ᯓ WHEREIN : you were never meant to meet another soul on this bridge you made your own—yet that reality was long broken. (wc; 6.5k)
ᯓ CONTAINS : Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family pressure, Kissing, Em-dashes and semicolons, university au, self-doubt, f!reader, etc.
ᯓ A/N : This one is for the eldest daughters out there!!! my &team debut and my writing-this-much debut too, a whole lotta love was poured into this fic I hope that love is reciprocated <3 anyways #spreadchalantnicoagenda
111 | 222 | mlist.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Legs hanging down the railing-less brick bridge between a small river hidden within the forest, just barely touching the water. It’s stone sun-dried, and it’s cracks hugging the ever-growing moss. weathered by time and rain, and ivy snakes up one of the pillars like a sleeping serpent. Letting the wind dance through your hair and unnoticeably dangling your feet. The sun was warm enough to let the fall wind not freeze you to death since you accidentally left your coat unattended—now hanging against your bedroom door.
You let the charcoal from your pencil drag across your little hot-pressed sketchbook, line by line appearing without thinking as the birds chirp echoing between leaves of each tree surrounding this little “safe area” you go to every time everything feels a little too heavy to bear. And slowly, a picture of what was left unsaid reveals itself on your canvas, as the rampant thoughts in your head start to cool down a little. What was then a paragraph of discarded sentences, now just appearing as tiny glimpses of words that's no longer yelling at you.
Maybe in some way, bottling them up would be a better way to deal with it than to manifest it to the physical world. Even if your fists yell at you to throw them against the wall, even if the door whispers to you to push it forcibly, even if vocal chords fight its way to scream your heart out. It’s better to just let your legs run to this place. Where the water remains serene and quiet no matter what happens in its world. And where no one would be there waiting for you to watch you as you steady your breath.
You let your head tilt back for a minute, resting your eyes and letting the breeze fly through you.
Until the trees shook more than it usually does. You hear a few branches crack as a sound of muttering curses gets louder and louder—and a dark-haired boy emerges out of the dense woods, seemingly furious about something. Fists clenched, hair messy, sleeves rolled up. He threw his bag that spitted out documents and multiple scribbled in loose leafs. You could hear him muttering in mandarin under his breath from a mile away in your spot, before he throws a nasty punch at a tree next to him. He closes his eyes, deep in frustration—before he sighed to the ground.
It’s odd. You weren't scared. You weren't startled by the fact that a person just bruised his knuckles fighting a tree trunk. You were startled by the fact that somebody also goes to this place, or at least happens to stumble across it.
He took a minute to breath by himself, hands on his hips. He opened his eyes towards the bridge only to see… somebody? You—a girl and her sketchbook by the river. His eyes widened, it was obvious he was certain nobody was there. “I– I’m sorry I didn't… wasn’t… expecting anyone to be here,” he explained, "I didn't realize anybody else would go here.”
A beat.
“Me neither,” you locked eyes with him before looking back down to your sketchbook. It was clear you wanted him to let out all of the things he ought to let out, so you didn't want to bother him further. Everybody deserves a time for themselves; to unwind the cork of a bottle full of intense emotions they wouldn't dare show anyone—but you were intrigued. You’re here almost five days a week, even more sometimes. Yet you never stumble across another person—not him. So naturally, you glanced back up at him.
He was staring. Not the creepy kind despite how sharp his eyes were, but every wrinkle of expression in his face says confusion. Now suddenly what he initially wanted to let out wasn't there anymore—dissipated into something else he didn't know what to name.
You gestured to him, patting a spot beside you—telling him there's a place to sit down if he wants to, as you looked back down and closed your sketchbook to watch the water again.
With hesitation, he walked towards the other end of the bridge, and sat down. Legs crossed, breath heavy, and jaws clenched. He took another breath trying to slow himself down. “Sorry I’m not usually like this,” his voice barely audible. “I know,” you replied with your eyes still watching every curve the water waved. “...if you want to talk about it,” you tilted your head so it gestured ‘go for it’, “and if you don’t that's fine too,”
Another beat.
“Do you come here often?” he asked after almost five minutes of silence.
“Too often,”
“Yeah?,” he chuckled, "I only go here to… you know,”
You nodded in understanding, “funny how we've never met before,” you finally looked at him over your shoulders. And again he chuckled under his breath, "I think the water under the bridge had seen me at my worst state,” he let out another heavy breath. His eyes meet yours, and for some reason your heart did something inside you, something you wouldn't dare name either. “Nicholas. By the way.”
“y/n,” you smiled.
You knew you shouldn't say anything, not to someone when they're vulnerable at least. But there's just something about the way he smiled ever so slightly beneath all that anger, the way the sun glowed faintly on his skin, the way he sat down next to you and started to align his breathing with yours. Something so inviting about seeing a person with a broken shell—a shell which you've never seen before. Before you could stop yourself: “You know… I go here every so often when I get reminded of how numb everything feels,” he looks at you, “when… things gets too much too often, you just dont… feel much anymore,” your heart starts beating a little faster—you're finally saying how you actually function to someone—that's not something that happens every day. “You don't feel a lot but there's going to be a lot of things running through your mind, you know?” you continued, “a lot of… things not to say.”
You fidgeted around the hem of your clothes. The words started rampaging in your mind again ‘you shouldn't be saying so much’ ‘you spoke too much’ ‘You–’
“Then I guess the water under us is actually just a big cup of chamomile tea,” he blurted, you raise your eyebrow at him, “what?”
“You know, It has like- calming properties,” that earned a laugh from you, he laughed back with you, now both of your legs dangle just above the water surface, “I guess,” you chuckled.
As the sun started to show its orange hues, the conversation started to flow. All the right things said at the right time, and all the right jokes aimed at the right person. You forgot how heartwarming it is to finally talk to a person again. Really talking this time, not just a small talk or a chit-chat with your friends. But an honest talk straight from your beating heart. The one that earned cheek-hurting-smiles and an endless amount of open ended curiosity that had a small consensus between the two of you. Oh how you’ve longed for this.
Seconds blurred into hours as the sun winked its last shine. “I think it's a good time to go home now,” Nicholas pointed his gaze at the stars, you nodded.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
If anyone could get past ‘too much’, then it's you. Every other day you’d feel the rush to go back onto the bridge before you blow up and mess things up for other people, so the bridge called your name again.
But there's this small part of you—a tiny one, hoping he’ll show up again. This spark of light in a dark room wants him to show up again. The bridge no longer serves the purpose of accompanying you when you're numb anymore; you hope the bridge could make you feel again.
So you show up everyday of the week. Every Sunday afternoon turned into every afternoon. You lost count of the times you’ve gone back without a real aim, without knowing what you’ll do there but wait. Every afternoon you sit back there again, letting your back lean against a tree while your legs rested on the cold stone hard surface. You watched the sunset dip its last bow over and over again. Another day, the leaves were trembling more than it should, noises coming out of the forest, branches breaking upon weight—it was just a squirrel. I'm not being pathetic, am I?
This feeling of hope is your only string to keep going, a slight chance it might ignite something in you again. So you go there everyday now, waiting—longing. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month. Yet there is still not one sign another person would emerge out of the forest and introduce themselves—definitely not Nicholas. Another small part of you is happy that he no longer felt the need to go back here, a place where his only aim was to break apart–wait–maybe he was no longer comfortable going there again after seeing you. That can’t be, right?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
There he was. Once again standing on the very same spot he sat down next to you a month ago. His breath heavy, his eyes dark, but they were looking at you: peacefully sound asleep beneath the shade the tree provided, with a book clutched loosely in your arms, leaning reliantly on its trunk. “You’re here,” he whispered.
Nicholas stepped closer to another tree just merely inches from yours, sitting down and leaning against it. You looked so at peace with the world in your head playing whatever dream it’s projecting to you right now, how the sunshine that was peeking through the leaves hits your face like glitter, it's so… serene. And just like that, Nicholas had his eyes shut in front of you, finally resting from his world—to yours.
Hours passed before you were about to wake up and leave—after confirming nobody was coming. You opened your heavy eyelids expecting yet another feeling of hope dissipating, only to find the same boy in front of you… sleeping. The sun was awake, yet both of you managed to fall asleep as if the sun was already under a blanket, leaving no light to shine through. Your heart skipped a beat finally. Not moving an inch, you just watched him and his shoulders rhythmically dropping down and breathing in. Leaving was no longer an action in your to-do list, the moment was too much of a waste to not savor.
“You’re staring,” Nicholas mumbled, his eyes still dropped shut. You jumped ever so slightly against the bark of your tree, “God- you scared me,” he opened his eyes to look at you. And that’s when you realize just how dark his eyes were. Not dark like your daily shot of espresso, but dark in a way where it’s storing pools of ink, the glimmer of obsidian, like the forest midnight and the reflection of every firefly telling a different story. He obviously noticed yours too, steady and unblinking, how beautifully abstract every time the sunrays hit them, yet no matter how much it tries to shine light to it, the night sky seemed to take over within the irises. So hypnotizing that when he resides to look at them, he finally knows what it means to stargaze.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “we meet again.”
“Seems so,” you smiled,
“What are you reading?”
“Oh um- this?”
“No i meant my palms that you were previously reading—yes y/n the book,” a cheeky grin slowly creeps up his face,
You nudged his knees with your shoes, “well, nosy it’s just something that was given to me when I was younger.” He grabbed the book from your hands to take a look at it, “Hey!” you yelped, “who gives ‘The odyssey’ to a child? Did you even understand the 9 letter long words in here?!” Nicholas flipped over the pages, each page revealing a new doodle, an underlined word with question marks under it, and multiple ink bleeds from God knows what. “Okay you can stop now,” you take it back from him.
You both laughed together again for the second time, a soft heat settled across his face when he heard your laugh. But your eyes suddenly drop to his knuckles again, fresh bruises now covering the old one. An instant later, “Do you wanna get coffee?” he asked.
Now you're both walking and cutting through the forestation towards a small cafe not far from where the two of you just were. Side by side on a sidewalk meant for two, your eyes wander around from your feet, to him, and back to the pebble beach and it’s lake that stretches until you can only see the horizon and the trees reflecting on it—funny how the shore seemed to always keeps company its body of water, regardless of where you are and which shore you're on—they will always belong together.
Belong. to be in the right place, to be owned by someone, or to feel connected to something. You know you shouldnt feel like you dont belong under the roof over your head you call home. Atleast there is a roof to keep raindrops from piercing your skull and fall off the tips of your hair, atleast it keeps you alive, right? But being someone everybody in the house relied on—to be the very glue holding everything and everyone together—who are you supposed to rely on?
No matter how much you’ve done and how many sacrifices you made for your family, it never felt enough to catch a glimpse of recognition. No matter how much you've achieved, it has never felt like it was enough for anyone–for you.
Sure, there was never any direct pressure for you to be perfect. But there is a certain whisper. A whisper of how much you should be able to achieve to not break this disheveling amount of trust. So ask yourself this; where do you actually belong? Certai–
“You okay?” Nico snapped you back from your head, you nod. “Hm. If i recall correctly, you brought a sketchbook last time we met,” he pointed out. You shot a smile at him, “What about it?” both of you slowed your paces, “so you draw a lot?”
Only when you're stuck in inertia, “yeah i do,”
“Can I see ‘em?”
Not one soul had seen your drawings—not in that sketchbook atleast, “well i didnt have them on me right now do I?” the corners of your mouth lifted after he replied with a small laugh, “alright we’re here.”
A small family-owned cafe, small mosaic windows embezzling each wall protected and shaded by the yellow and white striped canopies. “After you,” Nicholas stretched his arm to open the door for you. The bell chirped a small ding as you entered and nodded a thank you. The two of you ordered your drinks at the front counter and sat down at a two-seater table.
It was unsurprisingly easy to talk to him, every word you utter to him felt light and easy; you didn't have to try to think of a response before you talk. While the world around you kept going, talking to somebody made you feel… grounded—like you're actually living again—all lingering responsibilities just hide behind your eyes inside the corner of a cupboard inside your brain.
Time seems to stretch far beyond the bounds of a clock hand. And the conversation just flows so naturally for both of you to lose track of time, and for the apples of your cheeks to hurt just a little more than what you’re used to.
While on the other hand, he felt a sense of safety when he’s around you. A sense of safety he only realized when you were both exchanging words and when you were smiling ear to ear, giggling at all the stupid miserably attempted jokes he gushed. He knew from the first day he met you, connecting puzzles of assumptions created from a small glimpse of his life to build a perception—like other people do—was not a thing you do. The moment he took a sip of his coffee, his guard completely melted once he knew he could trust you even if you didnt say anything to him. He looked up from his cup, there was something warm inside of him. Something warm cradling his face. “Are you not gonna drink that?”
Nicholas pointed at your barely drunk cup of latte, “Oh I will, I love coffee.” you blinked, “no i don’t, i don’t know why i always order coffee when I've never been that fond of them.”
The now lukewarm coffee of yours swiveled around as you spun the cup around before putting it back down, “I think I just like the idea of getting it—to fit in.” His arm folded at your sudden confession, “Holding a book and now ordering coffee for the novelty of it — just how performative can you get?” he joked. The both of you continued another hour on a rotation of significantly different topics—i mean seriously, the range is insane—the sun still shining through the windows.
Nicholas thought about something for a little bit, his eyes looking straight at the table without an inch of movement on his face, “here,” he handed you the receipt. You eyebrows furrowed, “you… want me to pay for yours?” you asked puzzled on why in the world would he give you a receipt all of a sudden? But before you could question him further, he handed you yet another item: a pen.
“Whip up something,” he requested.
“Demanding,” you teased,
“Hey can’t a guy be interested in someone’s hobby,”
“Nico why are you so eager to see my drawings anyway, it’s not like i painted the mona lisa,”
“Okay first of all,” he held up a finger, “you don’t diss yourself like that — and second, I'm somewhat of an art kid myself,” you lifted your eyebrows in response. “Kind of in school for it.” He flared his rings, all silver and nudging eachother.
Well you did what he asked for, just not particularly in front of him for him to notice. You took his pen and receipt in your hands, hiding them behind your now cold coffee cup. You continued your conversation while drawing doodles on his receipt. A conversation in which you finally get more than just a sliver of what his life looked like. Wrong is one way to put it.
Wrong in ways he couldn't digest what he feels. Wrong in ways he attempts to hide behind jokes. Wrong in a way where the world shouldn't treat someone who wouldn't harm a bug like that. Wrong in ways he never had the opportunity to show others that he—a human being—could be vulnerable too.
Along with you, Nicholas stepped out of the vanilla scented café. The air smelled faintly of salt water and wet leaves, while the ocean waves sang its song.
A soft contrast, you swear the whole cafe could hear both of your laughters as you were talking, yet each footsteps stomped a different note that you now could listen to due to how quiet the walk was. It was comfortable. Warm.
You stop for a second — so did he. Looking through the pockets of yours, you rummaged through to try and find something. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as you finally gave him the receipt back; now crumpled and doodled.
Where the prices were written, the letters and numbers were now covered in ink; ink that takes shapes as a small flower bouquet, an anatomically accurate heart, a cat sound-asleep, a pair of eyes, and a miniaturized version of your haven within the heart of the forest. A haven you memorize every crack in. A haven where you met Nicholas.
His mouth slightly agape, a sharp exhale laughed out of it, “this is-” he flipped the receipt around, “...is that- is that me?”
A sketch of a boy smiling, eyes tired—but a grin worth to admire. Just enough joy and content captured in ballpoint ink.
You nod.
Awestrucked—words were the last thing he could come up with. “So?” you didn't return the silence, but he still remained word-less.
To be recognized. To be seen. To be captured. Three mundane things that couldn't seem to be make it's way as often as it should. His gazed melted, he knew he told you to draw, but the idea of him being drawn never crossed his mind. The idea of being recognized, seen, and captured never crosses his mind. It wasn't purely because of your drawing, it was also because of your decision to draw him.
“Yeah right, I'm never drawing near you ever again,”
“wait wait no- it's- it's lovely,”
“That's narcissistic, no?” you point at your drawing of him he was holding in his hands, he looked back at you in disagreement, face clearly saying that's not what he meant.
“I'm joking,”
“I'm serious,” he said while continuing to walk with you, “they're amazing,” he continued. You thank him. “ever considered letting people see this? like a display or something,” he rambled.
Warmth climbed up your neck and reached your face in one rush, “You know that had never crossed my mind,” you tilt your head, “and besides I don't think I have the time–”
“Hey I can hook you up if you're down,” Nicholas interrupted, “I have a friend who's having a stand at a convention in a few weeks I think.”
“Woah, you don't have to-”
“but I want to,”
“Nicholas. I really don't have the time, once I get home from uni, I have to take care of the house. I mean- dinner doesn't just appear out of nowhere, and the house sure does not clean itself.”
“then do it at my place,”
Silence. “You have siblings right?” his question was answered with your hesitant yes. “Then let them take care of their house too.” You hate it. You hate that he was right. But you knew how much they rely on you—you couldn't just let it go. “Ill think about it,” you muttered, “thanks though.”
You went back home that night and did your daily routine. You cooked dinner, cleaned the place up, got yelled at for not being the perfect daughter, and did your college assignments in your room with a dim-lit lamp accompanying you. But there was this lingering whisper of what Nicholas said that same day, it's their house too—why are you the only one expected to take care of it? Why are you the only one expected to balance between your life and theirs as if yours didn't exist? Now the numbers on your notebook started to blur, the answer to an equation left unfinished—to understand nothing—not just the printed words with a question mark ending them, but also what your life had become.
The next day you were back at the bridge, sitting down with groceries and your school bag next to you, you stare down at your shoes by the water.
Your body slumped, losing its stiff posture as a slow smile crept up your face when you saw Nicholas crouching down to sit next to you, with space barely enough to keep your shoulders from bumping into each other. You turn your head to look at him, only to be met with two cups held in his hands, “got this for ya,” he lured one cup to you. The cup’s sleeve had different colors, and a different design, and a different… logo?
“It’s matcha,” he said as you took the cup from his hands, your fingers softly grazing his. “did you go to different places to get these?” you blow through the cup, “well you said you didn't like coffee last time,” he gestured at his cup.
“I did?”
“You did,”
“You could've just gone to one place—you didn't have to walk to two-”
“They don't sell non-coffee options apart from water,”
“You could've bought matcha for two,”
“Don't like matcha,” he shrugged, “they're green.”
That earned another laugh from you, “you're ridiculous,” you took a small sip through your smile. “Thankyou,” your voice small, almost like a confession.
You blew gently on your matcha to cool it before taking a sip, the earthy sweetness soothing against the quiet chill in the air. The cup warmed your fingers as you stared ahead at the darkening treeline. He watched you for a second; the way your nose wrinkled slightly at the warmth—before speaking. "Your hair’s longer," he said suddenly, voice low and even.
An observation dropped into space between you like a pebble into still water. You blinked. "Yeah… I haven’t cut it in months."
He hummed a soft sound and lifted his coffee again without looking away from you entirely. After another pause, "Looks good." Simple as that. No flowery words or anything, just honest and quiet-like him.
The two of you talked a little more—a lot more. Sip after sip, The forest breathes around you, quiet rustles of leaves stirring without wind — maybe an animal passing far off.
He searched his bag for a small notepad of his, stickers fully covering every crevice of the cover, and passed it to you along with the same pen he gave to you at the cafe a few days back.
“We've hung out a bunch, figured it might be nice to have your phone number.”
You took the notepad and pen from his hands, and a page opened itself as if it was waiting to be. And between the two pages, a receipt sat beneath it—decorated by your drawings.
“Oh- you kept it?” you asked, not expecting him to still keep it around after that day. He blinked at that—surprised maybe? “Who wouldn't?” He shrugged one shoulder, coffee cup tilting slightly as he did, “makes a nice bookmark.”
Warmth bloomed somewhere inside of you—soft, sudden, like cherry blossoms blooming beneath moonlight; the first real spring after a long winter. “I guess,” you chuckled, giving the notepad back to him — your number now etched in its pages.
For a second there was nothing but birds chirping faintly somewhere deep in the woods, just imagination filling silence that feels safe because you're here with him. Then, “Wanna walk back together? It’ll be dark soon.”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The seasons had come and gone on that stone bridge. Autumn brought crisp air and amber leaves drifting over water below. Winter painted everything in hushed white silence. Spring returned with sudden greenery bursting through cracks in moss-covered stones.
— and every time, they were there; you and Nicholas.
You don’t talk every day. But when you do? It's this. Same stone railing. He would bring the same drinks; your matcha never changes, his coffee varies by mood. You've memorized each other’s rhythms; the way you chew your lip when stressed about deadlines, how he slouches more when exams drain him. You notice the wounds on his knuckles starting to turn bronze and pale as it fades away when he flips over pages of notes you two would discuss and help each other, despite how different your majors were.
You were sharp—a terrifyingly good student—but lately? Your shoulders carried more weight than just exams. Something behind you was messy: family dinners full of tension you never brought up here. Late-night calls from parents checking every single little thing you do for the family.
But here, on this bridge — It felt safe. Like nothing else mattered except the steam rising from your cup, and him beside you making stupid jokes to lighten things without even knowing how much you needed it.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The clock on his nightstand read 2:47 AM. Darkness pressed against the windows, no streetlights, no passing cars, just the quiet hush of a city asleep. His bedroom was cold, he hadn’t bothered turning on the heater. The blanket was tangled around his legs from tossing too much.
He stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. Thoughts spun like gears in a machine that wouldn't shut off.
Mostly it was you filling up space in his mind.
That laugh you had—soft but bright—as if joy came naturally to you despite how hard it must've been sometimes. The way your voice dropped lower when you got serious about studying, about yourself, about home. How focused your eyes became when reading, and how they’d glance up at him every now and then during your nonverbal study sessions like checking if he was still there.
A sigh slipped out into silence. Until his phone woke up with a ding:
> Is the offer still up?
> Your friend's art display
> I know it's too late to ask but
He stared at your messages with a wide smile plastered across his face like a celebration full of triumph.
And there you are, buying a brand new canvas, charcoal, paintbrushes, fixatives—just everything you've been wanting to buy for quite a while now. Nicholas could only shake his head in endearment watching you go through five different shelves over and over again, and he would still be by your side even if it means you're going to spend the rest of your life in that store.
Doesn't matter if the sun was blinking its first rays at dawn, or if the owls were hooting you goodnight. As long as everybody in your house was asleep, anybody who would stumble upon your room would find you slouching over your canvas, headphones jacked in, concentrated and immobile.
The day eventually came. The gallery was quiet. Sofft lighting, polished floors, the kind of hush that makes every step feel deliberate. White walls displayed art in neat rows: paintings, digital prints, and tucked toward the back of his friends’ pieces — yours stood there.
No longer just sketches scribbled in margins or hurried doodles from the bridge—but real, finished pieces. Carefully framed charcoal studies of a peek into how you see the world. A delicate monochrome portrait of someone’s tired eyes filled with unspoken stories.
People wandered slowly between exhibits. Some pausing to look closer at your work. A couple murmured something appreciative nearby.
And there he was.
Standing slightly apart from the crowd. Not pushing anyone toward you, but attentively just watching it all unfold with this quiet intensity burning behind his calm face. Pride didn’t spill out loud or flashy on him—but it glowed. In how straight he held himself beside one wall where another tiny piece stood. The ones you’d made especially after agreeing to this show. Because yes, he had gently nudged you into creating more. And who are you to say no?
He hadn't told anyone “she's my friend,” or anything sentimental like that, but you could tell how much joy and pride he felt knowing that you were indeed—his friend.
She looked so happy.
Peeking through your peripheral vision, your eyes accidentally locked onto his. You walked slowly towards him, hands behind your back. There was a sweet silence—a conversation made from exchanging smiles. And there was this soft laugh he loved hearing, “...thankyou” you confessed, crossing your legs.
He nodded you're welcome. The nod didn't speak out the kind of words where he's taking his credits where it's due, not the kind to state ‘I know', but a subtle nod that spoke how it's a no-brainer—how much you deserved it.
Safe to say, the day went well. And you went home with eyes gleaming.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Two weeks have passed since you last met him. Nicholas dropping you off at your house after the art exhibition. He became restless; he'd bite his dry lips to oblivion during lectures, fiddling the edge of his note books every late night study session. At his apartment, every song reminds him of you. During classes where he'd design something on a mannequin, how he wishes it was you he was making garments for.
You hadn’t texted much lately. No calls either after that one awkward evening where the voices of your parents spilled over into your call with Nicholas before cutting off abruptly without explanation.
He couldn't name exactly what he was feeling. If it was love, why is it bringing him so much anxiousness? so many questions that led to no answers? and why is it that you hadn't said anything to him after that day?
One night he stayed up, phone by his side, do-not-disturbed turned off even if the clock ticked midnight, thinking you might text. His jaws tensed, contemplating a decision of whether or not he should go to the bridge and try to find you, or at least something that tells him you're still there.
That decision took less than one minute.
He took his jackets and turned on his car, rushing his way to the bridge. Maybe what he's feeling wasn't exactly love. He had his fingertips turning pale as he grips the steering wheel, his heartbeat pumping like a metronome—he was scared. He was scared of losing the person who had been there when nobody else could. Right at that bridge. He was scared of losing you.
He emerged from the forests, droplets of water from the rain, falling from the trees, waiting for him. You weren't there.
Another week had passed, a week full of Nicholas visiting the bridge every day of the week—even if it's just for one minute. He would text you every now and then, checking in:
> How's your day?
> Wanna meet at the bridge tmrw?
> Tough week?
> How are you? please text me back
> y/n?
Still, you were a ghost. A ghost of memories lingering at the back of his mind—until he saw you sitting by the railings again. Eyes barely open, breathing controlled, just… staring at your reflection.
The sky was sleepy. A shaky smile crept up Nicholas' face, “y/n!” he exclaimed. For a second, something flickered in his expression—not sadness exactly, but recognition. Like seeing someone who used to mean everything suddenly feel distant for no clear reason.
You waved at him, “Hey Nico.” He didn’t push right away, he never did. But his shoulders tensed slightly—a quiet tell—as if he felt the shift between you two. Colder than before. Guarded where warmth used to live without effort.
The kind where everything unsaid hangs heavy between people who used to understand each other without words. Then he cleared his throat gently and broke it, “Been a while.”
“Yeah… it has,”
“...How’ve you been?”
The way he asked ticked something in you. He asked. Not casual small talk, genuine. Not the kind to just fill the silence. Oh how you hadn’t talked to him in so long. And now here he was, asking like nothing had changed between you two.
That familiar heaviness when someone shows kindness after weeks of radio silence from your side made your throat tightened. Your eyes dropped to his knuckles for a second; they were painted crimson again.
“Okay,” your eyes darted somewhere else, “well– busy,”
He only nodded, “still drawing?” It was such a him question; quietly observing instead of prying directly into you. He remembered that sketchbook clutched under your arm every day like armor.
The gallery exhibit flashed in his mind—and he knew it hadn’t been easy for someone as private as you to show work publicly. All because he’d encouraged it a month ago. But that glow on your face flashed brighter, there's something about not knowing what to feel and how to feel. Just another one of those questions that kept popping up unanswered.
“Not much,” Another beat passed.
He bit his tongue, a sentence at the tip of his tongue—”Did I do something wrong?” the question pierced you. That heavy, empty, and numbing feeling climbed back up to your chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“You think I've been avoiding you? I told you I've been busy,”
“Please don't lie to me,”
The air between you turned sharp, like the temperature dropped ten degrees in seconds. His question hung there, raw and quiet. It wasn’t angry. Not even frustrated. It was hurt. You could see it in his face—the subtle tension around his jaw, how his eyes had lost their usual calm softness. He's just standing there on that cold stone bridge, looking at you like he’d been waiting for a single honest word from you.
And now? Now he sounded like someone whose trust had started cracking—not broken yet—but bending dangerously under weight of silence you unfortunately created.
The wind swept through again. A gust this time, making your hair flutter against your cheeks as both of you stood frozen not by temperature — but by the heaviness pressing down between two people who used to be each other’s safe place.
So much unspoken. But you can't bear this anymore. You can't bare seeing– feeling like this anymore. Until the words spoke for themselves for you: “Don't look at me like that,”
“Then how should I? Because there's no way I'll voluntarily stop,”
“Don't be stupid,”
“Then stop making it so tempting.”
“Nicholas,” you paused. He finally looked at you, but you would risk everything falling apart just by looking back at him. Your eyes fixed to the river. Then a whisper between your lips, “It feels like I could never be enough for anyone,” for you. But you held back on that last part while Nicholas’ expression shattered into something tender, almost pained. Like he’d been waiting years to hear that confession. And now it was finally out in the open— fragile as glass, delicate as a petal.
He exhaled like he forgot that he had been holding his breath for a good while. “You’re so very welcome to test that theory with me,”
The moment stretched—fragile, tender. His words settled over you like a blanket pulled tight after being cold for too long. An offer to safety you hadn't resided in for a long time. And hey, it worked.
That numb heaviness in your chest? It cracked—not gone yet—but softer now. As if the ice melted under the morning sun because someone finally said the right thing without needing instructions on how to.
A tiny smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it—the first real one since things got awkward, “God… I missed this place,” you muttered. He blinked back letting out a chuckle—-almost relieved.
For just one second? you were okay again on this stupid brick bridge. You felt okay to feel like this. You hate that you pushed him away, blew him off like the steam had told you it was too much to digest in one gulp. Until— bzzztt.
The notification violently loud inside the pockets of your coat, “I have to go.”
You were once again, just a memory for him to hold on to.
A/N: Part two will be out next week :) lmk if i did smth wrong bc its my first time writing this kind of thing but when it comes to grammar mistakes its best to ignore bc i dont have a lot of respect for this language (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated please blurt your thoughts as if you only have 20 words left
Taglist: @euijooswife (p.s. sending lots of hugs ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ)
After a full week of really packed schedules, you almost couldn't wait to see nicho again. Comfortably. With enough time in your hands. You barely had time for each other on the weekdays, but the weekend was going to be different~
You were already home at friday when he stepped inside the door of your shared apartment. You left the kitchen counter and runned to the door, jumping in the neck of poor man, already packed with bags and he got even you on top of it all😭 but he didn't mind a minute of it.
Shaking his stuff off of his back and hands, he started laughing and hugged you back warmly. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and took big breaths, he smelled comforting and homely. You could feel your belly and muscles relaxing in his arms and suddenly the world seemed full with joy again.
He put his chin on the top of your head, pressing a kiss on your forehead lightly like a pillow. His big hands caressed over your shoulders and back, then went back to your hair. He brushed through the strands of your hair with his fingers, admiring the color and your beauty, then let them fall back into their place and he hugged you again.
In the first few moments neither of you spoke anything just silently enjoyed each other's company, in the biggest peace. He felt like your other half, your shield, pillow, treasure and hope. Then he kissed your shoulder and not moving a finger murmured into your skin:
-Did you miss me?
You huffed.
-What do you think? - you replied, emerging from his neck and looking into his eyes. Warm, starry, deep and loving eyes looked back at you. They were so beautiful you went in, and planted a careful light kiss over both of his eyelids. What a pretty boy. Even if he asks stupid things.
-I do. I always do - you murmur then, sliding back into his arms, close to his face, kissing his cheek. You felt him smiling even without seeing or saying anything, he knew it too. Cheeky one.
You escaped from his embrace but not letting go of his hand, you started to pull him to the kitchen for him to taste, what you were in the process of making for dinner. He didn't argue, letting you pull his hand, and he was just looking at you with such love in his eyes and his face as if he would've fall in love with you all over again.
dividers are from v6que | pictures from pinterest ctto
Request are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here
Synopsis~ You two only have sex. But you were tired of what your relationship had become. You wanted to go back to the old days when you two were happy.
Warnings~ NO SMUT! (Sorry) mentions of sex, arguments, cursing, toxicity, maybe love bombing if you squint.
Word Count~ 3k
Part 1 Part 2 ___ Part 4
Nobody tells you how to look for signs of a toxic relationship. Those are things you have to learn to do by yourself.
You're insecure, and he's too secure.
That was the issue between the two of you. When you felt like he was pulling away, you used your body to pull him back in. And he fell for it every time.
Nicho wasn't a bad person. That's what made everything worse. You couldn't hate him.
Your relationship had reached an all-time low. You weren't dating because you loved each other; you were dating for the sex.
But you didn't know how to let go. You were scared of being alone. But worst of all, being forgotten.
When your Dad left you, chose another family over you, it taught you that everyone is replaceable. Even family.
You didn't want to be the one who got replaced.
But you met someone like Nicholas. So secure and independent.
He taught you what love feels like. He told you you were beautiful. Those were words that were sensitive to you. Sacred.
Your mother was too busy working her ass off to provide for you and your younger brother to see how beautiful you've gotten.
And Nicholas was happy being alone. But he didn't mind sharing his space with you. To him, this was comfortable.
He's too busy to worry about you right now. And you get that. But at the end of the day, you're his girlfriend.
It's been a year of you two having sex and never talking about anything else. You were starting to feel like a hook-up. But you weren't going to say anything. Because what if he didn't want more?
What if this was okay to him?
You didn't want to lose him.
You hated the thought of losing him.
The way he touched you, looked at you, kissed you, fucked you. There were too many memories that you two shared for you to give up on him now.
You were in too deep.
Your day started on a Sunday.
You were sore from the sex last night. Nicholas didn't even come through the door all the way before he was kissing you in bed.
You two went about five and a half rounds.
The half being from fatigue.
You pouted as you looked around the street. You were going to a museum by yourself.
You stopped inviting Nicholas to your days out. You were scared he'd cancel. Or tell you he hated you and didn't want to spend a day with you.
When you wake up, Nicholas isn't even there anymore. There's no good morning text anymore. There's no care in the way he treats you anymore.
It's a habit that he's had for a year.
You smiled when you made eye contact with the logo.
You held the strap of your purse close. It was a cute brown bag. Something Nicholas bought you when you turned 22. It was a sweet gesture. Especially because it was designer.
You still remember opening it on your new apartment floor. You didn't have a couch yet, so you were sitting there on the hard wooden floor with Chinese takeout surrounding you.
Nicholas smiled as you gasped from the surprise.
This year, Nicholas mailed you flowers and a spa day. It was a sweet gesture, but you'd rather spend it with him.
This bag was the only designer bag you've ever had. You cherish it a lot. You're not materialistic in the slightest. You actually are very sentimental. But the only reason you loved this bag was because Nicho was the one who gave it to you.
He gave you yet another first.
First kiss, first time, first love. You went to your first concert together, your first shopping spree, your first apartment, your first grocery run, your first car, and your first job.
He was there for it all.
But now, he's too busy, and you're too scared to talk to him about it.
You wondered why you were allowing this kind of behavior, but then you think back to what your Dad did, and you realize you're so self-aware.
Just as you were about to walk into the museum, your phone buzzed. You answered it because it was your younger brother calling.
"What's wrong, Auggie?" He sighed, "Mom wants to know why you haven't called. She told me to tell you to call her after her shift. What are you doing? Where's Nicho?"
You said, "Nicho is at work. I'm at a museum."
The thought of Nicholas shot into your head. It was him on top of you last night, licking the cum off your thigh. His eyes were low and hungry.
You shook your head, not wanting to think about that while on the phone with your brother.
"Alright. I'm about to do eight pounds of homework. You should visit sometime. Zulu misses you."
You quirked your eyebrow, looking at the phone against your ear. "Does Zulu miss me, or do you miss me, bro?" He said, "Definitely the dog. Zulu stands at your door and stares at your bed like you magically appear. He cries at night, too."
You groaned, "I haven't lived there in 3 years. Why is Zulu just now giving a damn?"
Auggia shrugged, "Don't know. Time moves differently for dogs, y'know." You rolled your eyes, "Goodbye, Auggie. I have a museum I'd like to visit."
You stepped inside, looking at the interesting people. You were happy to be around people like you.
It was an African American Art History museum. Of course, there were other people. You even saw a white person, which was rare in this part of Japan. They recently built this due to the recent spike in African Americans moving to Japan.
It's an odd study, but you weren't that crazed about it. You were just interested in what research Japan did on your people.
You looked around, seeing the portraits and sculptures.
You touched some pieces, if you were allowed to, and other pieces were just to stare at.
However, you saw one that really resonated with you.
A black woman was sitting behind a younger one as she braided her hair. The kid was crying and reaching for her mother's hands. You knew exactly what that felt like.
Your entire childhood was like this.
On weekends, your Mom would do your hair into cute beads so it'd be one less step in the morning for school.
In the afternoons, your beads would click-clack down the sidewalk as you walked to the day care to pick up your brother.
He was still a toddler, while you were 6. Six years old, holding your family together. You used to be so independent. Just like your mother.
You started to think, if your mom were in the same situation as you, would you let her be treated like that?
But you realized, she was. Your Dad was an evil man. Cheating and leaving her while she was pregnant. And you were so angry at your father. You stepped up at the age of 4 and helped your Mom as best as you could.
You felt tears start to well, but you sucked them in.
Your Mom fought hard for you to be strong. To bend life to will it your way. You had to fight back.
You finished your museum tour and called your mother on the phone.
"Well, look who decided to finally call her damn mother. What the hell have you been doing in Japan? Curing cancer?"
You laughed, "No, I've just been booked with photoshoots." You could hear the pride in your Mom's voice, "I'm glad my baby's a successful photographer. Are you going to photograph Jackie Chan one day?!"
You laughed, "I don't think I've gotten that far yet." You laughed at your mom's antics. But the silence settled, and you were ready to ask her a question.
"Hey? What's wrong with you, Y/N? You sound a little out of it."
Of course, she said something. Your Mom notices everything. You said, "Mom, how did you confront Dad about his cheating?"
She yelled, "IS NICHOLAS CHEATING ON YOU?! I swear to god if that punk had the audacity to cheat on my daughter after years of dating! You moved your whole life to Japan for him! Hold on, let me call Uncle Tommy-"
You interrupted, "NO! Mom Nicholas would never cheat on me. We just haven't been very emotionally involved with each other."
Your Mom asked, "Like how?" You whispered, "We've only been... y'know..." You said it, without saying it. Your mom said, "Oh, lord. I don't wanna hear about that."
You yelled, "YOU ASKED!?" She said, "Don't be yelling at me, girl! What's wrong with you!"
She sighed, saying, "Next time you see him, ambush him. Talk. Don't be scared. If he leaves, there's plenty of fish in the sea. That's serious. Download Tinder and go on dates. Explore the world more. It's boring being with one guy your whole life. You learned three new languages because of him, go travel the world."
You nodded, "Thanks, Mom." But that's not what you needed to hear.
Your Mom finished, "You're beautiful, okay? Don't let a man think he's the only one who'd ever love you because that's not true. Now, I love Nicholas, but if he has you feeling like I did when I was with your father, I need to have a talk with him." You laughed, "Yeah. You're right."
You smiled, feeling motivated to do exactly what you needed to.
You said, "Okay, Mom. I love you, bye."
You two hung up, and you ran to your car to drive home. You had time to yourself. You cooked a meal, took a shower, cleaned up your living room a bit, and even watched a couple of episodes of your favorite show.
However, when a knock came to your door, your heart dropped. You knew who that was.
You got up slowly, opening the door with a bit of fear. Nicho was standing there, eyes full of hunger.
No other thoughts. Not love, not clinginess, not even annoyance, just hunger.
He leaned in and kissed you roughly. Like he does every night after work. He pushed you into your apartment and needily picked you up.
You yelped in his mouth. That was a first. He's not one to flaunt his strength like that. Nicholas had the hardest boner you've felt in a while. He threw you on the bed, holding your hands above your head so you couldn't touch him.
He needed to keep you away from him. He couldn't feel you.
He kissed down your stomach, but then he heard you sniffle, and he froze. Stifled cries left your throat as you angrily cried at him.
You were so pissed off by his actions, but too scared to tell him. Instead, you decided crying was the best solution. Besides, Nicholas always responds when you cry.
Nicholas stared into your eyes. Pure fear swelled in his pupils as he darted around your face. He cupped your face, wiping your tears, and you pulled away. "No."
Nicho pouted, "W-what did I do?"
You screamed, "YOU DON'T LOVE ME ANYMORE!" Nicholas froze from the sudden shouting.
There was silence in the room as he watched you cry, pain aching in his heart. You cried, "What kind of boyfriend are you? You just come over for sex. You don't talk, you don't sleep over, you don't take me on dates. I'm just an afternoon fuck."
Nicholas shook his head softly, but continued to let you speak. You said, "I've done everything I can to keep you around, but I just don't think we can work out anymore. This is toxic. Y-you're starting to make me feel worthless."
Nicholas finally spoke. His voice was low and soft, as usual. "I'm so sorry." But you didn't want to hear it. That's all he had to say? Is he sorry?
You two have been doing this shit for a year. You needed him to understand how alone you've felt. You curled your knees to your chest. "Sorry?"
Nicholas looked you in your eyes. He looked so hurt. Nicho scratched his head anxiously and confessed, "I know I'm an asshole for not being there."
He scrambled, "I get busy. And no, that's not an excuse. I genuinely thought you were happy the way we were. I did feel very lonely, and I wanted to talk about where our relationship was going too, but I was scared." He stopped looking at you. Opting to stare at his fiddling fingers, "You were pushing me away."
Your eyes widen with despair. You weren't pushing him away. You gave up. He can't talk when he wants to talk, and ignore you when he wants to.
Nicho sighed, "I fucked up our relationship instead. Our relationship was never built on communication. It was built on love and trust. We were never good at talking."
He looked at you, eyes teary. "So I guess that's why I used my body." You cried, "You think that was the smart thing to do? Nicholas, you know me? We've dated for years. You know how I am and how I get. You shouldn't have left me alone like this. I'm insecure and don't know shit about how to be treated in relationships. My Dad-"
Nicho cut you off, "I'm tired of you comparing our relationship to your parents. We're not them."
He huffed, trying to speak gently because you were already crying. "We're our own people. Your Dad was a fuck up. I'm not him. I stayed, and I'm not nursing other women. I've only ever wanted you. You need to understand that."
You cried, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to believe that if you weren't there for me. AN ENTIRE YEAR NICHO! I had time to think about us and talk about it, why couldn't you?"
Nicholas shrank, hating the tears falling down your face. But you needed to have this conversation. He deserved to watch you cry because it hurt him too.
His breath was shaky. "I'm sorry."
You pushed him, "WHAT? Are we gonna have sex to make it up to me? You yelled, "We're over. Get the fuck out, Nicholas! GET OUT!"
Nicholas stood still for a moment. He couldn't believe this. He was losing the person he loved. You were furious. Maybe you were saying things you didn't mean. But he didn't have time to think about that as you grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a standing position.
Nicho said, "Y/N, please. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry!"
You wiped your tears angrily, "Prove it. Prove how fucking sorry you are! There's nothing you can do! You know why?! BECAUSE YOU HAD A YEAR TO PROVE IT. I mean FUCK Nicho! I could've gotten pregnant and HAD A BABY by the time you realized how fucked up this relationship is."
You corrected yourself, "Was."
That stung. Pain shot to Nicholas's heart as he stared at you with hurt.
You were hurt, too. However, you were too blinded by rage to focus on that. You wanted him to get out.
Nicholas grabbed your shoulders, "Look at me."
You looked him in the eyes, much to your dismay. You could see it. The pure love and regret filled his eyes. He said, "I'd get jumped by your brother and Uncle Tommy if I have to prove how sorry I am. I will quit my fucking job. I'd buy every designer bag you've ever wanted. Please Y/N."
You wavered. You always waver when you two argue. Why? Because you love Nicho so much that you can't imagine life without him in your arms.
Nicho pulled you to his chest and hugged you, "No sex. I won't have sex with you if that's what it takes to prove how much I love you. I can't lose you. You're the only family I have here."
You sobbed into his chest. It was true. Nicho moved his whole life to Japan for his job, and you moved here for him, too.
Meeting in an elementary school and working your way to a relationship. You wouldn't call yourself childhood friends to lovers. He just liked an Instagram post, and you contacted him. How did he even find you?
Your arms hooked around his neck, and you stared at him. Nicholas asked, “You hear me? No sex. I’ll give it up. I’ll even let you cheat if you have to.”
You smiled. That’s hilarious coming from Nicholas. Possessive McGee right here. But the way he was looking you in the eye let you know he was being serious.
You said, “Okay. Okay Nicho. You win.” Nicho sighed as the weight of the world had just left his shoulders.
“Thank you. I love you.” You mentioned, “You know we’re not giving up sex, right? It’s just too good for me to give up.”
Nicholas smiled, “Really? Thought it was getting mediocre. That’s my fault.”
You nuzzled closer to kiss him. Nicho melted instantly. His hands wrap harder around your waist. His head was leaning down just so he could reach your smaller frame.
Nicholas hummed when you parted the kiss. You pulled him by the hand toward the bed, and he said, “Not tonight. I think we should focus on us.”
You faltered, pout forming on your lush lips. He couldn’t help but kiss them before settling next to you in bed. “We should just talk for hours like we used to.”
You smiled. When you two first started dating, you’d avoid intimacy at all costs. Instead, to prevent kissing, you’d start deep conversations.
Nicholas really enjoyed those days. He wasn’t even aware of what you were doing. Just enjoying your company.
But once again, all things end up with you two connecting. You two can’t help yourself. It’s your way of expressing how much you love each other.
Slytherin's have proven time and time again of their ambitions - and you've made sure to do that these past six years.
Getting high grades, perfecting your wand skills, participating in extracurricular activities no other Slytherin would. You have it all figured out, despite the thorn in your side: Sunghoon Park.
When both of your names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire, it's the best and last shot of beating Sunghoon. But what happens when things start to slip and your motivation is pushed into surviving rather than winning? What happens when a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw build a silent bond with one another? Then what?
wc: 15.9k
tags: Harry Potter Universe enemies to lovers jealousy mutual pining slowburn angst love triangle emotional distress eventual smut blood purity/classism violence magic themes
a/n: this took a ridiculous amount of time to upload and guess what? it's not edited, haha! So, please, excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. I just wanted to get this done so I can get started on the second part. Want to read it elsewhere? Click here for AO3. Comments and criticism is welcomed!
Standing in front of Dumbledore's quarters, you remain where Professor McGonagell left you. Time and patience have always been a virtue that you respectfully hold, especially now that you’ve been elected as a Prefect.
Fortunately for you, that boosts your reputation. This year, you’re determined to make it to the top, not only in your year but in the whole school.
Your only problem? Sunghoon Park.
Sunghoon Park who stands tall beside you, adjusting his black and navy robes around his arms before straightening up. He presses his (fake) glasses up his nose. “Good evening, miscreant,” he murmurs, that foul nickname rolling off his tongue, “It’s a surprise to see someone from the Slytherin house actually made it into being a Prefect this year.”
Your eyes narrow, upper lip sneering and glancing away with a scoff, “Don’t act so cocky.”
Sunghoon Park somehow— somehow— had managed to have the same aspirations and desires for the future as you did: becoming head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You both studied the same classes, participated in the same extra curricular activities, and are both head to head in being top of your school. But you’re so sure that after this year's O.W.L exams, you will be standing high on the podium and laughing at the way Sunghoon glares from a distance. Your ambition has driven you this far and it’s not going to let you stop now.
Hogwarts Wizarding School has been your home for the past six years, helping you grow and learn how to control your magic. The fantastic Great Hall is something you’ll never get sick of seeing, the way you get to watch the sorting hat at the start of each year determine students' housing and the excitement you feel every time you see another one of your kind come along. Your status.
Now, you hold the privilege of being someone others can look up to— of being the absolute best. The first Prefect of Slytherin. The one people should rely on. You’ve gotten this authority and you won’t lose it. Thankfully, you won’t be doing it alone, your best friend Matthew is yet to arrive at Dumbledore's headquarters.
Quite the walk from the Slytherin dormitory. He’s also just lazy.
You feel the way Sunghoon stares at you through his lenses, watching the way you keep your chin up and posture straight, before he turns away, glancing towards the front of Dumbledore’s grand doorway.
In the span of 15 minutes, Matthew arrives alongside two Gryffindors, Nicholas and Joonie, then the two Hufflepuff Prefects arrive, Sunoo and Chaehyun, and the second Raven-claw Prefect comes along, Ningning.
When Professor McGonagall arrives, she whispers the password, ‘Phoenix Sherbet’, and the grand entrance starts to move, slowly unravelling to reveal an open doorway to a room that looks bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. In the middle of the room sat a desk, behind the desk was a canopy, two staircases on either side with walls filled with books older than you could imagine. To your left, there was a small dome room, in the middle sat something… something similar to a bird bath. Odd? Yes. But it’s Dumbledore, everything he does is for a reason.
You all already had your badges and your letter to let you know your responsibilities for this role, but Dumbledore wanted to have a small conversation with all of you, pay his respects, double check to make sure he’s picking the right group of people.
The Grey-haired man stepped down from his canopy, his maroon robes dragging across the floor as descends down the steps, a grin on his face. “My Prefects of the year,” he smiles, warmly, a contrast to his hoarse voice, “With earnest, I’ve watched the eight of you for many months and I’m proud to have selected you as this year's Prefects. You’ve all worked diligently.”
He stands in front of you all, hands folded in front of his body, watching you all with that look in his eye. Dumbledore has always been a kind hearted man, the headmaster of this year for many, many years. His respect is something students don’t dwindle on. His voice fills the room again as he begins to speak, “This year, all of you are eligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, which will be held at Hogwarts. We’ve timed the train this year to come an hour early so we can have the time to introduce the neighbouring schools and allow extra time to show the first years. Tomorrow morning, we will have you all finalising the classes you have chosen for the year, and you get free time till supper. Please, take tomorrow as a grace period before the busy school year ahead of you. I expect at least two of the eight to apply in the tournament. It will be a great reputation for our Prefects.”
Reputation. A great reputation.
This is your last year of creating that reputation before you start to apply for the Ministry of Magic. One last year to polish your skills, beat Sunghoon, and climb up the ladder to gain that reputation. This is only the start.
Dumbledore continues his speech about how great of an opportunity it is to be a Prefect and such, Professor McGonagall giving her input every now and then with a smile on her face. It’s not long before they dismiss you all for dinner. There’s a silence as you all bid the headmaster goodbye that follows you for a while as you step down the windy staircase before reaching the familiar corridors of the school when one of Sunghoon’s friends from Gryffindor, Nicholas, turns to him, whispering in his ear and making the pair push and giggle at each other before turning towards the person they were speaking about. Sunoo.
Soon enough, the closer you were to the Great Hall, the louder their amusement came and at some point, Sunoo hit Sunghoon and Nicholas in their stomachs to stop their relentless teasing. Even Matthew found it funny. You kept your expression neutral, staring forward and watching as the familiar broad doors creep closer to your eye line.
You allow the group to go first, not wanting to be caught in the eye of their storm, and make a beeline for the Slytherin Table. Matthew makes it his life goal to tell you every detail of his Summer break and wrapping his arm around your neck to be able to mess up your hair.
For the rest of the afternoon, you head to the library to gather books that you would feel can help for your upcoming O.W.L’s and now your N.E.W.T’s. On top of that, you’ll be putting your name in the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Getting a head start would be good.
You didn’t see the other prefects for the whole day until you arrived at the Grand Hall where they were seated at the top of their allocated tables, chatting away. Two extra tables sit on the far end, a place for the two schools that will be participating. You take a seat at the Slytherin table, tucking your robes underneath your legs as you sit at the far end, adjusting the ‘Prefect’ badge.
It won't be long till the rest of the students from Hogwarts would arrive. The next two hours were going to be a nightmare, the thought of having to be as chirpy as possible when greeting the new members of your house sounded exhausting.
However, two sets of eyes watch you.
Sunghoon sits in your direct eye line, his folded arms pressed against the table as he stares at you through his lenses, that same bored, emotionless look on his features. Across the room, at the Gryffindor table, sits Nicholas Wang, whose fox eyes stare straight into yours, you watch as they trail slowly down your body before flicking his gaze to the students calling his name. You watch as he stands, shaking the hands and hugging fourth years with a welcoming smile.
Your thoughts drift towards the trio of men calling your name, Matthew stands in his robes with his pretty Prefect badge on his chest, while Ricky and Gyuvin stand to the side of him.
A smile forms on your face, standing up to be able to hug them in greeting, "Long time no see," You sing, watching as they sit to the left of you, having to lean forward to look at Gyuvin as Matthew blocks your view of him.
"Yeah, Summer travels and all that," Gyuvin says, sitting across from you, his usual smile gracing his features. Your thankful that neither of them had changed.
You four continued to chat, welcoming back the other Slytherins and watching as the Great Hall was packed with students chattering and teachers who sat at the front of the hall. Dumbledore sits in the middle, talking to Professor McGonagall before beckoning Professor Snape over, discussing manners in hushed tones. It's not long before the headmaster takes a stand, the voices around the room immediately quieting at the sight of his tall figure.
"Welcome to your first night at Hogwarts," he beams, standing at the usual podium, resting his hands on top of it, "For the year. I'm sure you're all aware of the rules, and I would expect the older students— especially our Prefects— to hold you all accountable to the expectations we hold for our school. First off, we will welcome the first years, and sit expectantly as we wait for our…"
His voice trails off into mindless background noise as you turn to watch Professor Flit-wick charm the sorting hat to the front of Dumbledore, giving the hall of students a small nod before heading back to his seat at the dining table.
It's not long before you're getting pushed by the large groups of 11-year-old boys, having told them off way too many times, you grew tired. Thankful, Matthew swapped positions so you sat in between him and Ricky instead, giving him a sympathetic expression as he's getting sweaty children pushed right up agains him. "It's fine." He murmurs, leaning down to talk in your ear, "I focused on workoing out so my body is stronger. Wanna feel?"
You scoff at his wink and the way he flexes his biceps, hitting his side in a 'karate chop' motion. Ignoring his complaints, you turn back to the front where Dumbledore stands once again, his voice booming with pride.
"Students of Hogwarts," he starts, raising a hand to silence the rowdy crowd, "With great pride, our school has been chosen to hold the Tri-Wizard tournament with neighbouring schools. However, this year, the ministry has accepted a twist on the tournament's rules. Instead of one student chosen from each school, two students will be chosen."
The emphasis on the word 'random' makes your eyes narrow, turning your gaze towards the boy next to you, leaning into his ear, "By random he means the ministry has deemed 'acceptable' in tormenting the four Hufflepuffs." You whisper, tilting your head further as Matthew leans in to hear better. "What are the odds it'll be the two Gryffindor Prefects?"
A smirk forms on his lips, one of his eyebrows raising as he scans around the room to find the familiar faces before turning back towards you, his velvety smooth voice mumbling in your ear. "Both of them have two left feet, I'd be surprised if Jake can actually learn how to stop his broom rather than smashing into the bleachers."
You two let out equally quiet giggles, turning away from each other and hiding your snarky smiles by covering your mouths. Dumbledore's voice fades out and the great hall door's burst open, revealing the first school to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament, a gust of wind welcoming them in and the beautiful group of students stand in unified order.
Boxia, School of Magics.
There are twelve girls all together, their uniforms similar to an average British school— long-sleeved, white button-ups, a dark navy blazer with thin white stripes and a matching skort that rests just above their knees. Frilly socks rest around their ankles and black ballet flats adorn their feet. Their faces were porcelain like and you feel a pang of jealousy at how beautiful they are. You glance between Matthew, Ricky and Gyuvin to see that they're all watching with hearts replacing their pupils. Bloody hell, you think to yourself, They see women everyday, what's so different about these ones?
The next school is basically a less… classy version of Hogwarts. Slodsarry, school of The Arcane. There were seven boys and five women, all dressed for what seems to be a wintered climate. And you won't lie, after seeing a few of those boys? No, not boys, men— you really do understand why jaws are dropped so easily.
They’re broad, strong men, their faces all holding a strong structure, and you're sure they all fit the golden ratio. They're highly attractive. And the women are just as delicious looking; dark, long hair and shoulders as broad as the monkey bars you used to climb on as a child. They're… how do you put it? There's no way to describe it without spending hours flicking through a dictionary and thesaurus.
The two schools are seated at the spare table set out for them, while their headmasters have their own spot next to Dumbledore. In a blink of an eye, delicious food is placed in front of you. The feast has begun.
The first dinner of the year was three hours long, definitely past the first to third years bedtimes and you're thriving off of the food coma that you've given yourself. You really did try rounding up the new years as best as you could, but it took Ricky to hit a kid in the back of the head for interrupting before you gained some sort of respect. Filthy grubs, you let the words echo in your mind as you guide them toward the dormitory downstairs, near the kitchen. You walk in front, while your temporary body guards stride behind the group, clicking in the children's ears and grabbing onto their shirt collars when they stray too far from the group.
So much for being the Prefect.
The day goes in a blur, keeping your nose in your study books and trying to memorise your new time table as much as possible.
Every first day you have Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmomancy Studies. While, every second day, you have Advanced Potions, Herbology, Alchemy, Divination and Xylomancy. Not to mention, you also help Professor Sprout and Hagrid with their mythical creatures and plants. You're packed.
Oh, and, you've also scored the same time table as Sunghoon. So you're seeing him in every. single. class.
When you do get spare time during lunch, you come to put your name into the Goblet of Fire, the anxiety refusing to settle in till dinner that evening.
You sit in the same place as you did the night prior after ushering the first years in. You're not sure how many times you repeated, 'you must eat something, it is only your second day at school', but you're sure that you've lost your appetite, even if Matthew saved you a plate of sausages and tarts.
You don't even get halfway through your meal before Dumbledore is gaining the attention of the students with the other headmasters. The room goes silent, not even the clinking of cutlery can be heard, nor the heavy breathing of… the disgusting ones. The atmosphere becomes tense, and the Goblet of Fire stands at the front, its blue flames flickering with glee, as if taunting the students of its decision.
"It is now time… for the contestants of the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced."
Those words cause your anxiety to spike, and you're suddenly questioning if you should've put your name in or not. You can probably live without having to participate in the tournament, but your eager self decided that she wanted to be better than everyone else. Your hand moves to grip onto Matthews wrist, nails digging into his skin and causing him to hiss and tilt his head down to hide his pained expression.
If he said something, you didn't hear it as you were too focused on watching the flames grow brighter before a piece of parchment paper bursts out into the air, flying around like a loose paper plane before landing into the nibble hands of Dumbledore, whose expression is tight with concentration and full of anticipation.
Ringing fills your ears as the first name is called out.
"Tomas Vingarrd!"
A loud eruption is pulled from the Sladsarry school, the group of teenagers standing and applauding the thick-neck man who stands with his chest puffed out. The applause echoes as he arrives at the front of the hall, shaking hands with each of the headmasters and standing tall beside him.
As soon as his noise has faded, the fire bursts into flames, three more pieces of parchment falling from the deep blue. They all drift towards Dumbledore and he reads them one by one.
The uproar from the crowd of students is deafening as your grip tightens on Matthew's skin, causing him to groan louder than before, trying to play it off as a joke before he notices the expression on your face. "Oi, looking a bit constipated there," he grins, elbowing your body and gaining your attention, the look on your face unwavering, "I… what's wrong with you? You look clogged."
Your brows furrow in disgust, pulling your hand away from his with a scoff and rolling your eyes. "Gods, you could have used any analogy but you had to use… that! That's foul." You scold, shaking your head and turning away, only to have your head turned back towards the boy. "Don't try and flirt your way out of this."
He shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture before leaning in, twisting his body to face you properly. "You put your name in the Goblet of Fire, didn't you?"
The colour must have drained from your face, leaving you a pale mess because his expression contorts into one of… something. Something unreadable. "Are you serious?"
"Look—"
He cuts you off, shaking his head and placing a hand over your mouth, making you grunt in protest and pull it away from your body. "Excuse you? Don't shut me up."
"Maybe you should stop trying to be better than that Ravenclaw," He bites back, rolling his eyes, "You're like obsessed with him or something. You're so obsessed with beating him you just had to put your name in. Idiot. You're an idiot."
You stare at him in disbelief, how dare he talk to you like this. You've always treated him with some sort of respect, trying to keep someone like him close, yet you're catching a wave of his moody attitude. "Fine then," you grumble, turning away from him and facing the front.
The cries of their supporters turn into a collective gasp as two more names are pulled from the pulsing flames, finding their way to Dumbledore. Your anxiety spikes, because, this is it. You can't back out if your name was chosen— and that sense of regret clouds your mind, hardly registering the way Matthew's hand rests on your thigh with a steadying grip.
The silence thickens into a tense silence as Dumbledore decided he wanted to wait an extra 30 seconds before finally calling the names out.
"Sunghoon Park!" He calls, flicking to the next piece of paper and your eyes widen as his gaze drifts towards you, "And Y/N L/N!"
Shit. Your teeth grit together, eyes fluttering to a wider size in horror, Shit shit shit shit shit.
Your body reacts before you do, slowly standing and glancing over your shoulder with an awkward smile on your face as you feel a group of hands pat your back, people calling your name, applauding you for your bravery. Bravery.
At this moment in time, a Hufflepuff has more bravery.
Your feet guide you to the front of the hall, shaking hands with the headmasters before taking your place next to Dumbledore. Sunghoon mimics your actions and when he passes your figure, your eyes lock for a small matter of seconds. Something in them looks off, it's not the usual hardened gaze.
What are you feeling?
Everything else is muffled and suddenly you're sitting back down beside Matthew to continue on with your meal. The weight of the situation settles in during the interviews, the fact that you're going to have been in horrible situations and pray that you're not going to die? No, Hogwarts wouldn't let you die.
But would the other contestants?
A week passes and the murmurs haven't died down, you hear your name float around the different groups from the schools. First years would watch you as you passed by them, whispering in each other's ears as their eyes trail down your figure. The robes you wear definitely didn't help. Most wouldn't expect a Slytherin to participate, they'd rather find amusement in watching as students fail while they're safe and sound in their bedrooms.
Yet, here you are, Mirella Hexbourne has taken the eight chosen in a position where it oddly feels like a family photo being taken. You're placed in the middle on a chair, Yrsa sits to your right while Katerina sits to your left, their bodies facing towards you while the boys stand behind each of you, mimicking the same position beside having their hand placed on each of the girls shoulders.
Both you and Sunghoon originally protested, the physical touch is something you both recoiled at but Mirella insisted that is the position that must be done and it would only take 10 minutes. She said that 30 minutes ago.
When she finally allowed you all to relax, the school pairings were whisked away into separate rooms to wait for their interview.
Sunghoon allows you into the room first before almost slamming the door behind him and sitting as far as he can from you. What a man, you think. Silence fills the space, that same building tension sits in between you like a conversation ice breaker.
"You know we have to help each other win, right?" He suddenly speaks, using that same bored tone he always uses. "Now that there's two students per school."
"I know that," you grumble, glancing over at him with a scowl on your features, "Dumbledore repeated it to us like four hundred times."
From the corner of your eye, you see him twist his head towards you, a raised eyebrow before clicking his tongue. "Good to know your ears work."
"Don't insult me. And especially don't insult me during the interview, Mirella has a habit of twisting words."
You hear him sigh through his nose, deep and annoyed. "Of course you know that. I bet you've had loads of practice for how… off beat you are. I'm surprised with the amount of mistakes you make, you haven't made it to the front page. Though, it's not such a secret that people like you make mistakes all the time."
That last sentence irked something inside of you. Sunghoon has mentioned 'your kind' many times these past years, and yet he's never said it out loud. Your head turns towards him, taking in his perfect posture. "Perfect Sunghoon definitely knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" You bite, keeping your voice low, "Perfect Sunghoon makes no mistakes. Yet, he hasn't even made it into the Daily Prophet for any of his achievements. The greatest thing you'll ever get is a mere acknowledgment from Dumbledore before he's turning his back to you."
"At least I get something besides a disgruntled look," He snaps back, furrowing his brows and holding your gaze. "When our names get called in class, have you noticed that my name is always called first? Sunghoon Park and you. Just like last night and how the interview will go. No one from our school will be watching you in the tournament besides to see if the mud-blood Slytherin can actually catch up to Sunghoon Park's, the Ravenclaws, level."
Mud-blood.
A few silent beats pass between the two of you as you hold your breath, your eyes break your inscrutability before slipping back into that mask, your eyebrows furrowing. "Wow," You mutter, feigning an impressed expression and glancing back to the front. "With that foul language anyone would've thought you were a Slytherin dressed in Ravenclaw's robes."
That managed to shut him up.
By the time the interview finishes, you've come to a conclusion that your poker face needs working on because every time Sunghoon spoke, your left eye would twitch and you're pretty sure that you watched the Quick-Quote Quill write about it more than once. The editor better not let that into the final product.
By the second Thursday of the school year, you've already started practicing for your Advanced Potions essay. Professor Slughorn had placed you in a specific seating arrangement for the year, stating that it's better for it to be randomised to help with your thesis. You both should have the same rationale with the same experiment results, but everything else has to be in your own writing.
You haven't seen or felt watched by Nicholas since first night in the dining hall while waiting for the first years. And now, you're partnered up with him, brewing a Pepperup Potion. It's an easy potion, it's a part of the fourth year curriculum, but it's also for Slughorn to understand how well you work together.
"You need to chop the Mandrake Root more finely," You nag, taking a break from turning the brew to point down at Nicholas's horrible cutting skills, looking up at him through your lashes before turning back to the pot.
Nicholas scoffs, nodding his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Yes, ma'am," he muses, leaning the cauldron to watch the liquid that slowly starts to turn a light red colour. "Looking good. Once the Mandrake goes in it should go that dark colour."
You roll your eyes, nodding your head and pointing back at his task at hand. "Yeah, well, you actually have to chop the mandrake first."
He turns his head to face you properly, his smirk turning into a lazy smile as he scans over your features. "Alright, I'm getting there, sweets," he drawls slowly, continuing to hold your gaze before turning back to the chopping block. "I'm pretty sure we're ahead of the class."
"That doesn't mean we're doing it properly— hurry up, or else we're not going to do it properly. You're fast on the Quidditich field but you can't cut Mandrake for the sake of your life."
His smile widens in amusement and he turns back to finish his task, keeping whatever words he wants to say to himself. Maybe you're being bossy but you can't help the fact that you want to get this done before Sunghoon who stands at the other end of the classroom, paired with Ningning, his fellow Ravenclaw.
Your face scrunches up in disgust as you watch him murmur in her ear, hands wrapping over hers and demonstrating how to stir the cauldron.
"Who the hell needs help to stir a potion?" You hum, rolling your eyes and pausing your own movements so Nicholas can pour in the Mandrake Roots.
"What?" Your partner muses, wiping his hands on his pants before taking the wooden stirring stick from your hold, stealing your position and starting to stir clockwise. "A man can't help his girlfriend stir? They're fairly new to their relationship so they're probably in that real whimsical and skittish stage."
"Girlfriend?" The question falls from your lips before your head allows you to process the information. "When did they start dating?"
"Over the summer." He replies, glancing over at the couple across the room before turning back to you. You never noticed how tall he was till this very moment, standing around 5 '11, his head tilted down to observe you properly and your eyes flicker to the way his fringe dangles just slightly. "Ning kept sneaking out till her family caught her and she used Sunghoon as her excuse. Then they got close and well… they're dating."
"God, how cliche," you groan, rolling your eyes and turning your head to the couple. How did you not know of this? Stuff like this spreads around quickly.
"Don't worry," Nicholas grunts, nudging his hip against yours to gain your attention, flinching as you smack his bicep and scold him for even thinking about touching you. "They haven't spent much time together since the school year started, he's too busy sticking his nose in those books. Isa said that Ning's been having a small fit about it because they got so close so quickly over the break."
You raise your brow, leaning against the table as you stare down at the brewing potion. "I'm going to assume Isa's your girlfriend?"
"No," he immediately says, eyes narrowing as he straightens his posture from that lazy stance he held, "Isa… Isa just gossips. That's what."
You turn your head to watch him, his gaze now distant. Damn, you must have scratched a nerve. You slowly nod your head, turning back to the potion and watching as it slowly changes into a deep, cherry-maroon colour. After a few moments, Nicholas speaks up, changing the subject. "Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were nervous."
"Why would I be nervous?"
He shrugs his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out momentarily as he glances up at you, that lazy smirk adorning his features. "You know… the Tri-Wizard tournament. Though, it's more like the… the… sixth-wizard tournament."
"No," you deadpan, rolling your eyes and glancing away, "Why would I be nervous? The last Tri-Wizard tournament, I could have done with my eyes closed."
"Yeah, but that was four years ago. They also have allowed six contestants in, meaning the ministry will be extra hard. More kids means more challenges."
You hum, leaning against the tabletop, resting your elbow on the wood and placing your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you nod your head, "I suppose so. But, I wouldn't have put in my name if I didn't think I could do it."
Nicholas stirs slow down to a stop, picking up a glass bottle and carefully scooping it in. The colour is a dark red from the bottom, that slowly makes a light orange colour at the top. He places the cork on the bottle and rests it on the table with a grin. "Well, even if you couldn't, we managed to make a pepperup potion."
"I learn how to do that in my fourth year," you grumble, snatching the bottle from the table and examining the liquid. "I can make a whole year's supply in 20 minutes."
"I'd say we did a pretty good job."
"Yeah, I did quite well."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, leaning backwards against the table and stares down at you. "You're very focused on beating Sunghoon, huh?" he whispers.
You turn your head to look up at him before slowly standing, mimicking his position and continue to 'examine' the bottle. "He thinks he's the best, when he's just an arrogant prick. He…" you sigh, tilting your head up to watch as Professor Slughorn starts to walk around the classroom, giving notes to the different pairs of students. "He's a very… classist boy. If Ningning wasn't a pure-blood, they may have never ended up dating."
"Oh, Ningning's only a half-blood," Nicholas chimes, casually, turning to watch the way Sunghoon rolls his sleeves up his arms and scoops the potion into another glass bottle. "So am I. He gets along with us just fine."
It stings something inside of you. The fact that he's okay with half-bloods— who's parents are considered 'mud-blood lovers'— but he's not okay with being muggle born. Unless, he just hates the way it looks on you. Or just you, entirely.
"Well, his foul mouth sounds like he belongs in Slytherin," you grimace, eyebrows furrowing as you narrow your eyes at the man who Ningning thinks is a sweetheart. He presses a kiss to her temple before swooping down to press a sweet one to her lips, making your upper lip snarl in disgust.
Nicholas lets out a small snort, tilting his head back momentarily with a grin before nudging you with his elbow— to which he immediately apologies after the deadly glare that you give him.
Professor Slughorn's idea of 'homework' makes you roll your eyes. A three page essay on the pepperup potion is made. And some random thesis he wrote. Ridiculous.
You now sit across from Nicholas at a table in the library, the two vials of Pepperup and two sets of parchment paper are placed out in front of you. You're trying to write the essay rationale, but Nicholas insists on changing the subject after every sentence.
"I'm just saying, you have the ambition of a seeker, you would be great in the Quidditch field," he smirks, resting his face in his hands while he watches your determined expression while writing. "I think, if you pushed a few things in your schedule around—"
"No."
"Oo-okay… we can plan Quidditch practice around you then," he smirks, that teasing glint in his half-lidded eyes shows you that he could not care less about the assignment.
"I'm almost done with the rationale," You blurt, cutting him off as you finish writing a sentence. "You can copy off my sheet once I manage to reach the word limit, but try and stay focused."
He huffs, angling his lips up to blow a piece of hair away from his face until he gets bored of doing that, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "This is so boring, do we have—"
"Nicholas."
The man groans, rolling his eyes and running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, taking the parchment paper from your hand and placing it besides his as he starts to copy your words. "At least talk and fill the silence. Have you prepared for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"How am I meant to prepare for the tournament if I don't even know what the first challenge is?" You yawn, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, "So, no, I have not."
"I've heard Sunghoon has."
The mention of his name enrages you, your expression turning into one of pure annoyance before switching it back neutral. "Of course he has," you complain, "Sunghoon knows everything. Pure-bloods should know everything."
"You're still on that?"
"Yes, Nicholas, he called me a mud-blood, I have every right to be upset."
He keeps his lips pursed together, keeping them closed with narrowed eyes. There's a beat of silence before he's humming and nodding his head. That's what I thought, you think.
Your conversations for the next two months are all similar, Nicholas trying to gauge you into some random situation before you say something to knock him back into place. You've said 'finish your work' more times than you can count and you're sure he's got ADHD but you're also thinking it's just a Gryffindor trait.
He's even gone out of his way to wave to you when he passes by in the hall, gaining a dirty look from Sunghoon who walks next to him. He did grow on you. Eventually. 2 months in, five practice essay's, the October break where he wrote to you twice, and three failed attempt at getting you to sit near him in transfiguration class. You did eventually get there. And now you're accompanying him to Hogsmeade.
Winter has slowly started to fade in more and more, letting the leaves fall and dress the ground in a beautiful carpet. Matthew was by your side, grunting and moaning about how Defence Against the Dark Arts has been killing him.
"Ever since Snape became the teacher, he's become a real big buffoon," He complains, running his fingers through his hair for the nth time, "I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden, "Mr. Seok… your hand writing has become sloppy. Is my class boring you?" Yes, yes, Severus Snape, your monotone-bastard of a voice is boring."
You stifle a giggle, pursing your lips together as you watch your feet trek through the different coloured leaves. You nod your head, humming and pulling your jacket around you tighter. "You must have pissed him off in another life; he has some sort of vendetta against you."
"Yeah! I know!" He retorts, that frustrated expression on his face as he runs his hand down his face. "God, so much for being a Slytherin headmaster when he's got a ten foot pole up his—"
Matthew is cut off when your name is yelled obnoxiously loud, causing you to both turn rigid. You freeze up in your tracks, that voice. That agitating, frustrating voice that constantly follows you around— Nicholas.
You take in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you straighten up, turning towards the sound of his voice with prepared patience. "What's that git doing calling your name?" Matthew grumbles, grabbing a hold of your wrist. You shoot him a glare, keeping your voice low as you reply. "Don't. He's not as much of a twit as he looks."
Matthew scoffs slightly before placing that friendly persona back on his face, straightening his posture and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jumper. You take a few steps forward to meet Nicholas half way, who's hair seems to be slightly shorter and complexion brighter. His grin adorns his features and you've found that it lightens the weight on your shoulders, even when you're swamped in piles of practice essays. "Hello." You murmur, glancing at him up and down before jerking your head in gesture for him to follow.
Matthew stands to your left while Nicholas stands to your right, all of you walking in a languid pace as you and Nicholas do your usual greetings before you ask him that one question for him to start rambling. Whether it's Quidditch, the drama you've started to learn about Sunghoon and Ningning, and the very few moments of beef you hear about Isa and Nicholas.
On this chilly morning? It's Sunghoon and Ningning.
"Because the first challenge of the Tri-Wizard tournament is on this Wednesday— which I hope you've tried to practice or at least study for—Sunghoon has been on a tight schedule with like practicing his wand movements and knowledge and what not…" he takes a deep breath, "Ningning has been having a few small… fits about the fact he hasn't been spending time with her as much. And last Tuesday, during Study Hall, just after you left, she turned to Sunghoon and was like 'I don't get it, you can focus on your studies and your friends and random other people in this school but you can't focus on me.' I didn't hear what else she said but he apparently said the wrong thing and she stormed off. Haven't heard much about it since."
You nod your head, shooting a glance at Matthew who was in that Study Hall at the time, before turning back to Nicholas, who doesn't let you get a chance to speak as he continues speaking. "Jake told me, however, that Sunghoon didn't get time to write to her during the October break but she managed to send at least three letters over 12 hours, and that he might be breaking up with NingNing soon, but he wants a guaranteed date to the Yule Ball. That's why I was here in the first place, but I don't want to walk around Hogsmeade all day and wait for Sunghoon to find a gift for his girlfriend to apologise with."
"Right, well, you might have to do that because Matthew and I are off to have a haircut," You say quickly before his ramble continues, "Then we're going back to Hogwarts. I've got to help Professor Sprout with preparations for the Second years herbology class."
Nicholas nods his head and Matthew takes the chance to speak up. "Well, I'm off to meet Ricky and Gyuvin at the three broomsticks. If, you know, you want to come hang for a while," He says, shrugging his shoulders and glancing over at Nicholas with a warm smile. "We're a lot more welcoming unlike this one."
You scowl, deeply, as he elbows you just a little too hard, making you stumble and almost run into Nicholas.
The Gryffindor doesn't take any notice of it, keeping his head turned forward with that small pout on his lips. It's a habit of his that you've noticed, when he's deep in thought, contemplating about ingredients or what the weird synonym's you've used in your rationale. "I may join a bit later. I'll just go check in on Sunghoon and Jake for the next hour. If that's okay."
"Of course man, don't stress."
The pair stop in some silent arrangement, dapping each other up before Nicholas taps your shoulder with a small smile before turning the opposite direction and jogging towards his friends, leaving you two to stand there.
"What the fuck was that?" You ask, turning towards Matthew with a disgruntled look.
"What was what?"
"That— dapping each other up like you're long time best friends! Who does that?" You retort, confusion and frustration lacing your tone of voice, straightening your posture in an attempt to prove something. "You just called him a twit—"
"—Actually, I called him a git, you called him a twit—"
"—I don't care." You snap, shaking your head and pushing your hair away from your face, stomping off into the direction of the hair salon. His laugh cackles behind you, the sound getting closer due to his long strides. "Also, you never told me about Sunghoon and Ningning getting into their first public argument."
"Yeah, I was going to mention it eventually," He teases, wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling you into his side, his other hand ruffling your hair up despite the protests that fall from your lips. "I was going to tell you over butter beer, but that's gone down the drain. Hey, I actually heard that the reason why she did it in such a public space was because she saw Sunghoon watch you as you left the study hall. Some said that she has a crush on you."
"Yuck!" You explain, trying to hide your giggles as Matthew mimics kissing noises, "I'd prefer to do anything then deal with her Public Displays of Affection."
Matthew snorts, tilting his head back and pushing your body away to start walking casually, guiding you towards the salon.
Tuesday.
It's Tuesday at 5:30pm and instead of studying and mentally preparing yourself for tomorrow, you're beside Professor Sprout in the green house, watering the tormentil plants and listening to her complaints about the first and seconds years, how every single one of them are filled with idiocy and that a few passed out and had their ear drums burst as they pulled out the baby mandrakes.
"Oh, blimey, hold on, dear," She huffs, placing a few bags of compost soil onto a table before heading back to the door. "I forgot a few things— Oh! Sunghoon, honey, step inside, I just placed the bags onto the table."
Excuse me? Sunghoon? What the hell is he doing here?
You pause your ministrations on watering, watching the door carefully as Professor Sprout lingers for a moment before stepping out of the way and letting Sunghoon step into the green house. He's dressed in the basics of the uniform, a white button up, black slacks, black dress shoes, and the Ravenclaw tie.
He watches over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms. "You're going to handle the soil while wearing a white shirt?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon takes his time, glancing around the space and sniffling to get used to the harsh smells of plant fertilizers and anything else used to keep the plants alive, before meeting your gaze. He walks forward, slowly, keeping his eyes boring into yours as he walks over to the bags of soil. "I'm surprise your hands are steady enough to water the plants."
Straight back to insulting, of course. You're not sure why he would ever think about having a normal conversation with you. You eye the way he rips a big open effortlessly and lifts it up like it's air, swiftly walking to the back wall wear the empty pot plants lay.
You turn yourself away, continuing to water the plants with the fertilizer mixture, pursing your lips together. In the back of your mind, it still pinches your insides every time you see his face. The echoing of his voice as he called you a mudblood.
You're not a pureblood. You want to work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You willingly talk to a Gryffindor and have allowed yourself to be talked down upon by a Ravenclaw. And now, you're participating in the Tri-Wizard tournament tomorrow, with no preparation of spells or knowledge.
Who do you think you are?
Thoughts swirl in your head, your body moving on autopilot as you slowly make your way through the rows of plants. You feel that heavy weight on your shoulders, similar to your first year when you struggled to become social with any of the Slytherins; out of place, different, odd.
Your clenched jaw is released as Sunghoon's voice rings through the room. "…close with him?"
"What?" You blurt out, blinking furiously before regaining your senses and looking over at him. "Say it again."
Sunghoon clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looks over his shoulder at you. "You and Nicholas have been hanging out more," he says with high emphasis, "Are you two close with each other?"
You blink twice at him, your eyes widening as if he grew two heads. After a few seconds of processing, you resume back to your original task, keeping your gaze down. "No," You say, quickly changing your answer as your shoulders hunch, "I don't know. He just… why? Why do you want to know?"
He hums lowly, watching your back as he answers, "I've seen you guys hanging out at the library alot, and Hogsmeade. I didn't think you two knew you existed so I was curious."
"Well, stay curious. Whatever happens with Nicholas and I is none of your business."
"I never said something was happening."
Shit. Your movements stall and you tighten your grip on the watering can, scared you may drop it with the way your hands start to shake. "I just assumed that's the direction you were going. You don't usually butt your nose into my relationships."
"I'm just saying," he mutters, groaning quietly as he stands back up, brushing the soil off his hands, "Nicholas seems to enjoy being around your presence. And I saw him head to the Three Broomsticks with those friends of yours. I'm just surprised you two get along, considering you're… you know, a Slytherin."
You let out a shaky breath, turning to start to water the plants in the middle, letting your eyes flick up to watch him open a new bag of soil. Because you're a Slytherin. "I'll keep that in mind."
He doesn't reply and you're thankful for that.
You head back to your thoughts, with a new question lingering. Why does Nicholas talk to you if you're a Slytherin?
Not once have either of you spoken throughout your years of schooling and suddenly he's wanting to hang out with you whenever he can. Well— you can blame Professor Slughorn for that, he paired the two of you in Potions. But, why is he sticking around so often? It's not that you haven't grown fond of him, because, you have. You seriously have, and Matthew noticed it before you did.
You've noticed little things about him these past few weeks. Like how he writes with his left hand on an angle as to not smudge the parchment paper, how the glasses he sometimes wear are actually perscription glasses and that he usually wears contacts. He wants to dye his hair. He fiddles with his tie in classes he finds boring. When you two walk beside each other, two of your footsteps is one of his. He always has some sort of smile on his face. He makes friends easily. He's extremely good at Quidditch. He uses the extra mint flavoured gum.
You don't even know these things about Matthew.
Sunghoon is suddenly in front of you, standing on the other side of the middle table and fiddling with one of the plants soil. "Tomorrow." He says, "Have you prepared?"
Oh, no. You haven't. Actually, you've ignored the whole situation, pretending your name wasn't called out in the Goblet of Fire and that the visiting schools just don't exist. "Uh… yes, I have."
"Terrible lie," he murmurs, rolling his eyes and pressing his glasses back up his nose, "But, the first challenge is in a cursed colosseum."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard the headmasters talking about it after dinner," He says, resting his hands against the tabletop and leaning against it. Your eyes flicker down to the eminent veins on his forearm, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I don't think that there is a theme this year or anything'."
You narrow your eyes at him, resting the watering can against the table. "Why are you telling me this?"
Sunghoon's eyes narrow, "Because. There's cursed objects so it's also a game of guessing. You have to get the right object."He states, rolling his eyes and taking the watering can you were using. "Anyway, the first task is that we have to receive an object from the centre of the field."
"Like Hunger Games?" You ask, pursing your lips together as he raising a questioning eyebrow, that awkward tension growing between you again. You watch him tender to the plans, making sure their bottoms and pots are filled with water. You slowly nod your head, "Okay… so do we get to use our wands?"
He nods his head, eyebrows raising as he slowly walks around the table. "Well, obviously "
"Where's the colosseum located?
His eyes gaze hardens, even though he's not looking at you, you see the way his shoulders tense up. "Somewhere in the forbidden forest. Right in the middle."
"How do we get there?"
"I don't know," he bites, lightly, his upper lip snearing, "They didn't say that." He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before tilting his head up look at you. "But, make sure you've practiced spells. It's going to be very… very difficult."
Cursed colosseum. Cursed objects. Grab the right one.
Well, that's easy in theory, isn't it?
Instead of doing your Arithmancy studies homework, you end up analysing the postcards Nicholas had sent you over the October break, making mental notes on random things he did and how he said he'd take you to this really good restaurant in Taiwan.
You've re-read the cards so much that you could probably forge his handwriting at that point.
Now, you stand in the middle of the Dark Forest, the fog wrapping around you and the rest of the contestants. The building stands tall, marble white and completely still.
Wind whips through your ponytailed hair, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to ignore the beady eyes of the crowd. A part of your mind tells you to stand tall and look proud, but right now, you're definitely regretting how little you practiced spells.
You palms are sweaty, having to regrip your wand in between them multiple times while praying to whatever God is out there that you won't die. The school won't allow you to die, but it's not impossible.
Cursed objects can mean anything. Hidden spells, a portkey… maybe it can just be a simple faux object and turn into dust as soon as you touch it. And that's what freaks you out because, what are you meant to retrieve?
Your thoughts are interrupted from a pinch on your arm, Sunghoon glancing over at you in signal to pay attention to Dumbledore's voice. Your posture straightens up, eyes widening as you look around.
"… Let the 126th Tri-Wizard games… begin!"
You and the rest of the contestants start running towards the grand building, static fuzz clouding your head as you take in the large, marble building. It's pillars as tall as a dragon, in width and in length.
You catch glimpses of the other contestants, seeing how the students from the opposing schools stand with tall postures and quick feet, not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your legs are already aching from how hard your feet are thumping against the ground and in the back of your mind you wish you took up more physical activities in school.
The grand building comes into view, it's doors glowing as if it was the gates to heaven. A static fuzz clouds in your head as you focus on actually getting inside.
It's a slim fit inside, yet you all make it and are greeted by six different floating parchment papers with each contestants names on them. Yrsa is the first to grab their name before Katerina follows close behind. You scan the papers before finding your name, running over to snatch the paper from the air, gasping at how cold to the touch the parchment is.
Your hands shake as you open it up, frustration growing inside as everyone else seems to have already opened them and ran to their positions.
You're given a map and some sort of poem written beneath it. The only key on the map? The watch placed in the middle of the arena. You notice that the more you stare at the buildings plan, you see how much it resembles the Coliseum in Rome— one side being broken off, the outer walls and another layer of walls inwards to show the different sections towards the seating arrangement and then the rubbled field where the Romans used to fight. And your object is smack bang in the field.
Your immediate thought is having to fight some Roman-Trojan-Hoarse-Soldier in honour to win. Until yours eyes flicker down to the poem.
"Your brother was a Monster Hunter, his bravery is listed in the categories of Gryffindors, Intelligence listen as a Ravenclaw and kindess listed as a Hufflepuff. Yet, his sly ambitious drove him to being a Slytherin.
But what happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?"
"What?" You call out, eyes widening before straightening up and looking around. Everyone else has already gone to find their own positions and you're stuck at the entrance. "Shit."
Your feet start to move again, staring down at the map as you follow it as best as possible to find the entrance to the arena. It seems like your luck is lifting as you easily find one, heading out into the dirt filled atmosphere. Inside of the colosseum is completely different— a dome of magic on the top of the colosseum to mimic that the sky is as bright as a Springs evening. For a moment you stand there, relishing in the peaceful feeling and looking around.
10 seconds slip by before you remember the task at hand, stepping further into the arena and glancing around. The last line of the poem ringing in your ears.
What happens when a Slytherin loses to one of it's kind?
The more you look and the further you walk, you can't find anything. Not even a tumbleweed. It's completely empty, yet the silence is ruined by the sound of banging coming from the second floor, flashes of white showcasing in a rhythmic pattern across the hallway, shadows dance and you wonder who could be up there.
Your peace is ruined when a low hum fills the arena, your goosebumps immediately rising, your eyes widening as a sudden pang of impending doom settles in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder to find the source of the sound and are met with a horrifying sight.
A large, barb-wired crate is being pulled by nothing across the dirt, way to small for the creature inside.
A Horned Serpant.
It's black, rippling scales contrast to the icy blue eyes that are locked onto your frozen figure, it's tongue flicking out with a blue crackle, the aura it holds is grander than you've ever seen and you're wondering if you should be taking the future route that you wish to take.
Your heart thumps in your chest, senses turning numb as tunnel vision sets in. It feels as if you're paralyzed, which you probably are. Your brain hardly processes the cage door snapping open at the Serpant slinking out onto the dirt, it's animalistic eyes watching it's pray.
You.
It slips closer, tongue flicking out dangerously before letting out an angered huff. Is this even allowed? To have such a dangerous creature on the school grounds? How are you going to defeat it? Your body moves quicker than your mind, wand flicking out as you shout "Arresto Momentum!" Slowly the creature down for the next couple minutes as you think of what to do, your feet moving you backwards as you hold your wand up in front of you.
You wrack your brain on trying to find spells to win and gain the object you need.
The poem comes to front, eyebrows furrowing as you slowly start to understand what it said. Your brother was an Auror, 10 years older than you and definitely more of a Slytherin than you ever have been. In your second year, he passed away in a fight against a beast— which you've now connected as a Horned Serpant.
Shit, if an Auror can't win, how can you?
You speak more spells, throwing them out like flies buzzing around food like a pest. "Alarte Ascendare! Bombarda! Bombrarda Maxima!"
You weren't harming the sepant at all, just pushing them back so you could run away. You feel like an animal, the colosseum doing it's job at placing you in the spotlight. Your breathing eradicates, panic rising inside as your hands shake. Your wand slowly starts to slip out of your hold, the sweat creating a slippery slope inside your palm and you struggle to keep in it hold.
Actually, you struggle not to even fall over in the first place.
It takes you back to when you were young, the familiar neighbourhood streets clouding your surroundings as your older brother balances you on your bike; pink and purple with white streaks that remind you of unicorn hair.
He gently pushes you down the foot path as your hands are constantly readjusting your grip on the bike handles, small whines falling from your lips when he pushes too fast. "Otho!" You cry, lifting your legs off the pedals. "This isn't fair! You're going too fast!"
Otho scoffs behind you, coming to a halt and leaning over your shoulder to look at you properly, his golden brown hair falling infront of his face. He clicks his tongue before replying, "You're don't trust me, do you? You can't push the bike unless you place your feet on the pedals. Here."
He places your bike stand down and continues to hold you when your body tilts to the side, ignoring the annoyed sound of his name from you. "Place your feet on the pedals and just push them, spin them around. Go, have a try."
You looked up at him with an annoyed expression, blochy tears welling in your eyes with frustration as you look down at the pedals again. You pursed your lips together, placing your feet back on the pink, sparkly pedals and slowly starting to spin them, getting used to the feeling all over again.
"See? It's not that bad." He mused, slowly tilting the bike up and kicking the bike stand to the side once more. "Now, do that and I'll push."
You follow his instructions, turning the pedals as he pushes behind you, soon enough, your expression brightens and you gain more confidence. You glance over you shoulder to find him, only to be met with him standing a few metres away with his hands on his hips and a fond expression. Panic flashes through your features as you turn forward again, millions of questions going through your mind as you try to calm down.
You remember how your hands started shaking and your breathing wouldn't calm down, how you felt those hot, wet tears drip down your face and pool against your collarbones. But, you also remember the feeling of freedom and control you eventually gained, being able to turn the bike around and starting your decent back to your brother.
"Otho! Otho!" You cry, a huge grin on your features, "I did it!"
That feeling of freedom is something that you miss, becuase now, as you stand infront of this beast, any rational thought besides 'what would Otho do?' run through your mind.
What would Otho do?
Otho would run straight ahead, no plan or initiative besides to win.
With whatever confidence you have left, your hand grips your wand again, feeling the distincitve, original dents of the wood press into your palm. Your feet plant themselves on the ground and you get ready for what's to happen.
Three seconds of silence past before the serpent makes the first move, lunging forward with a loud cry which you deter with your wand, throwing the creature to the side. You circle around it, keeping your face locked onto the beast. The movement is repeated, the creature lunging with a war cry until it gives up. Anger rests on it's features, it's tongue flicking out hotter and fast along with the small puffs of smoke falling from it's nostrils.
A stream of fire slips from it's mouth as it lunges closer, nipping you on the ankle as you step away, Stupefy! calling from your mouth as you push it further away.
Your skin burns in agony, the burn quickly spreading as if you were bitten by a venomous snake. A sickness in your stomach forms and you hold your abdomen with both arms as you look down. Your shoe was burned off along with your sock, in place sits a nasty burn… almost as if your ankle was disintergrating rapidly.
Taking deep breaths, you find some confidence. "Expulso!" Air rushes to your head as you look up, seeing the creature lay flat on the ground. You limp towards the serpant, trying to control your breathing as everything becomes difficult to see. The pain spreads up your leg, your stomach twists as you fight the urge to throw up every condement you've eaten in the past 12 hours.
You watch as the breathing slowly dies down and it lays lifeless on the floor.
…
What?
Was that it?
You were quite lucky that day, you came fourth. Which sounds bad, right? But you also ended up with a date to the Yule Ball in a month's time along with a sick scar on your ankle.
A month away. But not enough time to find a dress apparently, because a week from the ball, you're standing at a dress shop in Hogsmeade, eyebrows furrowed as you gently twist your body.
Your friend, Ruka, sits on a small couch, a notebook on her lap and twirling a lollipop around in her mouth. She's apart of Slytherin, but she has entirely different efforts than what you do, so you hardly see her.
Her upper lip snarls, looking you up and down as you try on the corset tight, light-yellow dress. "I love you, for who you are," she says, leaning forward, "But yellow is not your colour. Go back to like the warm tones."
"This is a warm tone."
"Yeahhh…" she drawls, dragging her voice to a higher pitch in contemplation, "But like, the red and the pinks match your skin tone so much better."
"Ugh, this is useless," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and taking in a deep breath before stepping down from the stool and heading back into the dressing room. "Find me another red or pink dress. Make it pretty. Actually— keep it as red because that's the tie that Nicholas will wear."
"Oh, Nicholas," Ruka says, her tone mocking. She stands from the couch with a groan, popping the lollipop back into her mouth as she strides to the rack of red dresses. "Well, there's this one dress, it's quite nice."
"Give it to me."
Three seconds later, you're swapping dress bags through the dressing room curtain. The dress is quite beautiful, the colour a rich crimson masterpiece that blends gothic elegance and fantasy. Crafted from velvet and layered satin, it features a sculpted sweetheart bodice adorned with cascading gemstone chains, pearls, and teardrop jewels that glimmer like enchanted armor. The high-low skirt flows in dramatic, asymmetrical layers, embellished with oversized roses, ribbons, and delicate beaded strands. The ethereal dress is fit for a queen, a villina, or a magical heroine.
It fits you perfectly.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, genty sliding your hands down your body and admiring the way it fits your curves so astoundingly amazing. "Ruka," you gasp, your voice the softest as it's been all weekend, opening the dressing room curtain and stepping out.
She stares at you from the couch, analysing the way it looks on your body, and the beautiful waves of layered satin. "It's beautiful," she breathes, a wide grin growing on her face. "It's perfect! Oh, Nicholas is going to love it, ugh!"
You feel your cheeks heat up, heading back to the stool in the mirror of the room to gain a proper look for yourself. "It's not just for Nicholas," you murmur, twisting your body gently in admiration. "It's for me, it's my second Yule ball and my first Yule ball with a date."
"Aka: it's for Nicholas."
Your nerves settle into your bones as you stop at the top of the staircase, the Great Hall doors sit at the bottom and there are a few other couples lingering around the corridor.
You're unsure if you should even go down the steps, maybe even just not go to the Yule Ball, what're the odds Nicholas isn't even here?
"Nervous?" A voice mutters beside you, causing your head to whip to the side in surprise. Sunghoon stands next to you, adjusting the cuffs to his dark-navy coloured suit set. His hair is slicked back and you can see his face more clearly now that his glasses are no where to be seen. "Is it because you're wearing the colours of a Gryffindor?"
Your lips purse together at his snarky remark, trying not to furrow your brows in an attempt to not ruin your make up. "I suppose so," you reply, keeping your voice levelled and letting out a long sigh. "I don't know where he is yet."
"I was waiting for Nicholas to ask you out," he voiced, "He's been fidgeting about it since late September."
"So you knew— at the green house— that he was going to ask me out?"
"Well… I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
You hum, letting silence engulf the two of you. You scan the corridor once more before feeling a hand rest on your waist, a presence on the other side of your body. "Hey," Nicholas whispers, giving a light squeeze to your waist. "Ready to dance?"
You blush, turning your head towards him with a gentle smile on your face. You don't need to speak, seemlessly stepping down the staircase and keeping your body close to his.
His large, warm hand rests on your waist, the other gently grabbing a hold of your hand. The size difference is ridiculously obvious, and you find yourself giggling, ignoring his curious looks.
"What is it?" He whispers, voice as smooth as honey. Loud enough that you can hear it over the music. The hand on your waist slowly slides to your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Your feet step in box-like unision, a graceful dance fit for any slow-dance occasion. You shake your head, dismissing him and glancing away. "Nothing. I'm… enjoying this. That's all."
One of his eyebrows lift, his smile softening as both of his arms embrace your waist, his forehead knocks against yours and the brush of your noses has your heart rate spiking.
"Didn't think Slytherin's would enjoy such romantic encounters."
Your scoff falls on dead ears as he continues to dance with you, soft, murmured conversations and jabs when he messes up a step. Ever so often, Nicholas spins you around, ignoring your protests when he does that dramatic dip. The ever lasting thoughts of his large hands never leave your mind, along with the delicious scent of his cologne and the simmering tension between your bodies.
When you mention how the heels make your feet ache, Nicholas gently wisks you away from the dance floor, letting out a gentle sigh and pulling you towards the champions table. "I'll get us something to drink," he asks, turning your body to face him. His large hands rest comfortably against your waist, a warmth spreading through your body. "Pumpkin juice sound okay?"
You nod your head, gently patting his cheek softly and pinching the skin, "Pumpkin juice sounds perfect." He laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your plam before disappearing into the swarm of the students. You let out a sigh, taking a seat and gently resting your elbows on your knees, your smiling face resting into your manicured hands.
You can't stop the giddy feeling that continues to pulse through your chest, your heart pounding erratically and a warmth settles into your neck and cheeks. You sit patiently as you wait for Nicholas to come back, flickering through everything that happened to get you into this position. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn you'd probably still be a grumpy sap that didn't even think about attending the Yule Ball.
Not only did you willing try and find a dress to impress a Gryffindor. In the seven years you've been at Hogwarts, you've despised them, narrowing your eyes at them, throwing them dirty looks, ignoring the younger students when they ask you a question— a part of you is suprised you even became a Prefect in the first place but then you think back to all the extracurriculars and classes that you've taken and instead you feel a sense of pride.
God, he's really influenced you these past four months hasn't he? How embarrassing.
You continue to wait, eventually growing restless as multiple songs seem to pass and the dance floor residents start to disappear, a growing concern etching onto your features. You rise to your feet, grabbing your hand bag and wincing at the pain of the heels, you start to make your way towards where you assume the food and drink table is.
Multiple choices of food and large bowls of punch and juice decorate the white sheeted table, a few people lingering with drinks in their hands but there seems to be no Nicholas. You glance around the space, a voice in the back of your head whispering that he's probably on the dancefloor or was forced into awkward conversation with teachers. Lucky enough, Jay seems to appear out of thin air beside you, quietly excusing himself as he grabs a few tarts.
"Hey, Jay," you ask, turning towards him, "Have you seen Nicholas?"
The ravenclaw stiffens up for a moment, a tart halfway to his lips before straightening his posture, running his hand through his slick backed hair. "Uh, not since the start of the night. Last time I saw him, he was heading down the Astronomy Tower corridor."
A pang of confusion shifts inside your throat, a wrinkle between your eyebrows deepening whilst you nod your head, giving him a small wave in dismissal. He watches as you step around him, heading out of the Great Hall's beautiful atmosphere and into the gloomy, dark halls of Hogwarts.
What you didn't know, was that there was someone else watching you— perfectly manicured nails messing with his cufflinks as he follows close behind you.
Your heels click against the cobble stone floors, your hands balling into fists as you keep your head held up high with determination. 'Maybe, he needed air', you tell yourself, taking in deep breaths as you swiftly trek through the dimly lit halls, your shoulders slowly becoming more tense. 'Everyone needs some air.'
You eventually arrive at the staircase of the astronomy tower, quickly catching your breath and glancing over at the windows. The night is dark, yet the stars still shine bright, bringing a comforting feeling to your chest.
Your pollished nails rests against the stair rail as you slowly ascend, your head tilted up to watch the way the staircase swirls in a spiral, your heart beating erratically. "Nicholas?" you call out, your voice sounding shriller than usual.
Once your head reaches the point that you can look over the railing, you diligently scan the surroundings, ignoring the beautiful star-lit sky, the moonlight shining downwards and illuminating the top floor as you step up the last two steps. Your head immediately drifts to the right, your eyes zoning onto the sight of Nicholas's back. And someone's arms that wrap around his neck.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you slowly process what's happening before your eyes.
Nicholas has Isa caged against the wall, his hands exploring around her dress coated waist as their lips are locked together into a passionate kiss. You watch as Nicholas pulls back a little to mumble something against her lips, their giggles filling the empty space and breaking your heart even further.
They continue to kiss, completely unaware of your brooding presence. As if Nicholas wasn't just with you, placing gentle kisses to your palm and temple, as if you weren't just dancing like you were the only people in the space.
You feel your heart break even more, a sense of dread washing over you and your stomach hollows, evicting the feelings you grew for the boy. Feelings. You grew feelings for Nicholas Wang, the Gryffindor Prefect.
Oh, Merlin... you might throw up.
You quickly turn on your heel, stepping down the staircase as quick as possible, trying not to trip as a pool of tears fill your water line, catching the essence of mascara and eyeline; threatening to waterfall down your cheeks. Your posture hunches over as you keep your eyes on your heels, biting your lower lip to stop the sobs. You're not sure where you walk, you pass by other students, feeling the way they stare at your sopping wet cheeks, the make up that accompanies it and how it ruins your features.
Your feet take you to the ground floor of Hogwarts, stepping out into the court yard after snatching the damned heels off your feet. You take in a deep breath, welcoming the outside air as your body guides you toward the Black Lake, the ground beneath you changing from grass to cobble stone to mud.
You take a slow lap around the lake, finding where it meets the clearer parts of the forest and sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. You chuck your shoes to the side, your handbag flopping off of your shoulder and onto the wood surface next to you. You lean forward, resting your face in your hands, finally letting out a quiet sob, the hidden emotions from before revealing themself to no one.
You cry for as long as you remember; mind too caught up with the current emotions that fuel the sting in your eyes and the ache all around your head. As you watch the twinkling lake, you pull some make up wipes out of your bag, wiping away what make up you didn't cry off. Your sniffles fill the air alongside the chirping crickets, you try to make sense of what time it is, the pounding in your head and the caustic sting of your eyelids everytime you blink brings a constant reminder of the heartbreak you face.
The arduous headache drowns out your surrounding awareness, not even registering the footsteps that squelch in the thick mud or the silhoutte that emerges from the forest behind you. He groans as he sits down, his posture casual as he speaks.
"Nicholas didn't work out then, huh?"
Your hands move to your lap, balling into a tight fist and clenching your jaw. "Don't come here just to make my night worse, Sunghoon." You growl, tilting your head back down with your eyes closed, placing your face in your hands.
"Headache?"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying, with how long you were crying for—"
"Go away!" You shout, suddenly standing and looking down at him, anger flaring in your eyes. The powerful tone echoed in the night, a tensed silence filling the air shortly after. Sunghoon holds your narrowed eyes, his features one of relaxation, a stark contrast to the strong wave of emotions that continue to wash over you. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. I am not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight."
That silence lingers, pushing at your shoulders, a claustrophobic feeling wrapping around your neck. It's either here or one of the Green House's, and you're not willing to get caught after hours.
You take in a few deep breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself down. Your hands run down your face and you turn to find your purse and shoes, choosing the option to leave. You grab your purse from the log and head to the direction where you threw your shoes, a small thought of ruining such an expensive pair floats through your mind, something to think instead of whatever panic or… overwhelming emotion you're dealing with. But it quickly diminishes as your fingers meet the strap of your heels, Sunghoon's voice filling the air.
"Ningning and I had an argument. And, she broke up with me."
You pause, staring down at the muddied shoes with widened eyes before snapping out of it and looking over your shoulder at him. "So? Is that supposed to be my problem?"
"I saw Isa walk up to Nicholas at the drinks table," he continues, watching you with a calm expression over his features. His voice stays levelled, like nothing is bothering him. As if his girlfriend didn't just break up with him. "He passed her the drink, said something along the lines of 'I was about to look for you,' then he was getting dragged out of the hall by her. When I left the hall after Ningning, I saw you pushing past everyone, all sad and moping."
"Are you going to tell me all along that Nicholas didn't even like me? Because that's what it feels like."
He shakes his head, gesturing to the empty space where you sat before, patting the tree trunk before turning to watch the Black Lake. "No. That would be pushing my emotions on to you. Which isn't fair."
"What do you know about being fair?" You grumble to yourself, walking back over and plopping yourself down with a tired huff. You slouch back over, your knees pressed together as your fingers pick at the polish on your nails.
Silence accompanies the both of you, a comforting feeling despite the shared stiffness and heartbreak of the night. Even if it is Park Sunghoon. You glance up at him, your eyelashes fluttering before shifting to the moon in the sky, the way it reflects on the lake's surface. You speak, your voice hardly above a whisper.
"I don't think red is my colour anyway."
He stiffles a laugh, "No, it brings out your rosacea."
…
"Fuck you."
You spend the last week of December in Diagon Alley, in and out of the Ministry as you took you Apparition exam. Which, you passed with flying colours; holding a license for it— as expected.
You and Sunghoon hadn't spoken since that night. You've avoided that Gryffindor as well.
You waited till Matthew was back from Winter break before telling him— someone who doesn't already know. It spread like wildfire, the Slythering Prefect getting her heart broken by a Gryffindor Prefect. How many times does a Slytherin get their heart broken throughout the schooling years? None. Because they're not supposed to let someone in, they're not going to break down their walls for someone as arrogant as a Gryffindor.
At least you've made some history.
Because now? The news has spread into the Daily Prophet. Apparently, teenage love stories are a hit for adult wizards and witches because both you and Sunghoon have made the front page!
You sit in the Slytherin common room, staring down at the moving image of you moving to sit back next to Sunghoon with your muddied shoes and disheveled expression. You didn't even notice someone else was there— but then again, you didn't know that Sunghoon was there in the first place.
Your fingers tightly bunch the paper, eyebrows furrowed as you read the article out loud. "The pair was seen sitting on one of the fallen tree logs, an understanding between the two as their hearts were broken the night of the Yule Ball," Your teeth grit together, anger coursing through your veins, "Sources close to the Hogwarts faculty have stated their natural rivalry since their fourth year… it appears these duelling rivals have start to soften?! Who wrote this shit? What the hell?!"
Matthew and Ricky snicker beside you, snatching the paper out of your hands, your misery is somewhat amusing to the two of them. They let out a drawled 'ahh…' as if they're reading something enciting. "On the crisp moonlight evening of December 25th…" Ricky mocks, "It seems the fire of rivalry isn't the only thing burning beneath the surface! My gosh, you never mentioned this? Should we start to befriend all of the Ravenclaw's?"
"Shut up," you grit, hands clenching into fists with a new found annoyance, "That is not what happened, and you know that."
The pair roll their eyes, continuing to read over the paper with a dramatic flair, their eyebrows raising and their voices raising in pitch before they get too tired and their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.
You turn back to the insignificant report you were working on, muttering under your breath and writing as fast as possible till one of the boys snatch the quill from your hand, gaining your attention once more. "Hey, does your boyfriend know about this?"
Boyfriend.
Nicholas is not your boyfriend.
"I don't care if he does or not," You say, stealing the quill back and dipping it back into its ink, you go to write again before charming it to write itself. You turn back to the boys, taking in a deep breath which warns the pair of what's to come.
You ignore their groans and continue talking. "I am almost 17 years old, I am not letting a Gryffindor ruin my self esteem so young in my life. You know what's funny? He wanted to be three different sub genre's of an Auror. An Auror— obviously — an Aurorlogist and a mother fucking Auror Comissioner. There is no way he would've been able to do all that. Even Jay doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, he wants to be a fucking Director of Magical Security. At least he can actually get somewhere with that!"
"And how did you find that out?"
"Nicholas told me."
The two blink at you, a bored expression on their face before Ricky speaks up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. "So… you and Nicholas are officially done, yet everything you talk about is stuff that he's told you?" He asks, "You know, you're not as smart as you used to be. I seriously thought that you had serious connections to find things."
"I do!" You bark, feeling a twinge of annoyance. You know he's doing it on purpose to get under you skin and it is working. "Sunghoon told me a few things as well—"
"Here we go with the Ravenclaw's again, I swear you have an obsession—"
"—I do not! They just somehow manage to find their way towards me in a gravitational pull—"
"That's what you're believing? A gravitational pull?"
"Okay okay!" Matthew interrupts, placing his hand in between you two as if breaking up a physical fight. "Any more yelling and you would've broken the damn ink bottle. Right, go." He gestures towards you to continue your rant, making your small pout disappear.
"Anyway, Nicholas is—" You start, shooting a small glare at Ricky, "—Officially out of the picture. Completely. If he wants to date Isa again then that's fine."
"You know what's funny? Nicholas and Isa never dated to begin with, they're just horny."
You almost smacked that god forsaken smirk off of Ricky's annoying face.
Hogwarts postal room smelt of loose owl feathers and their droppings. You sit at one of the tables, writing to your mother about the past events. She told you not to write to her unless you actually got passed the first event of the Triwizard tournament. The letter was obnoxiously long, mainly complaints about the boys in your year and how you almost charmed them all to have no voice box.
Just as you finish tying the notes to the foot of your family's owl, someone else steps inside of the Owlery. You quickly pack up your things, turning around to escape that awkward silence before being stopped in your tracks by a tall figure in Gryffindor robes.
Oh no.
"Hey," the familiar voice speaks, stepping in front of you as you try to step around, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Come on, just two seconds please. I want to apologise."
"I don't want to hear whatever dumb apology you have," You retort, pursing your lips together and shrugging your shoulders out of his grip. "I need to go."
"No, Y/N—" He retorts, a small groan falling from his lips, "Come on, please. Listen to me- hey, listen. Please?"
You stare up at him with an annoyed scowl, your hands clenching the strap of your book bag. This is the first time he's spoken to you since the Yule Ball. Rumours have spread and Isa has the smugest look on her face every time you two pass.
"You have two minutes."
He lets our a sigh of relief, staring down at you with a small smile before realising how he's letting time slip. "Uh, you—" he stutters, his hands making gestures you're unaware of. He suddenly takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes before looking back at you with a sorrow expresssion.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Babe, I just—"
"Y/N."
"Yeah, right, sorry. I just… I've told you all about how Isa and I are on and off and she came up to me while we were at the punch bar, talking about how it's sad I had a date and she didn't, and then we just started talking about everything and the tournament and… she told me she was so worried for me. And everything came rushing back and I've seriously just missed her. I'm so sorry. I know, I shouldn't have like played you like that, or whatever, but Isa has always been in my line of sight."
Your features harden, all you're hearing is excuses and Isa. IsaIsaIsa.
"Please say something." He whispers.
You shake your head, letting out a sigh and turning your face away. "I'm not sure what you would like me to say, Nicholas. It's clear that I was just a distraction while Isa was off toying with some other guy."
"Isa does not go toy off with other guys," He retorts, his voice louder than before, more defensive.
"Yes, she does. I'm not sure if you've notice but her and Jaeyun have gotten real close these past few weeks. As soon as she realises you're going to lose the tournament, she knows that she can't swing on your arm like the trophy wife that she wants to be." Your jaw clenches and you straighten your posture, standing up straight with a look of determination. "I am not going to be your side piece while you wait around for Isa to come running back to you and suck your tiny dick."
You feel a sense of embarrassment with how immature that last line was but, you don't care, walking around him and ignoring his retorts as you head down the stair case.
And it's like the universe is trying to make your life worse because halfway down the steps you're stopped by a familiar Ravenclaw. What's next? Dumbledore?
"What is it?" You say, the scowl still present on your face. He stands two steps below you, his hair pushed back and his glasses are folded over the collar of his robes. The light from the windows shine down over him and his skin looks fucking fabulous. "Oh, Merlin— you are such a pain!"
"I haven't even said anything." He retorts, his thick brows furrowing softly as he takes another step up. He ridiculously reaches your hight despite you being a step higher, causing your lips to purse into a straight line. "I'm just heading up the owlery. I saw Nicholas coming up before, have you spoken to him?"
"Have you seen the Daily Mail?"
"Of course, I've seen it."
You stare at him, expecting him to say something else, your expression one of accusation. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"They're making us seem like we're dating, Sunghoon! The Yule Ball apparently bought us together like we're fated lovers or something," You bite, your brow furrowing, watching as he takes another step up . Your head tilts back as he looks down at you, his nonchalance radiating off of him. "Don't act like you don't care! People are going to— if The Ministry isn't going to let us work in the same department if we're dating."
"Yes, they will. That's how my parents met."
"We're not your parents though, are we?!"
"No, but we're in love."
What the fuck did he just say? He reads your expression which is as clear as day, one of complete disgust, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in close and moving you to the side in case anyone comes up and down the staircase. "It's for both of our benefits, okay?" He whispers, glancing over his shoulder, "You and Nicholas—"
"Nicholas and I are done."
"Sure, whatever, he said that about he and Isa and yet here you are…" He brings his hand up, pointing at you square in the chest, pushing against your body and making you swat his hand down, "In the middle of their business. If you get in the middle of Ning and I's business, then it'll cause a publicity stunt. More people will watch because of the fated lovers triangle in the tournament. Poor, young souls… fighting to become the best."
He drags on, his finger moving from your chest to the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up so you're eye level. He leans down, making you flinch but his hand holds your chin to keep you in place, his other hand resting on the back of your head so you don't bang it against the wall behind you. "Just do this… for both of us."
"I'm not going to get anything out of this. You get Ning and Nicholas will get Isa."
"That's where you're wrong," he bites softly, tilting his head and nudging his nose against yours. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but if either you or I win, then we could… you know."
"I'm not kissing you."
"You will kiss me, it's necessary because Nicholas will see and he'll come to you."
"Nicholas can fuck off to Narnia for all I care!"
Speaking of the devil, his voice echoes down the staircase, making you freeze unlike Sunghoon who keeps his eyes locked on you. "He's calling for you, he can hear you speaking to me." He murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Now's our time to practice."
He doesn't let you speak, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. It was unsure at first, neither of you expected to be kissing each other at some point in your life, but here you are. You take a few seconds to acknowledge it before closing your eyes shut and tilting your head to deepen it, your hands holding onto his robes tightly.
"I'm going to kill you if… if anyone but Nicholas sees…" You murmur in between kisses which have grown into a heated mess. Sunghoon's hands grip your waist and your hands move to wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours. "I'm going to kill you."
His tongue swipes against your lower lip, hands rubbing up and down your sides in earnest. "Don't worry… he's already seen." He whispers back, smirking against your lips and chuckling at the way you hesitate before leaning right back in. "That's it, baby…"
Embarrassment. Ashamed. Flustered. Abashed.
All four of these currently describe what you're feeling even a week later after your very heavy make out session with Sunghoon in the Owerly staircase.
You didn't even hear Nicholas walk past while you were kissing, and you didn't even know Sunghoon slipped a piece of paper into your robes until you washed them later that night.
Nicholas has ignored you completely, but Sunghoon decides he enjoys being bold with you, grabbing your hand as you pass each other, tapping your shoulder to trick you, sitting next to you in class. It feels like he's the only one enjoying this, but you're making no move to stop.
It gives an advantage for you to stare at his lips and be able to day dream in potions class. Half-wishful thinking.
The crumbled piece of paper rests in your lap, the words are a small explanation of the next challenge of the tournament that is officially in three weeks. You've re-read over his perfect handwriting for the nth time that hour.
Think of it as you're a detective. If you haven't noticed already, which you obviously haven't, the stairwell near the Gryffindor common room has started losing it's paintings. These paintings are significant to history, and they will be asking questions. Not sure what the jest is, yet, but make sure to study as much as possible.
— P.S
Study as much as possible. You haven't, but you can always try. Maybe.
taglist: @saraabbas @kristynaaah
work rights to Nishirikies! Please do not repost to other websites and/or applications.
₊ ୧ 𝓖ENRE:
↳ supernatural romance · angst · slow burn · tension-filled love triangle
. ↳ 𝓟ARING:
↳ vampire!jake × fem!reader × wolf!nicholas
⦂𓈃 𝓦ARNINGS/𝓣AGS:
↳ supernatural violence and tension, emotional intensity, possessive behavior, jealousy, obsession themes, vampire and wolf instincts, partial shifts and loss of control, near-physical confrontation, protective aggression, supernatural bond pain, moon-voice guidance, anxiety, heartbreak, arguments, reader caught between two supernatural love interests, heightened sensory reactions, heavy romantic tension, intense kissing, fear/safety conflict, guilt, emotional vulnerability, supernatural lore reveals, reader overwhelmed by conflicting feelings, stalking (non-threatening), territorial behavior, and dramatic confrontations in dark or isolated settings.
┊❛ ❜┊𝓢YNOPSIS:
↳ Crescent Ridge looks normal on the surface, but the town is split between two ancient forces who’ve hated each other for centuries. vampires who follow strict old rules and wolves who protect what they claim with teeth and instinct. you’re just a human girl trying to live a quiet life – until a storm brings jake, an uninvited vampire with eyes that burn for you, and nicholas, the warm-blooded wolf who’s been watching over you longer than you realize. both want you for reasons they won’t explain. both refuse to back down. and without meaning to, you become the center of a supernatural rivalry that’s been waiting generations to reignite. two creatures. one heartbeat. and a town that’s no longer safe the moment they both notice you.
⦂𓈃 𝓦/𝓒:
↳ 5498
ෆ ･ 𝓛INKS: PART ONE! PART TWO! PART THREE!
. ↳𝓜.LIST! & 𝓣AGLIST!
₊ ୧𝓐/𝓝: 😜
jake didn’t show up for three nights. no storm outside your window. no cold breeze slipping under your door. no red eyes watching from the tree line. nothing. the moon felt quieter. nichos’s bond felt louder. and your heart felt… unsteady. like one half kept drifting toward a shadow that refused to come back. on the fourth night, you couldn’t sleep. you left your house and walked toward campus under streetlights humming like dying stars. fall leaves scattered around your feet. you told yourself you weren’t looking for him. you were lying. and then, the air shifted behind you.
cold. sharp. ancient.
you turned slowly. jake stood under a lamp post, hands in his pockets, hair falling into his eyes, looking like regret carved into a boy’s body. for a moment, neither of you spoke. then he exhaled shakily.
j: “you shouldn’t be out alone.”
you stepped closer.
you: “you’ve been avoiding me.”
his throat bobbed.
j: “i was giving you space.”
you huffed a tiny laugh.
you: “that’s a first.”
jake finally met your eyes. you weren’t ready for how he looked, ruined. tired. like he hadn’t fed. like he hadn’t slept. like he’d been trying to hold himself together and failing on every front. he took one more step toward you, voice barely audible.
j: “i didn’t want to see you choose him.”
your breath caught. you whispered.
you: “i haven’t chosen anyone.”
jake’s eyes flickered red, then softened into something warm, tender, almost painful.
j: “then why does it feel like i’m already losing?”
you swallowed.
you: “because you left.”
he blinked, surprised.
j: “you noticed?”
you let out a shaky breath.
you: “jake… the bond isn’t one-sided.”
he closed his eyes, chest rising like you’d just knocked the air out of him. he stepped close enough that his cold fingers brushed yours. barely there, but enough to make your pulse skip. jake heard it. he always heard it.
j: “don’t do that.”
you frowned.
you: “do what?”
j: “look at me like that. it makes it worse.”
your voice softened.
you: “worse for who?”
he laughed once, quietly, brokenly.
j: “me. because i want you more than anything i’ve wanted in a century.”
your heart jumped. jake inhaled sharply like the sound pulled him closer. his hand lifted. slow, gentle. hovering right above your cheek without touching.
j: “can i?”
you whispered:
you: “yes.”
he cupped your face with cold fingers that warmed instantly against your skin. you didn’t pull away. if anything… you leaned into him. jake froze at that, like he didn’t know what to do with the softness, the closeness, the fact that you weren’t terrified of him or pushing him away.
j: “you don’t know what this does to me.”
you: “then tell me.”
he swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours.
j: “i’ve loved before. but i’ve never… belonged to someone.”
your breath hitched.
j: “i think i belong to you.”
your heart thudded so loud you were sure he could feel it. nicho’s bond tugged faintly at your chest. warm, steady, familiar. but jake’s bond? it pulled like a tide. slow. consuming. inevitable. and for the first time, you didn’t fight it. you whispered.
you: “then let me see the real you.”
jake’s eyes widened.
j: “you wouldn’t want that.”
you: “i’m still asking.”
he searched your face, something vulnerable breaking through centuries of control. then he stepped back just enough, tilting his head. the red in his eyes deepened. the shadows bent toward him. the air chilled. his fangs lengthened. not threatening, but intimate, like showing you something no one else got to see. you didn’t flinch. jake’s voice shook.
j: “you’re not afraid.”
you moved closer.
you: “i’m not.”
he let out a breath he didn’t need, your foreheads nearly touching.
j: “angel… if you choose me… i will ruin myself trying to love you right.”
your chest tightened. you whispered.
you: “jake… i’m starting to—”
he froze suddenly, eyes flicking past you. you turned. nicho stood at the edge of the path. shirtless. chest rising fast. eyes golden, not angry. hurt. so hurt your knees almost buckled just looking at him. jake stepped instinctively in front of you. nicho let out a low, broken sound.
n: “you chose him.”
your breath shook.
you: “i didn’t—”
n: “you didn’t have to.”
jake’s posture stiffened. nicho’s entire body trembled. you were caught between them again, but this time jake felt closer. nichos bond tugged. jake’s bond pulled. your choice wasn’t made yet, but tonight? tonight you felt yourself drifting toward the boy with red eyes and shaking hands who looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. and nicho knew it. nicho didn’t say another word. he just… turned around. the way his shoulders dropped, the way his steps dragged, the way he didn’t look back even once. it felt like the moon itself dimmed. you opened your mouth to call out, but jake’s hand closed around your wrist, gentle but firm. you looked up at him. he looked wrecked.
j: “don’t chase him.”
your throat tightened.
you: “jake—”
j: “please.”
he said it quietly, like it hurt. nicho disappeared into the dark. and you didn’t follow. your legs shook, adrenaline fading, emotions crashing all at once. jake stepped closer, voice soft:
j: “come here.”
you didn’t even think. your body moved on its own, stepping into him. his hands rose slowly, cupping your elbows like you might break if he held you too tightly. for a moment he just stared at you, searching your face like he didn’t trust what he saw.
j: “you chose me tonight.”
you: “jake… i didn’t pick anyone.”
he huffed a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all.
j: “angel, you leaned into me.”
you opened your mouth, closed it again. he was right. your heartbeat tripped. jake inhaled like it fed him.
j: “let me heal your arm.”
you lowered your gaze.
you: “nicho said—”
j: “i know what he said.”
jake gently took your injured wrist. his cold fingers brushed the dried blood, and you swore your knees threatened to buckle.
j: “it’s still hurting you.”
your voice cracked.
you: “a little.”
he lifted your arm to his mouth. you froze.
j: “not with a bite. with venom. it closes wounds.”
you: “will it hurt?”
j: “no. it’ll feel… warm.”
he looked up through his lashes, waiting. when you nodded, jake’s expression softened like you’d just handed him something sacred. he brought your arm closer. his lips brushed your skin. light, careful, reverent. you inhaled sharply. jake stilled.
j: “did that hurt?”
you: “no.”
j: “…then i’ll keep going.”
he kissed the scrape. slow, warm for a vampire, his breath fanning over your skin. the sensation spread up your arm like fire, then soothed into something molten, addictive, terrifying in the best way. your fingers trembled.jake whispered against your skin:
j: “you’re shaking.”
you: “you’re… close.”
his lips paused.
j: “do you want me to step back?”
you swallowed.
you: “no.”
jake’s eyes fluttered closed, like that one syllable melted something centuries old in him. he pressed one last kiss to the wound. your skin healed under his mouth. warm, prickling, then gone. you stared.
you: “it’s… it’s completely healed.”
jake finally let your arm go, but not your gaze.
j: “i told you i’d take care of you.”
your chest tightened.
j: “and i don’t want tonight to end like that.”
you: “like what?”
he hesitated, stepping closer. so slowly you could’ve counted each breath he didn’t need to take.
j: “like he’s the only one who can make you feel safe.”
your heart stumbled.
j: “come with me.”
you blinked.
you: “where?”
j: “somewhere quiet. somewhere i can show you what i am without scaring you.”
you hesitated for half a second. then nodded. jake’s relief was visible, like the tension bled from his shoulders all at once. he reached for your hand. he didn’t grab it. he waited. you placed your fingers in his palm. his breath caught.
j: “thank you.”
and he led you toward the edge of campus, lights flickering overhead as if something ancient had just shifted in your favor, or against you. you weren’t sure yet. but jake? jake looked like he already knew. and he wasn’t letting go of your hand. not tonight. not now that he finally had a chance. jake didn’t bring you somewhere cliché. no graveyard, no abandoned mansion, no spooky forest path. instead… he led you to the roof of the old humanities building. quiet. empty. washed in moonlight. he didn’t let go of your hand the whole way up. when you stepped onto the roof, wind brushing your hair back, jake finally spoke. quiet, nervous, almost boyish.
j: “it’s safe here. no council. no wolves.”
you flinched at that last part. jake definitely noticed. he sat on the edge of the rooftop, patting the spot next to him. you sat. close, but not touching. he stared at you for a long moment, like memorizing your face hurt and comforted him all at once.
j: “you’re warm. even from here.”
you tried to smile.
you: “how far can you feel me from?”
jake swallowed, looking away.
j: “miles.”
your breath hitched.
you: “jake…”
he dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself.
j: “i’m trying not to scare you. i swear.”
you: “you’re not.”
he huffed a laugh.
j: “that’s exactly what scares me.”
you turned to him fully.
you: “jake… show me?”
he froze.
j: “show you what?”
you: “all of it.”
his breath stuttered, like no one had ever asked that. like no one had ever wanted to see what he was behind the pretty face. jake stood slowly, offering you his hand. you took it. and then, he blurred. one moment he was in front of you. the next, he was standing on the opposite side of the roof, hair whipping in the wind, chest rising fast. you gasped. jake smiled. not cocky, just… relieved.
j: “you’re not running.”
you: “should i?”
he appeared right in front of you again, so close your noses almost brushed.
j: “i’d catch you.”
your pulse jumped at that. jake inhaled sharply. you whispered.
you: “show me more.”
his pupils blew wide.
j: “…you trust me?”
you nodded.
you: “i do.”
that nearly broke him. jake stepped back and let the change slide over him. not into a monster, but into something older, sharper, painfully beautiful. his eyes glowed red like embers. veins darkened under his eyes. fangs lengthened, slow and controlled. you reached up, hesitated. jake grabbed your wrist gently, guiding your fingers to his cheek.
j: “you’re allowed.”
his skin was cold, but it softened under your touch, like your warmth soaked into him. you whispered.
you: “jake… i’m not scared of you.”
his eyes immediately flickered back to brown, fangs retracting instinctively like your voice calmed something feral inside him.
j: “don’t say things like that.”
you: “why?”
he stepped closer, chest nearly touching yours, voice cracking.
j: “because i’ll fall apart.”
your lips parted. jake’s hand lifted. the back of his fingers brushing your jaw, barely there.
j: “can i ask something?”
you: “anything.”
his voice dropped, breath trembling.
j: “what did you feel… when i touched you earlier?”
your cheeks burned. he watched every twitch of your expression like it was his lifeline.
you: “i… felt warm,” you whispered. “and safe.”
jake closed his eyes. exhaled through his nose.
j: “say it again.”
you swallowed.
you: “safe.”
his head dropped to your shoulder. careful, reverent, like he’d melt if he touched you wrong. your fingers drifted into his hair before you realized. jake froze, then leaned into it like he’d waited decades for that feeling.
j: “you’re going to kill me.”
you laughed softly.
you: “you’re already dead.”
jake looked up at you, eyes wide, vulnerable.
j: “that stopped mattering when i met you.”
your heart clenched. and then, a sound echoed faintly from below. a twig snap. you turned your head. down by the trees… gold eyes watched. nicho. shirt still thrown over his shoulder. expression broken, quiet, unreadable. jake tensed instantly.
j: “don’t look at him.”
you frowned.
you: “he’s just—”
j: “angel. please.”
his voice cracked on that word. you looked back at jake. his eyes were so soft they almost hurt.
j: “stay with me tonight.”
your breath hitched.
you: “just tonight?”
his jaw tightened. his voice dropped to a whisper meant only for you.
j: “or longer… if you let me.”
and for the first time, you weren’t thinking of the wolf in the woods. only the vampire in front of you, who looked at you like you were sunrise. jake didn’t stop holding your hand until you reached the far edge of campus, past the parking lot, past the trees, down the old brick path no one used after dark. you slowed.
you: “jake… where are we going?”
he squeezed your fingers, voice soft.
j: “somewhere only my kind knows.”
your heart kicked. he led you to a half-covered stone entryway built into the ground, ancient and cracked. vines wrapped over the door like they’d grown to keep humans out. jake brushed his thumb across your knuckles.
j: “i’ve never brought anyone here.”
you swallowed.
you: “never?”
he shook his head.
j: “not once. not in all the years i’ve been like this.”
he pushed the door open with one hand. effortless, silent. cold air rushed out, smelling like earth and something metallic but strangely clean. jake looked at you, searching.
j: “if you feel even one ounce of fear, tell me. i’ll take you home instantly.”
you: “i’m okay.”
jake’s shoulders relaxed, like your words physically loosened something in him. you stepped inside. the chamber was dim, pale moonlight spilling through cracks in the stone ceiling. the walls glowed faintly with old markings. sigils carved by hands centuries ago. jake watched your face, not the room.
j: “this is where i rest. where my body… resets.”
your voice lowered.
you: “you sleep here?”
j: “i don’t sleep. but i stay. it keeps the hunger quiet.”
he looked almost embarrassed. you reached out and touched his sleeve. he froze.
you: “it’s beautiful, jake.”
he blinked slowly, like he wasn’t expecting kindness. you walked deeper into the room, fingertips brushing the carvings. jake followed, steps soundless.
j: “i thought you’d hate it.”
you: “why would i?”
he inhaled sharply.
j: “because it’s dark. and cold. and not human.”
you turned around.
you: “i’m not scared of the parts of you that aren’t human.”
jake’s jaw clenched. his eyes softened. fragile, hopeful, terrified. he stepped forward, stopping inches from you.
j: “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
you: “i do.”
his breath shook. and then he broke. not loudly but quietly, painfully. his hand lifted to your cheek, but he stopped short, like he didn’t have the right. you leaned into his palm first. jake’s eyes instantly glassed over.
j: “i don’t know how to handle this.”
your voice barely a whisper.
you: “handle what?”
j: “being wanted.”
your heart twisted. he looked down, shoulders shaking once. barely noticeable unless you were close. so you stepped closer. jake sucked in a breath like you’d stabbed him with something holy. you whispered.
you: “jake… you’re allowed to be soft with me.”
his eyes lifted, red simmering under brown.
j: “if i’m soft… i’ll want more.”
you: “what kind of more?”
his gaze dropped to your lips. he didn’t move. didn’t touch. just stared, starving and terrified of it.
j: “i want to kiss you.”
your breath stilled.
you: “then kiss me.”
jake’s hand slid to the back of your neck. slow, trembling, reverent. he leaned in, then stopped, forehead resting against yours.
j: “…i can’t.”
your chest tightened.
you: “why?”
he swallowed hard.
j: “because once i taste you, there’s no going back.”
the room felt hotter. your pulse louder.
he whispered, voice cracked at the edges:
j: “choosing me means giving up the sun. giving up normal. giving up every future humans get to dream about.”
you whispered back:
you: “and choosing nicho?”
jake looked wrecked.
j: “choosing him means a bond that never breaks. wolves don’t love lightly. they… claim. forever.”
your breath hitched. jake lifted your hand and pressed it to his chest. cold, unmoving.
j: “with me, you don’t get forever.”
your voice wavered.
you: “but i get you.”
he made a choked sound. half laugh, half sob. his forehead pressed harder to yours.
j: “you’re going to ruin me.”
you touched his jaw, gentle.
you: “you were ruined before i got here.”
jake laughed, shaking, and his fingers tightened at your waist. that’s when you heard it. a twig snap outside. jake stiffened. his eyes darkened instantly.
j: “…wolf.”
you turned. at the doorway, golden eyes glowed in the dark. nicho. full wolf form. massive. silent. watching. jake moved in front of you without thinking.
j: “leave.”
nicho didn’t move. jake growled. a low, dangerous sound that vibrated through his chest. you whispered, voice shaking:
you: “nicho… it’s okay.”
the wolf blinked. slowly, painfully, he stepped back from the door, head lowering like he’d been punched in the heart. then he walked away. no snarl. no fight. just… heartbreak. jake exhaled shakily.
j: “he’s giving you space.”
you whispered:
you: “and you?”
jake stepped closer, voice barely steady.
j: “i’m giving you a choice.”
he lifted your chin with two cold fingers.
j: “and i’m praying you pick me.”
your hand stayed in his, your pulse steadying only because he kept whispering soft, grounding things under his breath like he was afraid you’d disappear. when you finally sat on the stone ledge, jake stood in front of you, trying so hard to look collected. he wasn’t. his hands were trembling. you reached for him. slow, gentle, touching his wrist first. jake froze completely. your thumb brushed his skin. he swallowed hard.
j: “don’t do that unless you know what you’re doing.”
you: “i do know.”
your fingers slid into his hand, lacing with his. jake’s breath stuttered like he’d been punched.
j: “angel—”
you: “jake, look at me.”
he did. and you saw it. his walls collapsing, his restraint snapping thread by thread, his whole body leaning toward you like gravity itself wanted you closer. you whispered.
you: “have you ever let someone touch you like this?”
jake shook his head once.
j: “no. not since i turned. not even before, really.”
you blinked.
you: “not even lovers?”
something dark flashed in his eyes, then softened.
j: “i’ve had company. not connection.”
you tried not to react, but he saw everything. and he stepped closer.
j: “don’t look hurt. it wasn’t real.”
your voice was barely there.
you: “what is this, then?”
jake’s hand lifted slowly to your cheek. so gentle, like you were breakable.
j: “real. painfully real.”
you leaned into his palm, and jake’s eyes fluttered shut like the sensation overwhelmed him. his forehead dropped to yours again. you whispered.
you: “jake… i want you to kiss me.”
he inhaled sharply. his voice broke.
j: “angel… if i start, i won’t be able to pretend i don’t want more.”
you: “i’m not asking you to pretend.”
that did it. jake’s restraint shattered. he grabbed your waist, pulling you into him in one swift, desperate movement, his chest cold and solid against yours. your breath hitched, hands clutching at his shirt. jake’s nose brushed yours. a slow, reverent drag. he was shaking.
j: “tell me to stop.”
you: “i don’t want you to.”
his lips hovered a breath from yours.
j: “…then god forgive me.”
he kissed you. not soft. not careful. not tentative. jake kissed you like he’d been waiting centuries for the right to do it—fingers buried in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist like he feared you’d slip out of his eternity. you clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, and he made a low sound in his throat—raw, starving, almost pained. jake deepened the kiss only once, slow and devastating, his mouth warm for the first time since you’d met him. your lungs burned. your pulse roared. jake pulled back just enough to breathe the same air, lips brushing yours with every word.
j: “you’re… killing me.”
you: “jake—”
j: “no. you don’t understand.”
his thumb stroked your jaw, tender in a way that contradicted the intensity of the moment.
j: “i haven’t felt anything this strong in a lifetime. it terrifies me.”
you pressed your forehead to his.
you: “you don’t have to be scared.”
he let out a shaky laugh.
j: “i’m a vampire, angel. fear is my second nature.”
you touched his cheek again. your turn to comfort him. his eyes softened instantly.
j: “don’t… don’t be gentle with me. i’m not used to it.”
you: “then you need it.”
jake’s brows knit. your kindness hitting him so much harder than he wanted to admit. and then, a sudden pulse of silver light flashed behind your eyes. you gasped. jake grabbed you instantly.
j: “what’s wrong?”
you blinked hard and the moon’s voice slid through your mind like water. he is not the only one bound to you. jake’s grip tightened.
j: “angel, look at me.”
you did. and he saw it. the confusion. the fear. the truth the moon had just whispered. his voice lowered, trembling.
j: “did it speak to you?”
you nodded slowly. jake’s jaw clenched.
j: “nicho.”
the name hurt to hear. you whispered.
you: “jake… i don’t want to hurt him.”
he shut his eyes like the words cut deep.
j: “i know.”
your throat tightened.
you: “i don’t want to hurt you either.”
he opened his eyes. and he looked at you like you were the most dangerous thing he’d ever loved.
j: “then don’t walk away.”
you swallowed hard.
you: “do you want… a real date?”
his expression cracked open. shock, hope, hunger, relief.
j: “yes.”
you smiled, small and real.
you: “then ask me.”
jake stepped closer, cupping your jaw with both hands now, grounding himself in your warmth. his voice dropped to something impossibly soft:
j: “will you go out on a date with me?”
your heart flipped.
you: “yes.”
jake exhaled like he’d been underwater for decades. and then he kissed your forehead, slow and reverent. the kind of kiss you don’t forget. jake picked you up at exactly 9:17 pm. not planned. not dramatic. just… him.
hair tousled from running fingers through it too many times, dark shirt buttoned wrong at the wrist because he was anxious, eyes soft in a way that shouldn’t be possible for something centuries old. he stood outside your dorm door, hands behind his back like he was trying not to touch anything. when you opened it, he froze. just… froze. like looking at you knocked the breath out of his undead lungs.
j: “you look… warm.”
you laughed softly.
you: “is that a compliment?”
he nodded quickly.
j: “it is. i promise it is.”
you stepped out, closing the door behind you. your heart picked up. fast, excited. jake heard it instantly, his whole body tightening at the sound, eyes fluttering closed for half a second like he was savoring it.
j: “ready?”
you: “yeah.”
he offered his hand. you took it. and he looked wrecked in the softest way. jake didn’t take you anywhere normal.no restaurant. no café. no movie theater. instead… he led you to an abandoned greenhouse behind the science building. cracked glass. ivy crawling inside. moonlight spilling through the broken panes. and in the center. a blanket. a lantern. a small metal tin of matches. you blinked.
you: “jake… did you plan this?”
he scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.
j: “i didn’t know what humans do on dates now.”
you laughed. he swallowed, eyes fixed on you.
j: “but i know what i want to show you.”
he clicked the lantern on. warm golden light filled the little space. and for the first time… jake didn’t look like a vampire at all. he looked like a boy who hadn’t had something to hope for in a very, very long time.
you sat across from him on the blanket. jake watched you instead of the lantern. watched your hair. your hands. your breathing. like he needed to memorize every little movement. when you looked down for a moment, a soft pulse of silver flashed behind your eyes. the moon’s voice, gentle but unsettling: “your choice has gravity, child.” you sucked in a sharp breath. jake shot forward instantly.
j: “angel? what’s wrong?”
you shook your head.
you: “nothing, just—”
but the moon wasn’t done. choosing the dead means giving the living a wound that may never close. your stomach twisted. jake grabbed your hands.
j: “look at me.”
you did. and the world steadied, just a little. you talked for a while. about little things, nothing heavy. his favorite century. your favorite shows. how he hates sunlight but loves warmth. at one point you reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear without thinking. jake froze. absolutely still.
you: “did i— did i do something wrong?”
his voice came out a rasp.
j: “no. you did something dangerous.”
your heart jumped.
you: “dangerous how?”
he grabbed your wrist. not hard. but firm. his eyes glowed faintly red.
j: “touching me gently makes me lose things i can’t afford to lose.”
your throat tightened.
you: “like what?”
his jaw clenched.
j: “control.”
he leaned closer, breath shaking.
j: “please don’t be afraid… but i want to kiss you again.”
your voice was barely there.
you: “then do it.”
jake moved fast, but not vampire fast. boy fast. nervous fast. he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you like he’d spent decades wishing someone would pull him out of the dark and into something warm. your fingers tangled in his shirt. his lips parted just a little. a soft sound escaped him. low, needy, shocked at his own reaction. it wasn’t lust. it wasn’t hunger. it was longing. deep, painful longing. he pulled back first, breathing hard even though he didn’t need air.
j: “i shouldn’t want you this much.”
you were about to answer. but the glass of the greenhouse creaked. jake was on his feet instantly, eyes going red, body in front of yours like a shield. you whispered.
you: “jake?”
he growled quietly.
j: “wolf. outside.”
your chest tightened. nicho. you stood slowly, stepping beside jake despite his arm instinctively blocking you. outside the cracked window, two glowing gold eyes. watching. not approaching. not threatening. just… hurting. your heart cracked. you whispered.
you: “nicho…”
he flinched. jake muttered, low and tense.
j: “he’s been following us since we left your dorm.”
your breath shook.
you: “why?”
jake’s jaw tightened.
j: “because he loves you.”
it hurt to hear. it hurt worse to see nicho lower his head, backing away from the window slowly, tail down, shoulders hunched. he didn’t snarl. didn’t challenge. didn’t even look angry. he looked devastated. jake exhaled harshly.
you stepped closer to him, hand brushing his. he immediately took your fingers, holding on tight like you might vanish.
j: “you’re allowed to care about him.”
your heart flipped. he added quietly.
j: “just… don’t walk away from me.”
you looked up at him.
you: “i’m still here.”
jake closed his eyes for a moment, letting those words settle into him. then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours again, voice barely a whisper:
j: “then let me show you the rest of what i am.”
jake walked you back from the greenhouse slowly, like he didn’t want the night to end.
your fingers stayed tangled with his the whole time, his thumb brushing your knuckles absentmindedly, almost like he still didn’t believe you were real. the campus path was empty. quiet, cool air, soft shadows. and then, you felt it. not heard. not saw. felt. a warm pulse behind your ribs, like your body recognized something before your mind did. you slowed. jake noticed instantly, tensing.
j: “angel…?”
your breath caught. from the dark between two buildings, nicho stepped out. human form. barefoot. hair messy. breathing too hard. eyes glowing gold in a way that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with heartbreak. your chest tightened painfully. you whispered.
you: “nicho…?”
he flinched at your voice. like hearing you say his name hurt. he took one step toward you. hesitant, trembling. then froze when he saw your hand in jake’s. jake’s grip tightened. quiet. possessive. lethal.
j: “why are you here.”
nicho didn’t even look at him. his eyes were on you and only you.
n: “i tried to stay away.”
his voice cracked so violently you felt it in your bones. he took another step. his breath hitched.
n: “i really… i tried.”
you stepped forward without thinking. jake’s arm shot out, blocking you. not roughly. just firm.
j: “don’t.”
nicho’s jaw clenched, shoulders shaking.
n: “move your arm.”
jake’s voice dropped to something almost too calm:
j: “and i’m not letting you near her when you’re like this.”
nicho’s voice wavered.
n: “like what? like i care?”
jake’s eyes flashed red.
j: “like you’re losing control.”
nicho laughed. broken, bitter, soft.
n: “you think i don’t know that?”
you whispered:
you: “nicho… talk to me.”
he inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut like your voice hit him too hard. then he opened them and the gold burned brighter.
n: “it hurts.”
you froze.
you: “what hurts?”
he pressed a trembling hand to his chest.
n: “everything.”
you moved around jake before he could stop you. nicho swallowed hard when you approached, chest rising unevenly, hands shaking like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t trust himself.
n: “don’t— don’t get too close. i’m barely holding the shift back.”
you ignored that, stepping close enough to touch his arm. he shuddered.
n: “please… don’t be gentle with me right now.”
your heart cracked open.
you: “nicho, tell me what’s wrong.”
he looked at you like he was breaking. like everything inside him was unraveling at once.
n: “you’re with him.”
your breath stilled.
n: “and the bond—”
his voice cracked again.
n: “—the bond knows.”
your pulse stumbled.
you: “bond…?”
nicho nodded, chest heaving.
n: “i didn’t want you to know yet.”
moonlight flashed behind your eyes. a whisper sliding into your mind like silk: “the wolf has known you since before he ever saw you.” your knees nearly buckled. nicho reached for you instinctively, to steady you. but jake was there in an instant, knocking his hand away. a low snarl vibrated through jake’s chest.
j: “don’t touch her.”
nicho snapped back, eyes flaring.
n: “she’s not yours.”
jake stepped forward, chest brushing nicho’s. his voice dropped to something terrifyingly quiet:
j: “she chose me tonight.”
nicho’s jaw clenched. his voice came out barely audible:
n: “she didn’t choose. she followed.”
you stepped between them. pushing jake back with one hand, touching nicho’s chest with the other. nicho inhaled sharply the second your hand touched him, shoulders jerking like he’d been shocked. jake’s eyes darkened dangerously.
j: “angel.”
nicho swallowed hard.
n: “don’t touch me like that. i’ll shift. i swear i’ll shift.”
you softened your touch.
you: “nicho, i’m trying to help.”
he shook his head, voice breaking.
n: “it hurts because you’re choosing someone else.”
you flinched. jake stiffened instantly.
j: “she hasn’t chosen.”
nicho’s gaze flicked to jake, pained, shaking.
n: “she kissed you.”
jake’s expression shifted. shame, pride, possessiveness, all tangled.
j: “she wanted to.”
nicho’s breath shattered.
n: “i know.”
you whispered.
you: “nicho…”
his eyes finally met yours. raw, glowing, honest.
n: “say you don’t feel it. say you don’t feel me.”
the air stilled. your heartbeat punched against your ribs. warm, sharp, undeniable. jake heard it spike. nicho felt it through the bond. both reacted. jake stepped closer, voice low:
j: “angel… look at me.”
nicho stepped closer too, whispering:
n: “don’t listen to him. listen to your body.”
you stood between them, both reaching for you in different ways. and the moon whispered again: “two creatures, one heart. only one can survive the choosing.” the world tilted. your breathing hitched. and you whispered the only truth you could manage:
you: “i… feel both of you.”nicho’s knees nearly buckled. jake inhaled sharply, eyes burning. and for the first time, neither spoke. because they both knew: you weren’t choosing yet. but you would. and that choice would break one of them.
I am pushing soft nico! agenda because it's good for my family- destroyed soul after the holidays~
I hate everyone but you baby愛
If you like curls, i think he'd love to make it for you. Imagine sitting in the bathroom, scrolling your phone or just staring at the ceiling while he does your hair🥹💗
Or if you're not a fan of curls (nor straightening) he could just dry your hair too!!
Since he often uses handcream, i wonder if he uses lipbalm too or not that much.. if his lips are soft or more like dry.. either way, his lips are big and plump, and if you have smaller ones, it'd take a looot of kisses to smooch every inch of his pretty lips ♡
Imagine him giving you forehead kisses while cupping your cheek when you're tired😭❤️ and running his fingers through the back of your hand, gently and carefully. booping your nose and also kissing the top of your head ♡
I am always seeing clips about him kinda automatically feeding others without realizing or intent, just by instict ( but mostly euijoo ofc😂❤️) and i think he'd also love to feed you with food!🥹
Cherries, nutella on bread, dark chocolate, pork, chicken, whatever you like.. or imagine him giving you a little taste test of what he cooked for you:(( i'm soft
Also making pretty pictures of his baby! He's a proud man to have you, it's also gives him plenty excuses to showcase his photographer skills🥺 you not 'just' get a soft empathetic boyfriend but also a personal professional cameraman🎥✨✨
Other words that came to my mind about him: emotional, attentive, nurturing🥺💗💗
Pictures & dividers credits going to their owners.
a/n: i find it amazing how i made a little offer to aphrodite, the goddess of love and art and within an hour i got the inspiration to write this and even start the layout...
When he gets very tired / wornout ♡
Holding him close to your heart, letting him curl up to you and rest his head on your chest. Embrace him gently, carefully, he already feels fragile. Press kisses to the top of his head, caress his hair then ruffle it.
He doesn't want to see the world for now, so he turns his face towards you, pushing his nose and whole face into your chest. Listening to your heartbeat and smelling your natural scent under the fragrance you use calms him down slowly but steadily.
He would run his fingers up and down your arms while thinking or just resting, you don't know, you don't ask. You let him rest in a peaceful silence. Caress his cheeks and hold his whole face in your palms. Out of his head, out of his mind tonight, you let him sneak into your arms for a little while...
The stars flickering warmly above the two of you, gladly that you found each other. You draw them out on his back when you massage him later. First with your fingers and then with your lips and tongue...
୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧
Dividers & pictures credits going to their owners! ♡
