the boys whose eyes were probably as glossy as his. “This is not the end, but a little break before we go all in. Keonho. Seonghyeon, hope we can play at your graduation, and thank you for trusting the band.”
They started with two of their own songs, dancing along with everyone and screaming the songs at the top of their lungs. Energy was never missed when it came to them, even more since they played like it was the last thing they’d ever do, and maybe in a way, it was.
When the applause finally died down, Martin took a sip of water with his members, stepping back to the mic afterward.
“Thank—”
“Wait!” James stopped Martin, who was as confused as the rest of the place, minus the four boys. “There’s one more song.”
Martin walked to him with the rest behind them, covering his mic with his palm. Quickly returning after some clarification.
“This is a surprise,” he stated. “I wasn’t supposed to release this song this soon. I want to thank you guys for creating the instrumental and letting me perform this, and I want to thank my muse for inspiring me to write this song. This is called ‘Everlong’”
The keyboards started, his voice filled the room, and after a couple of verses, Seonghyeon joined.
"And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever be this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang."
You simply stood there, digesting the lyrics while people danced to the beat. You didn’t cry until the last note faded, applauding with a smile on your face. Yujin and Leeseo stood to your sides and then watched the boys on stage, officially tearing up.
You feel bad to realize how loved you were by your friends, and how much you had taken Martin’s silent warmth for granted. He was loud and proud about his feelings for you, even if the tactic at first wasn’t that clear; he later never let you forget you mattered. In moments like this, you finally saw the depth beneath his jokes.
You went to the refreshment table after the set, drinking some soda to calm yourself down.
“There you are,” you heard his voice. He was still a little breathless, and his jacket was on his arms, his shirt sleeves rolled higher.
You smiled, suddenly a wave of nerves rushing through your body at his presence. It was now or never, “I want you to come with me.”
“Where—”
“I have to tell you something.” You grabbed his hand, he instinctively looked at it, and softly bit the smile that was threatening to show.
“Show me the way.” You led him to your table, grabbing your clutch and leaving your crown. You passed the chatter through the back doors that opened onto the empty football field. The night air was crisp, and the stars were faint, but somehow still visible and giving a nice glow to the night.
You stopped standing on one of the bleachers in the field so you could be slightly higher, letting go of his hand to turn toward him.
He smiled, a little confused. “Y/N, if this is about the song—”
“It’s not,” you said, heart hammering. “Okay, maybe it is.”
“Oh my God, do you feel embarrassed? I didn’t mean to—”
“I know what you meant,” you interrupted softly. “And you’re right.”
He frowned slightly. “Right about what?”
You exhale. “That everything feels real when it’s with you.”
You decided to step down the bleachers on time. “I didn’t even realize it at first because I truly believed you were just annoying me, to throw me off and my record. But then you started showing up—not just for me—to everyone. And every time you did, I found myself noticing more.”
“Like…?”
“The way you smile when something finally works for you, how you live your life with no regrets, and how your heart is so pure that you don’t even care if the other person hates you. You are there.”
You took a shaky breath, your hand clutching your purse more. “And somewhere between wanting to hate you and trying not to fall for you. I did.”
Martin’s lips parted slightly, “You mean—”
“Yes,” a small laugh broke through at his pure face of disbelief. “I fell for you, Martin Edwards.”
You could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his voice a little rough when he finally spoke.
“Say it again,” he said softly.
“What?”
“My name. Like that.” His lips curved upward, shy and boyish at the same time. “It sounds so pretty when you say it.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You’re unbelievable.”
He chuckled, getting closer to the bleachers, looking up at you. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that—well, not that exactly, but close.”
“I can imagine it after you told me that night.”
“Which, by the way, were those two years of you calling me a nuisance, giving me detention, pretending you didn't look for me at every assembly?”
You laughed, “I had to check if I was going to get called out because of you.”
“I noticed at a distance since you were the only person who actually saw me, even when you swore you couldn’t stand me.”
The wind picked up, making the bleachers creak and your hair sweep across your face. Your hands went to your arms, blaming yourself for being so forgetful and not picking up your sweater from the table. He stood on the deck of the bleacher, and his jacket was quickly placed over your shoulders.
And just what you thought, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear again, with he difference that his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.
“I didn’t mean to fall for you either,” he admitted, looking down. “But I did. And I don’t regret a second of it.”
You smiled before reaching into your clutch, hand trembling, and pulled out an envelope.
“I was supposed to wait until tomorrow when we go to Yujin’s house,” you said, “but I can’t.”
He took it, puzzled, and watched what it contained. His eyes widened the second he saw the tickets, audibly gasping.
“There’s no way—”
“Two tickets to see Linkin Park in Seoul,” you smiled nervously. “Consider it a date. Come with me on Friday, and don’t say ‘maybe’.”
He reached for your hands. “You really are something else.”
“Something good?” you teased.
He looked at the sky. “You are something out of this world. God, you’re—”
Before he could finish, you leaned up on your tiptoes, your hand finding his tie to pull him down just like before, but this time, you didn’t hesitate.
Your lips brushed his, his breath caught, and then he kissed you back, gentle at first, as if afraid to break the moment. You froze for half a second, feeling your heart pounding so hard you could almost hear it over the faint music coming from the gym.
Your nose bumped his, your fingers trembled against his chest, but Martin didn’t care. He smiled into the kiss, pulling back only enough to whisper. “Wow,”
You nodded, breathless at how his eyes were looking so fondly at you. “That was my first.”
His eyes softened. “Good. Then I’m glad it was me.”
You didn’t even realize you were smiling until he rested his forehead against yours, both of you laughing quietly for no reason other than sheer disbelief.
“OH MY GOD!”
You jumped apart. From the edge of the field, a cluster of silhouettes waved frantically like South Korea two years ago for the World Cup. You hid your face on the curve that connected his neck and shoulder, his arms engulfing you.
“Finally!” Leeseo hissed, hugging Yujin happily while he had a smile on his face.
“Pay up, Seonghyeon.” James snickered, waving a few bills.
“It took you three years, love your perseverance!” Juhoon screamed, and you couldn’t help but laugh from your spot.
“Worth the wait!” Yujin yelled, pretending to wipe fake tears.
You covered your face, groaning. “They were watching?!”
Martin just laughed, “Of course they were. They were looking at us from the gym.”
He turned toward them, raising your joined hands like a victory gesture. The others erupted in cheers, chanting both your names like a ridiculous anthem.
“Also, did I just hear ‘Pay up’?” Martin raised his shoulder, giving away the answer. You huffed, “Can’t believe they’ve been betting on us.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “And for once, I don’t mind losing.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
He looked back at you, his eyes were full of every emotion you were both feeling. “Ridiculously in love with you.”
And before you could think twice, he leaned in again, slower this time, just enough for your lashes to brush his cheek, for you to close your eyes and let the world spin quietly around you.
You didn’t even care if your friends were still watching.
Because under the silver lights of the empty field, with his jacket around your shoulders, hands on your waist, and your heart in a state of pure bliss, everything finally made sense.
And for once—in the middle of all the noise—you didn’t feel like you had to be perfect. You just felt real.
Just like him.
Just like everlong.
─── A PERSON WHO YEARNS IS A PERSON WHO EARNS! I have never written something this big for anyone in a WHILE, but put some romcoms, a playlist, and I'm LOCKED IN. Also, happy cortis blr debut to me, and any grammar mistakes or stuff I missed will be fixed later. love you all and thanks for reading 💞
Martin would complain instantly the second your teeth sink into his cheek.
“Heeey, that actually hurt!”
You start laughing against his shoulder and he narrows his eyes at you dramatically, rubbing his cheek like you seriously wounded him.
“So this is how you treat your boyfriend now?”
Before you can answer, his hands are already moving to your sides. The second he starts tickling you, you immediately try to push him away, laughing harder.
“Martin stop—”
“Nope. Too late.”
He grins while you squirm around in his arms, fully enjoying your suffering.
“You bite me, I fight back.”
Juhoon would completely freeze after it happens.
You bite his cheek during cuddling and he slowly pulls back, staring at you with the most shocked expression ever.
“…Did you just bite me?”
The way he says it makes you burst out laughing immediately. He keeps staring at you like he genuinely cannot believe what just happened.
“You’re insane.”
He touches his cheek, still looking offended.
“You actually used your teeth.”
You laugh even harder and he ends up laughing too, shaking his head before pulling you back against him.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
James would lift his head from your neck the second you bite his cheek, eyes narrowing slightly.
“…Really?”
You try to act innocent but he’s already looking at you like he’s planning something. Then suddenly he leans down and bites lightly at your neck in return.
“James!”
You shove his shoulder, laughing. “It was a joke, perv.”
A small smirk appears on his face as he settles back against you like nothing happened.
“Oh, so when you do it it’s funny?”
His hand slides around your waist again, pulling you closer.
“Good to know.”
Keonho would gasp dramatically the second you bite his cheek.
“Ow! That hurts!”
You immediately start laughing and he takes it even further, hiding his face into your neck while fake sniffling.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me…”
His voice is so dramatic it just makes you laugh harder. He keeps pretending to cry against your shoulder for a few more seconds before lifting his head again with the biggest grin.
“You’re evil.”
Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss against your cheek like he forgave you instantly anyway.
Seonghyeon would blink in surprise when you bite his cheek, then a quiet giggle slips out before he can stop it.
“Did you just bite me?”
You laugh into his chest and he smiles immediately, amused more than anything. His fingers tap lightly against your waist while he looks down at you.
“You’re getting aggressive now?”
There’s a teasing tone in his voice as he squishes your cheeks gently between his fingers.
“Should I be scared of you?”
You try to bite his hand this time and he laughs properly, pulling it away fast.
“See? There you go again.”
He keeps giggling under his breath while pulling you closer, clearly finding the whole thing way too cute.
downbad cortis x femreader smau ─── cortis as that one dude in your dms praying for the downfall of every guy you post. aka they’ll definitely treat you better than whoever the hell you’re in a new talking stage with. ˎˊ˗
contains extremely downbad cortis (slightly embarrassing..). crack smau! ft. ohyul & louis lngshot, gyuvin & eumppappa and2ble (only mentioned)
( 🪽 ) —— lowk part 2 to downbadism :P but can be read as a stand alone! i only got to post this now bcuz ive been very busy 🥹 anw, hope you guys enjoy this one! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 💋
⤷ Y/N L/N got dumped, but she’s far from defeated. She’s scheming, and Martin Edwards— loud, chaotic, and just impossible to ignore, is her secret weapon.
Alternatively: the full love story behind how rodrick! martin and regina! reader end up together
ᯓ★ warnings: wc:9.3k rodrick! martin x regina! reader, fake dating to lovers, swearing, reader is mean and uses martin at first, swearing, martin embarrassing himself is inspired by a scene from rodrick rules (2010), intentional mischaracterization of some mean girls (2004) cast, he calls you princess, rushed ending oops
ᯓ★ note: ITS FINALLY HERE >0< !!! i had so much fun while writing this so i hope you guys also enjoy reading it 🫶 characters are from my sk8er boi! post
The last place you expected to be on a Friday night was a cramped, overheated house that smelled like cheap alcohol, sweat, teenage hormones, and something vaguely burnt.
And yet, here you were.
Standing near the very back, half hidden behind a pillar, arms crossed like you weren’t actively choosing to be there. Your disguise was… half-assed at best. A cap pulled low over your face, oversized sunglasses despite the dim lighting, which honestly, if anything, it made you more noticeable. But you refused to take them off. The point wasn’t to blend in perfectly.
The point was to not look like you cared. Because you didn’t. Obviously.
You just happened to be in the area. And he just happened to be performing. And you just happened to step inside for like two seconds. That’s it. Purely coincidental. Even as the flyer he had handed you earlier that month, now folded neatly inside your jean pocket, said something different.
Screams and whistles suddenly erupted around you, dragging your attention toward the stage despite yourself.
Martin steps on to the stage first. And god, he was… loud.
Not just in volume, but in presence. You knew he was loud. You’d grown familiar with the sound of his laughter and shouting (against your will), echoing through the school hallways during his usual over-the-top antics. But this… this was different. He moved across the stage, electric guitar in hand, like it belonged to him. Like every second of attention from the crowd was something he expected, not something he hoped for. His voice cut through the noise effortlessly, rough in a way that made the entire room lean in.
You shifted your weight, trying (and failing) to look uninterested. You weren’t impressed or anything. High school garage bands were soooo last year, you like to believe that your tastes were much more refined than that. But a small, tiny part of you regrettably understood why everyone else seemed to be.
The crowd erupted at the end of the third song. You hadn’t even noticed how long you had been watching him, and annoyingly, he looked good. Not in a polished, put together way--but in that careless, messy way that somehow worked. Hair damp with sweat, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, those ridiculous studded bracelets clinking every time he moved. Even the chipped black nail polish on his fingers, something you would’ve normally judged—looked deliberate as they moved over the strings. It was irritating how well it all suited him.
Cheers bounced off the walls as people pushed closer to the makeshift stage. Some girls even held up signs for someone named James as he played the bass, while the drummer–Keonho, you hear from the freshmen around you– kept the energy going from the back.
Despite the ruckus and adrenaline around you, you didn’t move. You stayed planted at the back, arms still crossed, occasionally checking your nails and the charms on them to look busy, expression carefully neutral. Unwilling to admit how much their performance pulled you in. Scanning the crowd with a bored stare, you caught sight of something that immediately sent blood rushing to your ears. Your nails pressing crescents into your palm, though your face remained completely stone cold.
Aaron Samuels. Your ex-boyfriend. The one who had broken up with you just two days ago because you were “too much.” Locked in a passionate kiss with Cady Heron. Your new friend. (Though some would argue she’s just another one of your ‘minions’ who do everything you ask them to and believe every word you say. But oh well its whatever, friend, sidekick, minion, they're all the same to you anyway.)
Your anger continued to boil beneath the surface, but you weren’t going to make a scene here. You were better than that. Exhaling a staggered breath, you forced yourself to inhale slowly, unwilling to make a spectacle of yourself. You just scoff at their public display, the scene reminding you of two fishes kissing each other that you once saw from a random documentary.
That didn’t mean you were going to let them go. You always had your way, one way or another.
You couldn’t care less if your ex-boyfriend had found someone else right after your breakup. What you couldn’t accept was how he thought he had the power to end things with you, not the other way around. The same could be said for Cady. You had never truly seen her as a friend, but you certainly weren’t going to let her play you for a fool. You would make sure they regretted it.
Just not now. Their time will eventually come.
After throwing one last judgmental glance at the pair, you refocused your attention on the five-person band. Specifically to the blond with spiked hair and messy eyeliner, his red electric guitar slung low.
Onstage, Martin was having the time of his life. He ran a hand through his damp hair, slightly out of breath, eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional. Leaning into the mic, a crooked grin tugged at his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd.
Until they landed past it.
Straight to you.
You froze.
Oh God, no. There was no way.
“Damn,” he breathed into the mic, voice low, amused. “Didn’t think I’d actually see you here tonight.”
Your stomach dropped. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You were literally wearing a disguise. Granted, it wasn’t a good one– but still! How did he spot you so easily in a crowd like this?
He straightened, grin widening, clearly enjoying this far too much. “This next song…” he said, dragging it out just enough to make your dread build, “…goes out to a very special lady.”
Your eyes widened behind your sunglasses.
Oh my God. Shut up. No. No fucking way.
He lifted his hand, pointing directly at you. “This one’s for you.” The reaction was immediate.
Heads turned. Dozens of them. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The energy in the room shifted as people followed his gaze, right to the back, right to you.
Your heart nearly stopped. You ducked your head instantly, pulling your cap lower over your face, as if that could somehow erase the fact that half the room was now staring at you. This was a nightmare.
Being the center of attention wasn’t unfamiliar to you. After all, you were Y/N L/N. Queen bee of North Shore High. The one who controlled the social hierarchy. The one who could make or break someone’s reputation with a single word. But this was completely different. You had no intention of being recognized in this smelly, cramped backyard, precisely why you had thrown on an (admittedly shitty) disguise and left Karen and the others completely in the dark.
Mortification burned through you, hot and immediate.
Onstage, Martin just smiled, like he was genuinely on top of the world just because you were there. And then– he strummed the guitar.
You stilled, the first strum hitting like a loaded gun. And somehow, you just knew it was aimed at you.
God, please no. Just kill me now.
You knew that sound. You knew that opening. Your head snapped up despite yourself, horror dawning in real time. Martin leaned into the mic, eyes still locked on yours, grin borderline wicked. And then he started singing, the four other boys behind him closely mirroring the horror on your face, hands completely still, unsure of what to do.
“You know you love me,” he sang, winking at you. “I know you care.”
You stared at him in pure, unfiltered disbelief. Out of all the songs in the world. Out of all the songs–
He chose that one.
“And I just can’t believe we ain’t together…”
The crowd went wild. Some people laughed, others cheered louder, phones already out. Hesitantly, his bandmates follow his lead and start playing the instrumental. And Martin? He was absolutely eating it up, performing like this was the best decision he had ever made in his life.
And while you were completely, utterly stuck watching in both horror and amusement… a devilish idea began to take root in your head.
Aaron Samuels and Cady Heron might have put you on display– but you’d be the one controlling how this story ended.
The set ended in a blur of noise. After Martin's very humiliating public display, the band tried to do some form of damage control and played more songs, hoping that everyone will forget what just happened.
Cheers, whistles, people chanting for one more song, screaming ‘Cortis’ like they were headlining coachella instead of someone’s overcrowded backyard. The energy lingered in the air long after the last note faded, buzzing beneath your skin in a way you refused to acknowledge.
You didn’t stay for long. Just enough to let the crowd settle. Just enough to make sure no one was paying attention to you anymore. Then you moved.
Through the bodies, past the makeshift stage, toward the side of the house where the five boys had gathered. Laughing, excitedly talking over each other, riding the high of their performance. And there he was.
Leaning back against the wall like he hadn’t just made a complete spectacle out of you twenty minutes ago. A half-empty water bottle in his hand, hair damp, his cheeks flushed from the heat, eyeliner smudged and nearly melted off from the sweat.
His head tilted the second you stepped into his line of sight. A grin spreading across his face like he’d just won something, eyebrows raised in faux shock.
“Oh, wow, look who we have here,” he drawled, pushing himself off the wall, meeting you half way, body towering over yours even with the kitten heels you wore, completely ignoring the shocked look in his friends faces as they pretended that they weren't listening. “Didn’t think you’d actually come see me.”
You stopped an arms length away from him, arms crossing over your chest, expression perfectly composed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Edwards” you said coolly. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
His grin widened.
God he loves when you talk in that bratty tone of yours.
“Yeah?” he said, taking a step closer, fingers fiddling with his earring, voice teasing. “So did you like it? You were looking pretty into it back there.” His head tilting in the direction of the stage.
“I was just dropping by,” you corrected flatly.
“Right right.” He nodded, like he totally believed you. “Dropping by. So the disguise has no reason at all? You just like walking around with a cap and sunglasses during the night?”
Your eyes narrowed slightly behind your sunglasses. “You talk a lot for someone who just publicly humiliated me.”
That only made him laugh. “Humiliated?” he repeated, hand coming up to his chest in mock offense. “I dedicated a song to you. That’s like- the complete opposite of humiliation and totally romantic.”
“You think Baby by Justin Bieber is romantic?” you deadpanned.
“Definitely,” he shot back, nodding vigorously. “Isn’t that how he bagged Selena?”
You stared at him. He only grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, eyes glinting with amusement– like he was waiting to see how far he could push you.
God, he was insufferable. And entirely too pleased with himself.
“Relax,” he added, softer now, tilting his head slightly. “You know you loved it.”
You didn’t even hesitate. “I didn’t.”
“Nah” he dragged out, shaking his head as he leaned in slightly. “You totally did.”
Silence stretched for half a second. From a few feet away, Martin's friends held their breaths. Watching closely to how you would react to the wasian boys comment. They completely expected you to step on his toes and walk away, like how you ran his foot over and drove off a few weeks ago. But all you did was let out a sharp exhale, trying to control yourself. You weren’t here for this.
You straightened slightly, gaze sharpening as you looked at him properly this time.
“Whatever, I need you to do something for me.”
That got his attention. Not that you didn’t already have it, but this shifted it. Made it sharper. More focused.
His grin didn’t disappear, but it changed. Curious now. “Yeah?” he said. “What kind of something?”
You held his gaze. “I need you to play a part.”
His eyebrows lifted, interest piqued. “And what exactly am I auditioning for?”
You didn’t smile. “My boyfriend.”
That did it. For the first time since you walked over, Martin actually went still. Not completely. Just enough that you noticed. Then his mouth twitched, lips pressing tight like he was trying not to react.
“Wow, straight to it, huh?”
“This isn’t about you,” you said immediately. “So don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Mhmmm” he hummed, like he wasn’t listening at all. Like thinking about it was too much of a task, even when deep down all of his nerves were about to explode just at the mere mention of you mentioning ‘boyfriend’ to him. “Fake boyfriend, though… that’s a pretty big role.”
You ignored that. “It’s temporary,” you continued. “It just needs to be public. Convincing enough that people believe it.”
His eyes flickered, studying you more carefully now. “And why, may I ask,” he asked, tone just a little more curious than teasing now, “does the princess need a fake boyfriend?” Martin wasn’t stupid. Everyone had heard about you and Aaron. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why you chose him.
You tilted your head slightly, choosing to completely ignore the nickname. You could’ve said it simply. You could’ve said: Aaron. But that wasn’t the point. “Some people need to learn a lesson,” you said instead, voice cool and measured, throwing your hair over your shoulder. “And to know never to fuck with me”
There it was. Honest. In your own way.
Martin watched you for a second longer than usual. Expression now carefully neutral, lips jutting out as he lets out a thinking hum sound. Then, he smiles. Not the teasing one he has been giving you all evening, but something sharper. “Damn,” he said under his breath. “That’s kind of evil.”
You didn’t deny it.
“I prefer the word effective.”
He let out a surprised laugh, “So let me get this straight,” he said, now taking a few steps away from you, as if internalizing the information you’ve given him “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend… so some douchebag realizes he messed up?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
You met his gaze, completely unbothered. “Then I turn him down.” You shrug.
That got a real reaction. He broke into loud laughter, a hand coming up to his stomach as he bent slightly, a tear forming at the corner of his eye.“God you really are evil,” he says through laughter, wiping away the tear. “I like it.” he sighs dreamily.
Of course he did.
You ignore his words, and crossed your arms again, a single eyebrow raised. “Well? What will it be, Edwards?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you, expression thinking, like he was piecing something together. Then his grin came back, now softer than it was before. “If I’m playing your boyfriend,” he said, voice dropping just slightly, “I’m doing it my way.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, stepping into your space once again, just enough to be intentional, “I don’t do anything half-assed.”
Your chin tilted up slightly. “Good,” you replied. “I don’t either.”
His grin widened. “People are gonna believe it,” he continued. “No holding back. No fake plastic romance shit, If I’m in, I’m in.”
You studied him for a moment. Weighing. Calculating.
“Fine.”
That was all it took. The pink in his cheeks turning to a blazing red color. His eyes lit up–just for a second–before he masked it again with that same cocky expression.
“Didn’t think my night would end with you asking me out.” he said, shaking his head slightly.
“Don’t think too much about it, Edwards” you said flatly. “You just happen to be useful.”
“Yeah?” he shot back, grin returning. “We’ll see about that, princess.”
You turned slightly, already done with the conversation. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Wait,” he called.
You paused, glancing back at him. He was still smiling, but softer now. Not mocking. Not teasing. The same smile children have when they receive the present they’ve always prayed for on their birthday.
“For the record?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“I would’ve said yes anyway.”
You held his gaze for a second. Unreadable. Carefully thinking about your next words.
“I know.” And with that, you turned and walked away.
Leaving him still smiling like he’d just gotten exactly what he wanted, hands shaking at his sides from anticipation.
When Monday rolls around, everything at North Shore High goes on as usual. Hyunjin from the art club is still at his usual spot, handing out flyers and encouraging applicants. Cocona from the fashion club is pinning up yet another poster, looking for models. Soobin from the anime club is Naruto-running down the hall.
Again, everything is as usual.
Except for one thing.
You. And Martin. Together. Walking down the hallway. Together. Hand in hand.
A sly, almost poisonous smile sits on your glossy lips, your arm looped around Martin’s bicep. A pink Juicy Couture bag, very obviously yours, hangs off his shoulder like it belongs there. Your soft pink outfit and gold jewelry, the picture of clean girl, contrasts sharply against Martin’s all black, grungy clothes and silver accessories. And yet, somehow, it works.
You wear your usual proud expression, completely unbothered by the stares and whispers trailing behind you. You walk like this is nothing. Like it’s always been this way. Beside you, Martin carries himself differently. A little too aware. A little too smug. A cocky grin plays on his lips as he basks in the attention, occasionally throwing a mock salute at the random guys frozen by their lockers, jaws practically on the floor.
You don’t slow down. Not when the hallway opens up, not when the noise shifts from passing chatter to something more focused. If anything, your grip on Martin tightens slightly. Because you already know where you’re going.
And more importantly– you know who’s going to be there when you arrive.
The cafeteria doors swing open, loud and careless like they always do, but this time it feels different. Heads turn. Not all at once, but enough to notice, enough for it to ripple through the room as you walk in, still attached to Martin like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t hesitate, don’t slow down, just head straight for your usual table where Gretchen and Karen are already mid-conversation, Cady sitting across from them with that same composed, quietly observant look she always has.
And right beside her is Aaron. He looks up, just for a second, and it’s subtle, the way his expression shifts. Not shock, not even confusion, more like mild amusement, like he’s already decided what this is before you’ve even said anything. A joke. An obvious ploy to get his attention.
You slide into your seat like nothing’s changed, dropping your bag onto the table as Martin takes the spot beside you, a little too close, deliberately so. There’s a slight pause before Cady tilts her head, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Oh, wow,” she says, light, almost curious, resting her chin on her palm, her eyes just a little too wide to still look innocent. “Y/N, who’s this… friend you have here?” There’s something under it—not quite sharp, but not harmless either. A tone you’re familiar with. The very same tone you use when speaking to a child—slow, measured, as if they wouldn’t understand otherwise. And you don’t even blink.
You just shrug, reaching for your tray that a random freshman had brought over like it’s nothing. “Martin. My boyfriend.”
It lands, and then just as quickly- laughter. Not loud, just disbelieving, like you’ve said something mildly entertaining. Karen giggles, Gretchen looks confused for half a second before brushing it off, and even Cady smiles like she’s humoring you. Across the table, Aaron leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mutters, “Yeah right. Okay.” He doesn’t press, doesn’t question it further, because to him it’s obvious, it’s fake. The conversation moves on almost immediately, dissolving into something else like it always does, gossip or plans or something equally unimportant, and just like that everything feels normal again. Too normal.
You pick up your fork, ready to finally eat, when something nudges lightly against your tray. You glance down to find a raspberry smoothie sitting in front of you, cold and lightly fogged with condensation, the lid already loosened. Your eyes shift to Martin, brows pulling together in a small, questioning look. He notices anyway. Of course he does. He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. “You like this, right?” he says simply. “You have it every lunch.” Across the table, Aaron lets out a quiet scoff, wrinkling his nose. “Eugh that shits basically useless. Gatorade’s better.” Neither of you respond, not even a glance, and for a second, that silence feels louder than anything else.
You look back at the bottle, then at Martin. There’s no teasing in his expression, no smugness, no hint that this is part of some act. He’s just… right. You do drink it every lunch. You always have. Aaron never noticed, or if he did, it was to complain about it, actually, saying that it tasted weird, saying you should just get something else.
This is new to you, different. You pause, not long, just a beat, something small and quiet that almost goes unnoticed. “Hm, thanks,” you say finally, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything at all, before taking the cup and taking a sip like it’s just another part of your routine, like it’s normal.
But across the table, Aaron notices. Not the drink, not even Martin, but the pause, and the way that for the first time since you sat down, something about this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.
It’s small, almost nothing, gone as quickly as it came, but you catch it anyway– the slight shift in his expression, the way his attention lingers just a second too long before he looks away like it doesn’t matter.
And that’s all you need.
Not a scene. Not a reaction. Just that.
Because if he was really over it– over you, he wouldn’t be looking at all. You take another sip like you didn’t notice, a barely there smirk being hidden, like none of this means anything, setting the bottle back down with quiet ease as the conversation around you carries on. But beneath it, steady and certain, something settles into place.
Judging by the way Aaron can’t stop watching, you already know how this ends.
By the time the school day ends, everyone across campus has heard the news.
Y/N L/N and Martin Edwards are dating.
There are all kinds of opinions about your relationship. Gretchen would say it’s “so fetch.” A handful of people call it adorable, while some say you're just bored. Some speculate he blackmailed you into dating him. Others insist you’re the one doing the blackmailing. But no one can deny it– somehow, impossibly, the two of you fit.
Martin quietly walks you to your car in the school parking lot, a guitar case slung over one shoulder while your pink juicy couture bag hangs from his hand. The second your car beeps open, he suddenly rushes ahead of you, swinging the door open with exaggerated flair, bowing low like some medieval knight.
“Your carriage, m’lady.”
One hand holds the door open, the other extends your bag toward you.
You scoff, amused despite yourself. “You’re such a dweeb,” you say, but a small laugh slips out anyway as you take your bag and slide into the driver’s seat. Martin lifts his head at the sound of it. He doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t even try. Just grins.
“Well, you’re dating this dweeb, so…” he shrugs, gently closing your door.
For a moment, everything is quiet. No whispers. No stares. No rumors trailing behind you. Just quiet.
You would usually drive off immediately, eager to leave the draining campus behind. But for some reason, you hesitate, fingers resting against the steering wheel, unmoving. Martin notices. Of course he does. Watching you has become part of his daily routine. He leans down slightly, arms folding over the edge of your window.
“That was… a pretty eventful day,” he says.
You let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Yeah. It was.”
Silence settles again. Not uncomfortable. Just… unfamiliar. Like both of you are searching for something to say, but neither quite knows what.
Martin clears his throat lightly. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ve got band practice, so I can’t take you home. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Edwards,” you reply. “My mom would probably have a heart attack if she saw you anyway.”
He smirks. “Are my looks that dangerous?”
You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because you look like a walmart version of Sid Vicious.”
You expect another one of his dramatic comebacks. A joke. A protest. Something. But instead- “You know Sid Vicious?”
You pause. Just for a second. A flicker of hesitation. You know how people see you. You know what they expect. Girls like you don’t listen to that kind of music. Girls like you don’t know things like that.
You open your mouth, already ready to brush it off as a joke but Martin breaks into a wide grin. “You just keep getting cooler and cooler.”
And just like that, the moment shifts. He straightens up, stepping back from your car, hands tucked into his skinny jeans, that same easy smile still on his face.
“See you tomorrow, princess. Drive safe.”
And then he turns, heading back toward the school, probably to the music room, like it’s just another normal day.You watch him go. The way his guitar case bounces slightly, the way his frosted tips catch the light. And watch him disappear through the doors.
And for a moment, something unfamiliar settles in your chest.
Cady Heron had always envied you.
Back at her old school, she had been the it girl. The perfect image of the campus sweetheart. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also helpful. Always tutoring the students who needed it, volunteering at every school fundraiser, dutifully following behind the teachers like their favorite little pet.
She had carefully built her image.
She made sure everyone bowed at her feet and unknowingly ate out of her hand, and the moment she realized how desperately people craved her attention, she knew she could never give up that kind of power.
So when she transferred to North Shore High, she expected more of the same. Only there was one problem.
You.
She could not understand how, despite your abrasive attitude, you still had the entire school trailing after you like lovesick puppies. Despite her best efforts to stand beside you, to replace your reign with her own sweet, charming image– she couldn’t understand how you still managed to remain on top.
That was when she decided she would take everything from you. One by one. Until you had nothing left. And she had everything.
Starting with Aaron Samuels.
Manipulating Aaron Samuels had not been difficult. Despite his good looks and golden retriever charm, at the end of the day he was still just a dog. With a brush of her hand against his arm here, a playful fix of his hair there, and the slightest pout of her lips– She got him into her bed, and got him to break up with you.
She couldn’t wait to see the look on your face. She could picture it already. Your anger at being replaced. Your humiliation. Your jealousy of her.
As she sat at the group’s usual cafeteria table that Monday, Aaron at her side, she waited eagerly for your arrival, ready to watch you desperately try to conceal your rage at realizing you had been replaced by someone better.
But to her shock, you ruined the script entirely.
You walked in smiling. Radiant. Completely unbothered. And hanging off the arm of Martin Edwards.
The same Martin Edwards who now pulled out your chair for you like it was second nature, his hand resting casually on your waist as you sat down beside him like nothing in the world had changed.
Like you hadn’t just been betrayed.
Like you hadn’t just been replaced.
Being seated directly across from your nauseating display of affection, Cady shot a glance toward Aaron and felt her stomach drop. His jaw was tight. His expression dark. His eyes lingered on you far too long.
No.
No, no, no.
She could not allow this to happen. She had worked too damn hard for this. She had fought too hard to get him on her side, and she would make sure he kept his eyes exactly where they belonged. On her.
She had only just begun her climb toward the North Shore throne.
And she refused to let you win again.
The music drifting from Martin’s CD player was the only thing filling his room. Some old rock song you frequently heard bleeding through his earphones hummed through the speakers, blending with the occasional scratch of marker against plastic.
You lay flat on your stomach across his bed, lazily kicking your legs in the air while the taller boy sat cross legged on the floor beside you, colorful key tags scattered around the both of you in messy piles.
For the past hour, the two of you had repeated the same routine. Pick up a key tag. Pick up a pen. Write down:
010 666 1738. Cady Heron’s number.
Over. And over. And over again.
If someone had told you this morning that by the end of the day you’d be in Martin Edwards bedroom, surrounded by several hundred plastic key tags and willingly participating in what could only be described as low-level psychological warfare you would have laughed in their face.
But here you were.
You glanced down at the number written neatly across the bright pink tag in your hand, then at the mountain of finished ones piling up beside Martin. Then around his room. The band posters. The half-open guitar cases. The clothes thrown carelessly over the desk chair. The lingering scent of cologne and something faintly smoky.
Weird.
You had never imagined yourself here.
Had never imagined yourself anywhere near this comfortable in Martin Edwards’ personal space, let alone sprawled out on his bed like you belonged there.
Your thoughts drifted back to earlier that day.
To the exact moment this absurd plan had begun.
Martin had practically bounded toward you in the hallway that morning. Too energetic for eight a.m. Too smug for someone who looked like he’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep.
His grin was suspiciously wide, almost manic, and his hands were tucked behind his back in a way that immediately made you narrow your eyes.
“What are you hiding?” you asked flatly.
He gasped dramatically.
“No good morning? No ‘hello, Martin, you look devastatingly handsome today?’”
“Edwards.”
He rocked back on his heels, still grinning.
“Guess.”
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon, princess live a little.”
You stared at him. He stared back.
Then sighed dramatically.
“You’re no fun.”
“Sucks to suck.”
With a flourish far more theatrical than necessary, he brought his hands forward, revealing a giant ziplock bag, stuffed, to the brim. With brightly colored plastic key tags.
You blinked. Then blinked again. “…What.”
His grin somehow widened. “I have a proposition.”
You looked between him and the bag. “No.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“The answer is still no.”
He ignored you completely, already too committed to whatever nonsense this was.
“We write Cady’s number on every single one-” He shook the bag for emphasis, the keys rattling loudly. “Then we leave them everywhere.”
You just stared. He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially despite the fact that no one around you was paying attention. “Bathroom counters. Hallways. Parking lots. Grocery stores. Taped to vending machines. Maybe at the doorstep of that weird kid who always smells like cheese–”
He kept going.
“–And thennn random creeps start calling her nonstop”
Your lips twitched. Martin froze mid-sentence. Eyes immediately catching your reaction.
“You like it,” he breathed, eyes twinkling with excitement. “You like my plan dont youuu”
You wiped your smile off instantly. “It’s…petty.”
“But effective?” he echoes your words from your first interaction.
“…Maybe.”
He broke into a victorious grin, voice teasing, “I knew it.”
You crossed your arms. “You bought all of these?”
He nodded proudly. “Three hundred.”
You stared at him incredulously, “You bought three hundred key tags?”
“What can I say, I commit to the bit.”
You should have been concerned. And honestly, you were a little. But he was grinning at you like he’d just invited you into some grand criminal conspiracy. And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, you found yourself saying:
“When do we start?”
Which was how you ended up here, in his room. Helping him ruin Cady Heron’s week. Martin tossed another blank key tag onto the bed beside you.
“You know, you have freakishly neat handwriting for someone actively committing harassment.”
You snorted softly.
“You bought three hundred key tags for revenge and I’m the weird one?”
“Difference is,” he said, pointing his marker at you, “my insanity is charming.”
“Hm debatable.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch Y/N, why do you wound me like this.”
“You’ll survive.”
“W-whats that? Is that the light?” he dramatically gasps, a hand reaching out to the sky, “Is my time over?”
You rolled your eyes, just huffing at his usual theatrics, but there was no real bite behind it. A comfortable quiet settled over the room after that. The kind that should’ve felt strange. Should’ve felt awkward. But didn’t. It was easy. Alarmingly easy.
Martin reached over the bed to grab another handful of tags, his arm brushing against yours. Neither of you moved away.
“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter this time, “I’m glad you asked me.”
Your hand stilled over the tag.
“To help terrorize Heron?”
He laughed. “No. Well- yes? But I meant the whole fake dating thing.”
You looked down at the tag in your hand. “Why?”
He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy. Or as shy as Martin Edwards was capable of looking. “I don’t know.” He fiddled with the cap of his marker. “I just am I guess”
You glanced at him. He wasn’t joking. Wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t teasing. The sincerity of it caught you off guard.
“You realize I insult you constantly,” you said.
He smiled.
“Yeah.”
“And I ran over your foot.”
“You did.”
“And I only asked you because you were convenient.”
His smile softened.
“And yet you still asked me.”
Something in your chest tightened in the same manner it did in the cafeteria. Uncomfortable. Warm. Dangerous.
So naturally, you looked away first. “Hand me another key tag.”
His grin returned instantly. “Aweee are you shy?”
“Martin.”
“Right, right. Sorry, Your Majesty.”
Later, the two of you drove around town with the windows rolled down and the music blasting loud enough to rattle the car doors. The pile of completed key tags sat in your lap like a loaded grenade.
Every stop became a mission. You slipped one into a changing room at the mall. Martin dropped three in the movie theater lobby. You left two on the bathroom sink at a gas station. He tucked one under a windshield wiper while cackling like a supervillain.
At one point, after tossing a handful into the parking lot of a crowded grocery store, you sprinted back to his car laughing harder than you had in weeks.
“GO, GO, GO–”
“WAITWAIT THE TRUCK WONT START! HOLD ON IM PANICKING-!”
You collapsed into the passenger seat breathless, and he bolted out of the lot dramatically despite absolutely no one chasing you.
By the time the final key tag was gone, your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your voice was hoarse from screaming lyrics with him at red lights.
And when you looked over at Martin, hair windblown and ridiculous, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while singing off-key with shameless confidence, you felt it.
That strange, unfamiliar ache in your chest. Because somewhere between the fake dating arrangement, the revenge plotting, the laughter…You had realized something dangerous.
You liked this. You liked him. Or maybe—
Not him. Not yet.
But you liked being around him. Liked how easy he made everything feel. Liked how he never expected you to be softer than you were. Never flinched at your cruelty. Never asked you to be kinder. Better. Prettier. Sweeter.
He knew exactly who you were, and instead of recoiling, he matched your energy. Helped you sharpen the knife. You looked at him for a long moment. And for the first time in longer than you cared to admit, you felt something dangerously close to gratitude.
When Cady walked into the cafeteria the next morning, dragging her feet with dark circles under her eyes, you and Martin had to physically restrain yourselves from laughing.
She looked awful. Her usually pristine hair was tied back in what could only generously be called a rushed ponytail, her concealer doing little to hide the exhaustion written plainly across her face. Even the way she walked lacked its usual polished confidence, movements sluggish, as if she hadn’t slept a second.
Martin’s shoulder bumped yours the second he saw her. You didn’t dare look at him. Because if you did, you would absolutely lose it.
Then Cady collapsed face-first onto the lunch table with a long, miserable groan. Aaron was at her side immediately. And Martin choked.
A loud, strangled cough tore out of him as he grabbed his drink, nearly knocking it over in the process. You kicked him hard beneath the table. He jerked, shooting you an offended look. You kept your face perfectly composed.
“What’s wrong, Cady?” Karen asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you sleep on the wrong side of the pillow?”
“Karen, it’s ‘slept on the wrong side of the bed.’ And no, I’m not okay!” Cady snapped, lifting her head just enough to glare at everyone. “Creeps have been calling me all night asking if I lost my keys or if I want to ‘have a good time.’”
Your lips pressed together so tightly they almost hurt. Beside you, Martin had gone suspiciously still. The kind of still that only happened when he was trying not to laugh.
Aaron frowned deeply. “Wait what?! How did random people even get your number?”
You widened your eyes in perfectly practiced concern. “Oh my God,” you said, your voice dripping with fake sympathy. “That’s awful! How would anyone even get your number?”
Martin nodded, far too quickly. “Yeah,” he added, coughing once into his fist. “That’s, uh… actually insane. Like… who would do something like that?”
Cady’s eyes narrowed immediately. Her gaze darted between the two of you. You stared right back, all wide-eyed innocence. Martin mirrored you, somehow managing to look both confused and deeply offended by the implication.
Karen gasped. “Maybe someone wrote your number in the bathroom!”
Gretchen’s eyes widened in horror. “Or online! Wait do hackers post phone numbers?”
Karen gasped louder. “Can hackers get into your microwave too?”
“No, Karen.”
Aaron reached for Cady’s hand, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out-”
“Would you stop?!” Cady suddenly snapped, jerking her hand away.
The table froze. Aaron blinked. “...What.”
“I said stop!” she hissed, shoving her tray away with enough force to make it rattle. “God, you’re all being so fucking annoying!”
Karen’s mouth dropped open. Gretchen looked like someone had slapped her. Even you raised your brows slightly. Aaron stared at her in stunned silence. “Cady, I was literally just trying to help-”
“Well, you’re not helping!” she shot back. “Hovering around me like some desperate puppy isn’t fixing anything, Aaron!”
His expression changed instantly. The confusion. The hurt. And most importantly, the offense.
Cady seemed to realize too late how harshly that had come out, her eyes widening for half a second, about to come up with a half hearted apology, she was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, the screen clearly a random number, and that completely sent her off the edge, with a loud frustrated squeal, she promptly ended the call and she shoved her chair back harshly. “God I can’t do this anymore! I need air.” Then stormed off.
The silence she left behind was deafening. Karen turned to Gretchen, visibly distraught. “Was she mad at us?”
“I…” Gretchen frowned. “She’s never acted like that before.”
Aaron remained seated, still staring in the direction Cady had left. His jaw tight. His brows furrowed. The first unmistakable crack of doubt settling into his expression. And when your eyes met Martin’s–
You knew he saw it too. She was slipping. Her image slowly breaking apart. And once people started slipping, they rarely stopped.
Eventually Gretchen scrambled after Cady, Karen hurrying after her in panic, still—Aaron didn’t move. For a second longer. Then another. Long enough to matter. His gaze flickered once more, back to you. Uncertain, like he was waiting. For something. A sign. An excuse. Anything.
You gave him nothing. Of course you didn’t. And that was what made the decision for him. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before finally pushing back his chair. The sound scraped too loudly against the floor. He hesitated one last time, just at the edge of turning away. Then without another word he followed after them.
Leaving the table blessedly empty.
The second they were gone. Martin burst. He doubled over in laughter so violently he nearly slid out of his chair. “Oh my- Oh my God–” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Did you see her face when Karen said bathroom stall?”
That did it.
You laughed too. Full-on laughed. The kind you usually tried to suppress in public.
“She looked like she was about to cry,” you snorted.
“She looked like she wanted to kill us.”
“Well she probably does if we're being honest.”
His grin widened. “Worth it.”
“Absolutely.”
He leaned toward you slightly, lowering his voice.
“You know,” he said smugly, “I'm starting to think we make a pretty terrifying team.”
You smirked.
“Don’t get too cocky now, Edwards.”
“Too late.”
Then, for a moment– his confidence falters. Just slightly enough for you to notice. He reached down into his bag, pulling out a folded white fabric. Your brows furrowed.
“What is that?”
He held one out to you. A Cortis band shirt. Except, the logo was bright pink, instead of the usual bands black.
You blinked.
Martin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We have another gig this weekend,” he said, suddenly sounding much less sure of himself. “And, uh…”
He glanced away, “I had them make one in pink. For you.”
Your fingers paused as you took the shirt from his hands. It was soft. Clearly brand new. He had custom ordered one. For you.
Martin shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to wear it or anything,” he rushed out. “I just thought– maybe if you’re bored and have nothing to do that day, it would be funny if you-”
“I’ll go.”
He stopped. Blinking.
“What?”
You looked up from the shirt. “Obviously I’ll go,” you repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?”
The way his face lit up was almost embarrassing. His entire expression softened at once. Like he physically couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah,” he said far too quickly. “Yeah. You are.”
You stood abruptly, slinging the shirt over your bag. “Don’t make this weird.”
His grin returned instantly. “Too late. I’m already imagining our wedding.”
You rolled your eyes. But as you walked away– you were smiling.
Later that evening as you doomscrolled through pinterest to look for inspo on how to style the shirt you receive a very unexpected notification.
The moment you stepped into the backyard, the entire atmosphere shifted. Heads turned almost instantly. Someone near the drink table audibly muttered, “Holy shit, is that Y/N L/N?”
You ignored them. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Because tonight, unlike the first time you had come here, you had no intention of hiding. No oversized sunglasses. No hat pulled over your face. No pathetic attempt at pretending you weren’t there for a reason.
You walked into that crowded backyard like you owned it. Head high, expression composed, the bright pink Cortis band tee fitted tightly against your body.
The shirt alone was enough to draw stares. Because everyone knew that wasn’t official merch. Everyone knew that had been made specifically for you. And if the shirt somehow didn’t make your intentions obvious enough, the way you marched straight toward the stage certainly did.
The boys were still setting up their instruments when Martin noticed you.
And froze. Completely.
His hand slipped against the neck of his guitar. James followed his stare first. Then Seonghyeon. Then the rest of the band. And suddenly all of them were staring at you like they had collectively hallucinated.
“No fucking way,” Juhoon muttered into the mic.
Keonho laughed so hard he nearly dropped a drumstick. “Holy shit,” he shouted toward Martin. “Your girlfriend actually came!”
The crowd immediately erupted into chatter. Martin, meanwhile, looked like his brain had short-circuited. You stopped just beneath the stage, folding your arms.
“Well?” you called up dryly. “Should I leave? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
That snapped him out of it. He hopped down from the stage so quickly James yelled, “Dude, where are you going?!”
Martin ignored him entirely. He walked straight toward you, eyes wide, gaze flicking between your face and the shirt like he genuinely couldn’t process either.
“You came.”
You raised a brow.
“You invited me.”
“Yeah, but-” His eyes dropped again to the shirt. Then widened somehow further. “You wore it.”
You looked down at yourself casually.
“Oh this old thing? It was just sitting on my closet so I thought why not, you know?”
Martin let out something between a laugh and a choke.
“It’s pink.”
“You made it pink.”
“For you.”
“And I wore it.”
He stared at you. Still visibly stunned. Like he genuinely had not prepared himself for this possibility. You smirked.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional, Edwards.”
He nervously ran his hand through his hair, a nervous smile on his lips. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now.”
From behind him, “Oh my God, he’s in LOVE love” Keonho teases.
“Dude shut up” James scolds, slapping the younger boy on the back, “You’re embarrassing ‘tin in front of his huzz”
You laughed softly as you watch Martin’s face turn into a blazing hot red at their comments. And the sound alone seemed to make him melt. Despite the embarrassment, he steps closer. Close enough that his voice dropped lower.
“You’re standing front row?”
“Obviously.”
His grin turned crooked. “Planning to scream my name?”
“In your dreams.”
He leaned in closer, “You wearing my shirt says otherwise.”
Before you could retort, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss against your hair. Brief. Gentle. Almost reverent. Your breath caught. Martin pulled back with a smirk.
“For luck,” he murmured. Then turned and jogged back onstage before you could gather enough composure to insult him. Martin played like a man possessed. And maybe that was dramatic. But it was true.
Every ounce of his usual energy had somehow doubled. He moved across the makeshift stage like he’d been electrified, guitar slung low against his body, hair messy beneath the lights, grin appearing every single time his eyes found you in the front row. Which was often. And every time he looked your way, he played harder. Sang louder. Performed like he had something to prove. Or perhaps, someone to impress.
You found yourself smiling far more than you meant to. Cheering louder than was dignified. Singing along to the lyrics of the songs he’d played in his car enough times for you to know by heart.
By the end of the set, the entire backyard was screaming for more. And Martin looked at you from the stage like he had never wanted anything more than your approval. He jogged over the second they finished, breathless and glowing with adrenaline.
“Well?” he asked immediately. “How amazing was I?”
You pretended to think about it. He narrowed his eyes. Then you smirked.
“You were…decent.”
He gasped.
“Decent?”
“Maybe slightly above average.”
“You’re evil.”
“You adore me.”
His grin softened.
“Yeah, can’t deny that.”
He leaned down and kissed your temple quickly.
“I’m getting drinks. Don’t move.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Yes, mom.”
“Funny.” He pointed at you. “Stay.”
Then disappeared into the crowd. You had barely been alone thirty seconds before—
“Y/N.”
Your shoulders momentarily stiffened. You turned. And there stood Aaron.
As expected.
He looked nervous. More nervous than you had ever seen him. His gaze flicked briefly toward where Martin had disappeared. Then back to you. “Can we please talk?”
You crossed your arms. “We’re talking.”
He swallowed. Then stepped closer, hands trembling as they reached out to you. “I made a mistake.”
You blinked once.
Ah. There it was.
Aaron exhaled shakily. “Breaking up with you was a mistake.”
Your expression remained unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair. “Seeing you tonight- with him- I just…” He looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I still want you.”
Silence. Then…slowly– you smiled. Aaron visibly brightened, convinced that he had somehow made you think he really felt bad, that he was just also manipulated by Cady. Until you spoke.
“No.”
His face fell instantly.
“What?”
“No,” you repeated. “I’m not getting back together with you.”
His brows furrowed. “Y/N, come on- that’s bullshit right? You clearly want me back, you-”
“You want to know the funny part?” you interrupted sweetly. “I don’t even miss you.” His face paled. Your smile sharpened. “I just wanted you to realize what you lost.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. Horror. Humiliation. “You used me?”
You tilted your head. “Please Aaron, don’t act so shocked.”
His voice rose. “So this whole thing with Martin is fake?!”
“Nope.”
Aaron spun. Martin stepped back beside you, handing you your drink like he hadn’t just walked into the world’s best timing. His arm slid naturally around your waist. His gaze on Aaron was cool. Deadly amused.
“You had your chance,” Martin said simply.
Aaron stared between the two of you. At Martin’s hand on your waist. At your complete lack of denial. At the way you didn’t move away. His face twisted. Humiliation quickly curdling into bitterness. Then he laughed. Short and sharp.
“You know what?” he snapped, glaring at Martin. “Fine. Have fun with her.”
Your smile still didn’t disappear despite the malice in his tone but tightened. Aaron stepped back, shaking his head. “You’ll get tired of it eventually.”
The backyard seemed to go quieter. “You think this is fun now?” Aaron continued bitterly. “Just wait until you realize how exhausting she is.”
Your stomach dropped. Martin stiffened beside you. Aaron laughed humorlessly. “She’s high maintenance, controlling, impossible to please–she expects everything to revolve around her.” His voice sharpened. “She gets suffocating, man. Trust me. You’ll want out eventually too.”
For one horrible second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Because no matter how cruel Aaron was being, a part of you hated how much it sounded like every insecurity you never said aloud.
Martin’s jaw clenched, then, he smiled but there was no humor in it.
“No,” he said simply.
Aaron frowned.
Martin’s arm tightened around your waist. “I like maintaining her.”
Aaron blinked. Martin stepped forward slightly. “I like the clothes. I like the makeup. I like the attitude.” His voice sharpened. “And if she wants the world revolving around her, then it’s because it should.”
You stared up at him. Stunned.
Martin didn’t look away from Aaron. “So maybe the problem isn’t that she’s ‘too much.’” His smile turned sharp. “Maybe you were just too little.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Aaron’s face burned red, almost reminding you of a rabid dog.
He opened his mouth about to come up with another rebuttal but then just closed it. Then finally turned and stormed off without another word. Disappearing into the crowd. Martin watched him go, then looked down at you.
“You good?”
You took the drink from his hand. Sipped, then smiled.
“Perfect.”
His grin spread immediately. “Good.” He leans closer, for only you to hear. “For the record…”
You raised a brow.
“If fake dating gets me to watch you reject your ex in my shirt–” His smile turned wicked. “–I’m never letting this arrangement end.”
A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. But it faded quickly. Because Aaron’s words still lingered. Still sat heavy in your chest.
Martin noticed immediately. His smile softened. “What?”
You hesitated. Then looked away. “He’s not wrong, you know.”
His brows furrowed instantly.
“What?”
You gave a humorless little laugh. “I am high maintenance.”
His expression shifted at once, turning serious, intently listening to your words and carefully thinking about them. You looked down at your drink. “The clothes, the makeup, the hair, the attitude…” you muttered. “Everything has to be perfect all the time. I know I’m difficult. I know I can be a lot.”
“Hey.” His voice was quiet but firm. You looked up. Martin steps closer.
“Don’t do that.”
You frowned. “Do what?”
“Repeat what people who couldn’t handle you said like it’s fact.”
Your breath caught. He reaches up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.
“You are not difficult for wanting nice things.” His voice stayed soft. Steady. “You are not hard to love because you care about how you look.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “And you are not ‘too much’ just because someone else was too weak to meet your standards.”
Your throat tightened. “If anything,” he murmured, “I think you should demand more.”
You stared at him, completely speechless, completely undone. He gave your cheek one last gentle stroke.
“So no,” he said softly. “You’re not high maintenance." A beat. “You just know what you deserve.”
Something in your chest cracked wide open.
And before you could think, before you could overanalyze, before you could stop yourself,
Your hand caught the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him.
But you barely heard any of it. Martin freezes for half a second. Then kissed you back like he had been waiting for this longer than either of you wanted to admit. One hand came to your waist. The other cupped your jaw. Holding you like you were something precious.
And when you finally pulled away, breathless and giggling, he stared at you like you had just changed his entire life.
“Well,” he said faintly. You smirked despite your racing heart. “Still think I’m only slightly above average?” His grin turned borderline delirious.
“Hmm fine, I guess you are the best.” you laughed softly, still close enough that your noses nearly brushed.
For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed entirely willing to. Then Martin’s expression shifted, his grin softening into something almost shy.
Which, on him, looked absurdly endearing.“Sooo…” he said slowly.
You raised a brow. “So?”
His hands tightened slightly at your waist. “That kiss felt…” He trailed off, then huffed out a laugh. “Not very fake boyfriend-girlfriend of us.”
Heat crept up your neck. You tilted your chin defensively. “Maybe I’m just a very dedicated actress.” Martin snorted.
“Right.”
A beat passes, then he asks, “So are we still fake dating?”
Your heart skipped. There it was. The question hanging between both of you. Suddenly far more terrifying than it should have been. You looked at him. At the way his teasing had faded into something careful. Like maybe for once, Martin Edwards wasn’t entirely sure of himself.
And that realization did something dangerous to your chest. You let your fingers smooth absentmindedly over the front of his shirt where you had grabbed him.
Then smirked.
“Well…” you murmured. “That depends.”
His brows lifted.
“On?”
You leaned in just enough to make him follow instinctively.
“Are you asking me to be your real girlfriend, Edwards?”
His eyes widened, then he laughed. A little breathless, hands trembling. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing that?”
“You were taking too long.”
He stared at you for half a second then grinned– completely gone for you.
“Okay,” he said, stepping closer until there wasn’t even an inch between you. “Then yeah.”
His voice softened.
“Be my girlfriend for real?”
And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t play coy. You just smiled. Soft and genuine.
And nodded.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Okay.”
The smile that broke across his face could have lit the entire neighborhood. He kissed you again immediately, laughing into it this time, hands warm against your waist. Forehead pressing to yours when he pulled back.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, still grinning like an idiot, “how long I’ve wanted that.”
You smiled. “Oh, I think I do.” He gasped dramatically. “So you admit you were obsessed with me first?”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
“Too late,” he said cheerfully. “You’re stuck with me now.”
You rolled your eyes. But smiled anyway. And when he laced his fingers through yours,
You held on.
BONUS:
ʚ🍮ɞ #REI: uni still hasnt released me from its evil clutches and has actually tightened its hold on my neck but this draft has been crying to be released from my docs so i thought might as well 🥀🥀🥀 i hope this was okay for you guys 😖 the plot does feel a bit over the place but i genuinely didnt know what else to do 💔 anyways thats all i have for now, as always thank you so much for the support on my works ily >0< !!!
The dance studio was always empty late at night; you and Martin made it your little routine to spend time together when he’s practicing new choreography. When his schedule becomes busy, he made up for it by always inviting you to his solo practices.
You’re neatly curled up on a bench by the wall, facing the large mirrors. Your knees are tucked tightly into your chest, as you watch Martin in his element. As the speakers blast his newest track, he effortlessly glides across the floor, pivoting and flowing with ease. Something about watching Martin dance is hypnotising, it's as if he felt every beat in his body.
He’d been practicing the same sequence for at least 40 minutes now, his shirt sticking to his toned figure with dark patches splotching on his chest and back. Sweat drips down his chiselled jaw to his defined collarbones, and, even with his hair wet, it still manages to frame his face perfectly.
You’re in awe.
That’s when he notices you staring from the mirror.
“Babe, I can’t focus.” He whines, breathing hard while crouched over, with his hands on his knees.
“Somebody has to critique!” You say, innocently. You were definitely just staring because you couldn’t believe such beauty was your boyfriend.
“You’re distracting, I can’t focus when the love of my life is looking at me!”
You hold your hands up in surrender, “Sorry, not sorry!”
Then, you blow him a little kiss from across the room.
He gasps dramatically, and does that thing where he runs laps around the studio, screaming. Why? Because that’s just what he does, you’ll never understand why but you’re used to it by now. Even though, his screams do pierce your eardrums every time.
After a few minutes of yelling and running, he jogs over to you, like a golden retriever. Then, without warning, Martin flops down like his legs have given up on him, and lays his head in your lap. Naturally, he closes his eyes in tiredness.
“You’re soaking me with your sweat, Tini,” You say, tilting his head at an angle and wiping a bead that threatens to fall away with the hem of your sleeve.
“Good,” He nuzzles into your thighs, “That means i’m working hard.”
You roll your eyes playfully at the man-child lying on you, but of course you’d never move. And, you especially don’t care your joggers are now damp, you found being Martin’s girlfriend also means being a personal pillow. No matter where, he’d always find your lap to lay on, even in the most inconvenient spaces.
He opens his eyes slowly to meet your gaze, and grins.
“Okay Mrs Edwards, if you’re my critic, then how did I do?” he cooes.
You aimlessly look around the room, tapping your chin like you’re actually deep in thought. Obviously, you know he did amazing but a little teasing wouldn’t harm anybody, especially not Martin.
“Hm,” You ponder, “I think a 6/10, you keep doing that silly thing with your face.”
“What silly thing?” He gasps, offended, like you’ve just insulted his entire bloodline.
“You know,” You scrunch your face up and stick your tongue out a bit, doing your best impression of ‘I’m Martin, the coolest guy around’, “Like that.”
He squirms around, like a fish out of water, whipping his head away from you. You can’t help but laugh at his cuteness. It’s so easy to tease Martin and yet he always gives the best reactions.
You slap his arm playfully, “I’m joking baby, you were great.”
When he looks back at you, he’s pouty, his eyebrows furrowed into his hairline. “Yeah, I know I was. I’m the coolest guy around.” He groans through exaggerated ‘hmph’ noises.
“Now come on, get back to practicing.”
“I’m not motivated anymore.” He says, shaking his head like he’s making a point.
God, every day you fall more and more for this silly boy.
That’s when you feel it - the fluttery little urge in your chest to squeeze Martin with all the love you have.
“I know what’ll help.”
“Sure you do, and what’s that?”
You don’t answer, instead you lean down to his forehead and place a gentle, loving kiss. A layer of salty sweat laces your lips but you don’t mind.
He stares at you for a beat longer than usual, then blinks. Even though he’s already a bit red from dancing, you can see his natural flush rising to his cheeks. “Wha-“
Before he can even say anything else, you plaster playful, sloppy kisses on his nose, his cheeks, his forehead repeatedly with fast and messy motions.
“Okay! Okay! I’m motivated!” He says between giggles, trying to push himself off of you but you’re holding him down tightly. Luckily for you, since he’s lying down, you have the upper advantage.
You finally pull back, a satisfied grin forming on your lips. “Sorry, you’re just cute.”
He sits up rapidly, processes it, and points to himself like you’ve accused him of the most heinous crime. “Me? cute?”
“So much, I hate you for it.” You say, deadpan.
“Oh, so that’s how we are gonna be?” He asks, a mischievous hint in his voice.
Gently, he places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you close. And before you can react, he kisses you, soft and slow. His lips are smooth, warm. You sigh into the kiss and you can’t help it - you melt. Your hands tangling in his hair, gripping onto him like you’re afraid he could disappear. His arms soon tighten around you, until there’s no space between you anymore, just the warmth of your two bodies against each other.
You feel him smile against your lips, and you can’t help but smile back. When he pulls back, he drops his forehead onto yours. You’re both a little breathless.
“See, i’m cool not cute.” He whispers.
You whack his chest playfully, pushing him back then shoving a shooing motion in front of his face. “I’m not joking tini, get practicing!”
Things were perfect like this, just you and Martin. Everything and everyone else would fade away, leaving you two in your own little world. And god, it’s a world you want to stay in forever.
