📌 Synopsis: Five years ago, Jake Sim walked away to chase his soccer dreams, never knowing he left more than just a broken heart behind. Now, he's back—unwittingly running a soccer clinic where his five-year-old daughter is signed up. The daughter he doesn’t know exists.
You tell yourself he won’t notice. You tell yourself he won’t put the pieces together.
Then she grins up at him, dimples flashing, and says: "We have the same last name! Maybe we're related!"
And just like that, your past collides with your present.
wc: 23.5K
cw (18+ MDNI) : Secret child trope (yes, we’re here for the drama), Second-chance romance (aka two emotionally constipated people trying to figure it out), Athlete romance (if you like your men sweaty & angsty, this is for you), Unresolved tension & emotional pining, Co-parenting struggles & parental guilt (aka "I should have been there" in HD), A man getting absolutely wrecked by the realization he has a kid, "Why didn't you tell me?" followed by "I should have been there.", Father-daughter bonding that will ruin you (he missed five years and he's making up for every single second), A child who is so excited to meet her new favorite person (aka the man whose entire worldview is shattering in real-time), Unresolved feelings, lingering touches, and the "we were supposed to be forever" tension, Fighting in kitchens, whispering in hallways, standing too close but not touching, "I never stopped loving you" but neither of them can say it yet, Sparks still burning, even after five years apart, "I’m still angry, but I don’t know how to stop wanting you." Explicit sexual content.
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"I'm making a list."
"Oh God, not this again," Tia's voice crackled through the speaker. "What is it this time? 'Top Ten Pizza Toppings Ranked by Emotional Stability'? 'Compelling Evidence That My Neighbor's Cat Is Plotting World Domination'?"
You snorted, balancing your phone between ear and shoulder as you scribbled on a notepad at the kitchen counter. The house was quiet for once—a rare moment of peace while Jade actually slept in after exhausting herself at soccer practice the night before.
"It's called 'Reasons Why Taking Jade to the Soccer Clinic is a Terrible Idea.' I'm already at number twelve."
"Only twelve? You're slipping. I remember the Great Ice Cream Debate of 2019 hit twenty-seven reasons why chocolate chip cookie dough is superior to mint chocolate chip."
"That's because you were wrong and I needed to be thorough."
"I stand by my controversial mint opinions," Tia said. Then her voice shifted. "Wait. Are you talking about the Jake Sim clinic? The Jake Sim? Your Jake?"
"He's not my Jake," you said automatically, though the words still stung five years later. You stared down at the list, tapping your pen against reason number four: His last name is literally on her registration form.
"Does he know?" Tia asked quietly. "About Jade?"
"Tia, Of course not," you sighed, glancing toward Jade's bedroom door, still safely closed. "We haven't spoken since he left. You know that."
"And you're actually considering taking her to this thing? Have you finally cracked? Do I need to stage an intervention? Because I've been practicing my concerned face in the mirror."
You circled reason number seven: Because YES, I am completely insane.
"Her teacher already told her about it. She's been talking about nothing else for days. You know how she gets about soccer." You drew a little soccer ball in the margin of your notepad. "If I suddenly say no, she'll be devastated."
"So make something up! Tell her you're sick. Tell her she's sick. Hell, tell her I'm sick and you need to come take care of Auntie Tia. I can be very convincing. Remember when I faked food poisoning to get us out of your ex-boss's wedding?"
"That's actually reason number nine," you admitted. "'Fake family emergency.'"
"See? This is why we're best friends. Same brain cell, just passing it back and forth since third grade."
You laughed despite yourself, getting up to refill your coffee. "But then what, Tia? Hide the fact that Jake is doing appearances all over the city this week? Keep her home from school so she doesn't hear about it from her friends? What about next time he comes back? She's obsessed with soccer. Our paths were bound to cross eventually."
There was a rustling sound on the other end, like Tia was sitting up in bed. "Okay, let's think worst-case scenario. You take her to this clinic. He sees her. Then what? You think he's just going to know she's his? Men are oblivious. My brother didn't notice when I dyed my hair purple for three weeks."
You let out a humorless laugh. "Have you seen my child lately? She's his clone. Same dimples. Same smile. Same way of running. She even does this thing with her hands when she's excited—" Your voice caught. "You've said it yourself a hundred times."
"Fine, so there's a resemblance. She could be a really dedicated fan who studied his goal celebrations on YouTube—"
"And her last name is Sim. It's on the registration form. There's going to be two hundred kids there, but how many five-year-old girls named Sim with his exact dimples and soccer style do you think he runs into?"
The silence on the other end confirmed your fears.
"I never should have given her his last name," you said quietly, adding it as reason number thirteen on your list.
"Hey, you were engaged. You were already using Sim yourself half the time. You thought he was coming back." Tia's voice softened. "You couldn't have known."
You closed your eyes, remembering those first few confusing months. The positive pregnancy test two weeks after Jake left. Your decision not to tell him while he was establishing himself with his new team—not wanting to be the reason he gave up his dream. Then the complication with your pregnancy that meant strict bed rest. By the time Jade was born, Jake was already becoming a household name in Europe, and the gulf between your worlds seemed impossible to bridge.
"Maybe I should just tell her we can't go," you said, staring at your list.
"After she's been talking about it for days? Good luck with that. You'll break her heart. And then I'll have to help you hide from a crying five-year-old, and honestly, my witness protection contact is on vacation this week."
You had already added that as reason number three: It would crush her if we don't go.
"I could come with you," Tia offered. "Moral support. Plus, I can create a diversion if necessary. I've always wanted to fake a medical emergency at a public event. I've been practicing my 'woman experiencing convenient fainting spell' face right after my 'concerned intervention' face."
Despite yourself, you smiled. "Thanks, but I think an ambulance might just draw more attention our way."
"You never let me have any fun," Tia pouted. "Fine, we'll go with Plan B. I have a blonde wig and three fake mustaches in my emergency kit."
"Absolutely not."
"Party pooper. So what are you going to do?"
Before you could answer, a bedroom door creaked open down the hall. A moment later, a small figure in soccer ball pajamas padded into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up in all directions, dimples already appearing despite being half-asleep.
"Mom? Who're you talking to?" Jade yawned, rubbing her eyes.
"It's Auntie Tia," you said, quickly flipping your notepad closed. "Want to say hi?"
Instantly, Jade was fully awake. She snatched the phone with surprising speed for someone who had been unconscious thirty seconds earlier.
"Auntie Tia! Guess what day it is! It's soccer clinic day! With a real pro player!" Jade jumped up and down, volume increasing with each word. "He plays in Europe! And he's going to teach us special moves!"
You watched your daughter's face light up, identical to the way Jake's used to when he talked about soccer. Same passion. Same uninhibited joy. Same ability to go from zero to one hundred in seconds flat.
"Uh-huh... uh-huh..." Jade nodded seriously into the phone. "Mom got me new cleats for today! They're blue! And they have special grippy things on the bottom!"
You could faintly hear Tia's animated responses. Your friend might be questioning your judgment, but she'd never let Jade down.
"I know! It's gonna be the best day ever!" Jade spun in an excited circle, nearly dropping the phone. "Auntie Tia wants to talk to you again," she said, thrusting the device back at you before racing off toward her room. "I gotta get ready!"
"She sounds thrilled," Tia said dryly when you put the phone back to your ear. "Ten bucks says she's wearing mismatched socks and her shirt inside out when she comes back."
"Yeah." You watched your daughter disappear around the corner, a tornado of energy and joy. "How am I supposed to take that away from her?"
"You're not," Tia sighed. "Which means you're going to the clinic, and I'm canceling my spa appointment to be on standby for emotional support ice cream and/or bail money."
You looked down at your list one more time before crumpling it into a ball.
"I guess I am."
"For what it's worth," Tia said, her voice serious now, "I think maybe it's time. Five years is a long time to keep a secret this big. And Jake deserves to know he has a daughter."
"I know," you admitted, the words barely audible. "That's the part that terrifies me."
From down the hall came the sounds of drawers being flung open and Jade's voice singing a made-up song about soccer balls.
"What if he hates me, Tia? For keeping her from him?"
"Then he's an idiot," Tia said firmly. "And I'll personally come over there and kick Europe's favorite striker right in his professionally-insured shins. You did what you thought was best at the time. That's all any of us can do."
You took a deep breath. "I better go help Hurricane Jade get ready before she tears her room apart."
"Call me the second anything happens," Tia ordered. "And I mean anything. If he so much as looks at you funny, I want details. And remember, the mustache offer stands."
"I will. The calling part, not the mustache part."
"And hey," Tia added before hanging up. "For what it's worth, I think Jade's lucky to have you as her mom. No matter what happens today."
You ended the call and stared at the crumpled list on your counter. With trembling fingers, you smoothed it out one more time and added a final line at the bottom:
Reason #14: Because it's time.
-
The community soccer field had been transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Hundreds of children in various neon-colored jerseys darted between exasperated parents, volunteer coaches with clipboards, and portable equipment stations. Massive banners featuring the logo of Jake's European team fluttered in the breeze, and a professional photography setup had been assembled near midfield.
You gripped Jade's tiny hand a little too tightly as you approached the registration table, your stomach performing Olympic-level gymnastics. Despite your best efforts to dress inconspicuously—baseball cap pulled low, oversized sunglasses, plain t-shirt—you felt like you were wearing a neon sign that flashed "HIDING A SECRET CHILD."
"Mom! Mom! You're squishing my hand!" Jade protested, trying to wriggle free. "I need that hand for high fives!"
"Sorry, sweetheart." You loosened your grip slightly, though every instinct screamed to hold on tighter. Just ahead, two women in matching polo shirts were checking in participants.
You'd spent the entire drive rehearsing what you'd say. Hi, yes, Jade Sim. No relation to Jake Sim. Just a bizarre coincidence. Like how there are probably lots of Smiths who aren't related to Will Smith. Or how all those Kardashians probably have no connection to each other...
"Next please!" called one of the registration volunteers, a perky blonde with a tournament-level cheerful smile.
You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak, but Jade lunged ahead of you.
"I'm Jade Sim and I'm here to play soccer!" she announced at a volume that made several nearby parents turn. Your daughter had never mastered the concept of an "indoor voice," even when outdoors.
The volunteer's smile didn't falter as she scanned her list. "Sim... Sim... ah, here you are. Jade Sim, age five." She checked something off and reached for a smaller clipboard. "And we have your waiver form... perfect. Here's your name tag, and you'll be in Group C with Coach Marcus."
Jade accepted the sticker name tag with reverence usually reserved for Olympic medals, then immediately slapped it onto her jersey slightly crooked.
"Will the famous player see my group?" Jade asked, bouncing on her toes.
The volunteer's smile somehow brightened even further. "Jake will be rotating through all the groups today. Everyone gets a chance to meet him." She looked up at you. "You can drop her with Group C over by the yellow cones, and parents can watch from the sidelines. We'll have a photo and autograph session at the end."
You nodded, unable to find your voice. This was really happening.
"Come on, Mom!" Jade tugged you toward the field, her excitement generating enough energy to power a small city. "I wanna be first in line!"
As you made your way across the field, you scanned the area for any sign of Jake. There was a small crowd gathered near a tent at the far end—probably where he was waiting. You let out a shaky breath. Maybe you could just drop Jade off, blend in with the other parents, and somehow avoid—
"Look Mom! I see him! I see him!" Jade shrieked, jumping up and down while pointing wildly.
And there he was.
Five years hadn't changed him as much as you'd expected. Same athletic build, same confident stride as he emerged from the tent surrounded by handlers and field staff. He wore his team's training kit, the number 10 emblazoned on his back—the same number that had been on the jersey he'd given you years ago, the one now hidden in the back of your closet.
Even from a distance, you could see his smile—that devastating combination of boyish charm and movie-star charisma that had magazines calling him "soccer's newest heartthrob." The same smile Jade had flashed at you this morning over breakfast.
"He's so cool!" Jade whispered in what she clearly thought was a whisper but was actually at normal human speaking volume. "I bet he can do a bazillion tricks!"
You swallowed hard. "I'm sure he can. Come on, let's find your group."
As you guided Jade toward the yellow cones, you pulled your cap lower and angled your body away from Jake's direction. Group C was already forming, about twenty children ranging from four to six years old, all vibrating with similar levels of excitement to Jade.
"Hi there!" A young man with curly hair and a whistle approached. "I'm Coach Marcus. Who do we have here?"
"Jade Sim!" your daughter announced before you could speak, thrusting out her hand for an aggressive handshake like you'd taught her. "I can kick with both feet!"
Coach Marcus's eyebrows lifted a fraction as he heard the last name, his eyes darting quickly to you, then back to Jade. "That's... impressive. Both feet, huh? Well, we'll definitely put that to the test today." He crouched down to Jade's level. "Any relation to our special guest?"
Your heart stopped.
"Who's the special guest?" Jade asked, genuinely confused.
Relief washed over you. Of course—you'd been so careful never to mention Jake's name around her, never to let her see his games on TV. She had no idea that she shared a last name with the soccer star she was so excited to meet.
"Jake Sim," Coach Marcus said, looking between you and Jade with obvious curiosity. "The professional player who's running the clinic today?"
Jade's eyes went comically wide. "We have the same last name? That is so cool! Mom! Did you hear that? I have the same name as a famous soccer player! Maybe we're related!"
Several nearby parents turned to look. A few were now staring with undisguised interest.
"It's a common name," you said quickly, your voice higher than normal. "Very common. In certain... regions."
Coach Marcus didn't look convinced but thankfully didn't pursue it. "Right! Well, parents can wait over by those bleachers. We'll get started with some basic drills, and Jake will make his way to our group in about twenty minutes."
"Can I stay with her?" you asked, desperate not to leave Jade. "She's never done one of these before, and she might get nervous—"
"I don't get nervous!" Jade proclaimed, already backing away from you toward the other kids. "I'm going to show him my special kick!"
Coach Marcus smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of volunteers helping out. She'll be fine. Parents actually tend to be a bit distracting for the kids."
You had no choice. With a final reluctant wave to Jade, who was already introducing herself to every child in a five-foot radius, you retreated to the parent area.
The next fifteen minutes were torture. You sat rigid on the edge of the bleachers, alternating between watching Jade (who was currently demonstrating what appeared to be a dance move involving pretending to juggle invisible soccer balls) and nervously tracking Jake's progress through the groups.
He was currently with Group A, showing a technique for dribbling around cones. Even from a distance, you could see how natural he was with the kids—patient, encouraging, that infectious energy drawing them in. He high-fived a small boy who completed the drill, and the child looked like he might never wash that hand again.
Your phone buzzed with a text from Tia:
Has The Dimple Recognition Incident happened yet? Do I need to deploy the mustache?
Despite your anxiety, you smiled, typing back:
Not yet. He's working his way over. Jade just found out they have the same last name and announced it to everyone within earshot.
Three dots appeared immediately, then:
Of course she did. She's a mini nuclear reactor of chaos energy. Just like her dad.
The reminder made your stomach twist again.
You looked up just in time to see Jake finishing with Group B. Which meant he was heading to Group C next. To Jade.
Ten steps. He was ten steps away from discovering he had a daughter.
You couldn't breathe.
Jake jogged over to Group C, high-fiving Coach Marcus. Even from the distance, you could hear his laugh—that same warm sound that used to be the soundtrack to your happiest memories. The children immediately swarmed around him like excited puppies, and he knelt down to get on their level.
Jade, never one to wait her turn, pushed her way to the front of the group.
"Hi! I'm Jade Sim! We have the same last name! That's so cool! Can you show me how to do a bicycle kick? I've been practicing but I always fall on my butt!"
Time seemed to stop.
You watched as Jake's expression shifted from his standard friendly smile to puzzlement. He looked at Jade more closely, taking in her features. The dimples. The eyes. The way she couldn't stand still, shifting from foot to foot with excess energy.
"Sim?" he repeated, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "Your last name is Sim?"
"Yep!" Jade nodded vigorously. "Just like you! Mom says it's a common name, but I've never met another Sim before, so I think it's special!"
Jake seemed to forget the other children momentarily, his focus entirely on Jade now. "How old are you, Jade?"
"I'm five! Almost five and a half! My birthday is January 22nd!" She held up one hand, fingers splayed wide. "I've been playing soccer since I was three!"
January 22nd. Exactly five years and nine months after you and Jake had said goodbye at the airport.
You could see the math happening behind his eyes, the calendar flipping in his mind. The color drained from his face so quickly several nearby parents glanced at him in concern.
"And... what's your mom's name?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Before Jade could answer, Coach Marcus stepped in, clearly sensing something was off. "Hey, why don't we get started with some passing drills? Everyone line up behind the blue cone!"
The children scrambled to follow directions, but Jake remained frozen in place, his eyes now scanning the parent area. Searching.
You should have run. You should have hidden. You should have done anything except sit there like a deer in headlights.
His eyes found yours.
Recognition dawned instantly, followed by shock, confusion, and something else—something that made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
Five years evaporated in a second.
Without breaking eye contact with you, Jake stood slowly. All around him, children were lining up, coaches were arranging drills, parents were chatting—but between you and Jake, the world had gone silent.
Then Jade's voice cut through everything:
"That's my mom over there! Mom! Come meet Jake Sim! We have the same last name!"
Jake's gaze shifted from you to Jade, then back to you. And in that moment, you saw it happen—the connection being made, the pieces falling into place. His expression transformed into one of absolute shock.
He swayed slightly on his feet.
"Jake? You okay, man?" Coach Marcus asked, noticing how pale he'd become.
Jake's mouth opened and closed without sound. He looked at Jade again—really looked at her—taking in her dimples, her eyes, the way she bounced on her toes exactly like he did before a big match.
"She's..." he whispered, but couldn't finish the sentence.
Jade tugged on his jersey. "Are you going to teach us the special kick now? I've been practicing!"
Jake's knees buckled.
He tried to grab onto Coach Marcus for support, missed, and went down hard on the turf. Several children gasped. A whistle blew somewhere.
"We need a medic!" someone shouted.
You were on your feet in an instant, rushing across the field as a small crowd gathered around Jake's collapsed form. Jade stood over him, looking concerned but also a little excited by the drama.
"Mom!" she called when she saw you. "The famous soccer player fainted! Is he okay? Did I say something wrong?"
You pushed through the circle of onlookers to find Jake flat on his back, eyes closed. A staff member was fanning him while another called into a walkie-talkie for the on-site medical team.
"Give him some space!" Coach Marcus was saying, trying to herd the children back.
Jake's eyelids fluttered, then opened. His gaze immediately locked onto yours, standing above him.
"You..." he managed weakly. "She's... is she...?"
Before you could answer, medical staff arrived with a stretcher. Jake struggled to sit up, still staring at you and Jade.
"Sir, please stay down," a paramedic instructed. "You may have hit your head."
"I'm fine," Jake insisted, his voice stronger now as adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't take his eyes off Jade, who was watching the whole scene with fascination. "I just... I need to..."
He tried to stand again but swayed dangerously. Two staff members caught him by the arms.
"Let's get you to the medical tent," one said firmly.
As they began leading him away, Jake looked back over his shoulder at you, his expression a storm of emotions.
"Wait!" he called out. "I need to talk to—"
"You can talk after we make sure you're okay," the paramedic interrupted.
You stood frozen, Jade's hand in yours, as they escorted Jake toward the medical tent. All around you, parents and children were whispering, phones were out recording, and you knew this incident would be all over social media within minutes.
"Mom," Jade tugged at your hand. "Why did he faint? Is he sick?"
Your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Tia. You could almost hear her saying "I told you so" already.
"I think," you said quietly to Jade, "he was just very surprised about something."
"About what?" Jade asked, her face scrunched in confusion.
You looked toward the medical tent where Jake had disappeared, then down at your daughter—his daughter—with his dimples and his smile and his boundless energy.
"About you, sweetheart. About you."
-
The staff area behind the main tent was hardly private—just a cordoned-off section of the parking lot with a few folding tables and chairs—but at least there weren't two hundred people watching. The clinic had ended fifteen minutes ago, most families already dispersed to their cars, children clutching signed photographs and participation certificates.
You stood with Jade's hand firmly in yours, your heart hammering against your ribs. After Jake's collapse on the field, you'd nearly fled, grabbing Jade and making a run for your car. But a polite yet insistent man in an expensive suit had intercepted you, introducing himself as Jay Park, Jake's manager.
"Mr. Sim would like a moment of your time after the event," he'd said with practiced smoothness. "He was particularly impressed with your daughter's enthusiasm."
The look in his eyes told you he knew exactly who Jade was.
Now you waited, Jade bouncing on her toes beside you, completely oblivious to the life-altering moment that was about to unfold.
"Mom, did you see me score two goals?" she asked for the third time. "And the famous player said my kick was really good!"
"I saw, sweetheart," you managed, scanning the area nervously.
"But then he got sick and had to leave," Jade continued, her face scrunching with concern. "Is he feeling better now? Coach Marcus said sometimes grown-ups get too hot and need to rest."
Before you could answer, movement caught your eye. Jake was approaching, still in his training kit but with a team jacket thrown over it. Beside him walked Jay, whose expression wavered between professional detachment and barely contained curiosity as he glanced between Jake and Jade.
Five years evaporated in an instant. Jake looked both exactly the same and completely different—still the man you'd known, but with something harder in his eyes, something that spoke of stadiums and spotlights and a life lived very far from yours.
Jade noticed them at the same moment you did. "Look! It's him! He's better!" She tugged at your hand. "Can I go say hi? Please, please, please?"
You couldn't find your voice. Jake was close enough now that you could see the storm of emotions on his face as he looked at Jade—wonder, confusion, hurt, and something that might have been joy fighting through the shock.
As they reached you, Jay leaned in toward Jake, his voice low but not quite low enough to miss.
"Jade and Jake. Her name's literally yours with one letter different. How original."
Jake shot him a warning look before turning his attention fully to you and Jade.
"I'll be right over there if you need anything," Jay said, not specifying which of you he was addressing, before walking toward the main tent with a final curious glance at Jade.
And then it was just the three of you.
"Hi again!" Jade broke the silence, her natural exuberance undimmed by the tension crackling between the adults. "I'm really glad you're not sick anymore! Mom says sometimes people faint when they get a big surprise. Did you get a surprise?"
Jake's eyes darted to you, then back to Jade. He crouched down to her level, a movement so natural it made your chest ache.
"I did get a surprise," he said softly. His voice—that voice you'd tried so hard to forget—sounded thick with emotion. "A really big one."
"Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?" Jade asked, head tilted with curiosity.
Jake's smile was immediate, genuine despite the circumstances. "It was a good surprise. The best surprise I've ever had, actually."
Jade beamed at him, dimples appearing in the exact same places as his. "I like surprises too! Especially birthday surprises. My birthday is in January and I'm going to be six!"
"January 22nd," Jake said automatically, then glanced up at you. "You mentioned that earlier."
You nodded silently, feeling like you might be sick.
"How did you know that?" Jade asked, eyes wide. "Are you psychic? My friend Emma says she's psychic but she can never guess what card I'm holding."
Jake looked at a loss for how to answer, his confident demeanor faltering. He glanced at you again, a silent question in his eyes.
"Jade, baby," you finally found your voice. "Why don't you go check out the snack table over there? I think they have cookies left."
"Cookies?" Jade's priorities immediately shifted. "Can I have two?"
"Just one for now," you said. "And stay where I can see you, okay?"
"Okay!" She started to race off, then stopped and turned back to Jake. "Thank you for teaching us cool soccer moves today! I'm going to practice every day until I can bend the ball just like you showed us!"
Jake looked like he might break apart right there. "You're welcome, Jade. And... you were really good out there. You're a natural."
She glowed at the praise before darting toward the snack table, already calling out to one of the volunteers about the promised cookies.
"Five years," Jake said quietly, once she was out of earshot. He stood to his full height, facing you directly for the first time. "Five years."
"Jake—"
"She's mine." It wasn't a question. "She's my daughter."
You nodded, your throat tight. "Yes."
"And you didn't think that was something I deserved to know?"
The hurt in his voice was worse than if he'd shouted. You'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, prepared dozens of explanations, justifications. But now, faced with the reality of Jake standing before you, devastated by the secret you'd kept, all your carefully planned words abandoned you.
"I was going to tell you," you finally managed. "In the beginning. But you had just signed with the team in Europe. It was everything you'd ever wanted—"
"Not everything," he cut in. "Not by a long shot."
You pressed on. "I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you left. The long-distance thing was already so hard. We were already fighting about whether I would eventually join you or you would come back. I didn't want to add this pressure."
"So you decided not to tell me I was going to be a father? That was your solution?" The quiet control in his voice was slipping. "Did you think I wouldn't want to know?"
"I was going to tell you after you got settled," you continued, the words coming faster now. "But then there were complications with the pregnancy. The doctor put me on bed rest. I was scared, Jake. And you were so far away, already becoming this huge star, and I just... I didn't want to be the reason you gave everything up."
"That wasn't your decision to make." The muscle in his jaw ticked. "It should have been our decision. Together."
"I know that now," you admitted. "But by the time Jade was born, months had passed. You were all over the sports news, dating celebrities, living this life that seemed a universe away from midnight feedings and diaper changes. I convinced myself it was too late."
Jake ran both hands through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "So what was your plan? Never tell me? Let her grow up not knowing who her father is? What happens when she's older and sees me on TV? Or finds articles about me online?"
"I don't know," you confessed. "I've been figuring it out as I go. I never expected... this." You gestured vaguely at the soccer field. "When her school announced this clinic, I almost kept her home. But she was so excited, and I thought... what are the chances you'd even notice her among hundreds of kids?"
"Pretty good, apparently, when she has my face and my last name," Jake said with a mirthless laugh. "Why does she have my last name if you were never going to tell me about her?"
You looked away. "We were engaged, Jake. I was already using Sim half the time. And I guess... I wanted her to have that connection to you, even if she didn't know it."
Jake fell silent, his gaze drifting to where Jade was happily munching on a cookie, chatting with animated hand gestures to the volunteer. His expression softened instantly, the anger temporarily giving way to wonder.
"She's incredible," he said quietly.
"She is," you agreed. "She's smart and funny and kind. And she's obsessed with soccer, which I swear has nothing to do with me. That's all you. It's in her DNA or something."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The way she moves on the field... even untrained, she has instincts."
"She practices every day in our backyard. Drives the neighbors crazy."
The moment of connection flickered between you, then faded as reality reasserted itself.
"What happens now?" Jake asked, his voice lower. "Because I need you to understand something. I'm not walking away. Not again. Not from her."
The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means I'm her father, and I want to be part of her life."
"You live in Europe, Jake. Your life is press conferences and training sessions and traveling for matches. How exactly do you see this working?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together. Like we should have five years ago."
Before you could respond, a small blur of energy crashed into Jake's legs.
"The cookies are so good!" Jade announced, beaming up at him. "Do you want one? I saved half for you because Mom says sharing is caring."
Jake looked momentarily stunned by the casual physical contact, by this child—his child—offering him a slightly mangled cookie with the same open-hearted generosity he remembered from you.
"I'd love one," he said, crouching down again to accept the offering. "Thank you, Jade."
"You're welcome!" She watched intently as he took a bite. "Good, right?"
"The best cookie I've ever had," he said seriously.
Jade nodded, satisfied with his assessment. "Mom, can we show Jake my trophy? The one I got at mini-league last month? I scored three goals in one game!"
Jake's eyes shot to you, another piece of his daughter's life he'd missed falling into place.
"Jade, honey," you began carefully. "Mr. Sim probably has to get going. He's very busy and—"
"Actually," Jake interrupted, "I'd really like to see that trophy sometime."
Jade's entire face lit up. "You could come over to our house! We have a soccer goal in the backyard and everything! Mom could make her special pasta! She only makes it for very important occasions."
The hopeful look on Jake's face was almost as hard to resist as Jade's. You felt cornered, events spiraling beyond your control.
"Maybe someday," you said vaguely.
"How about tomorrow?" Jake suggested, his eyes never leaving yours, challenge evident in them.
"Yes!" Jade bounced with excitement. "Tomorrow! Please, Mom? Please?"
You looked between them—the identical hopeful expressions, the same dimples, the same way of leaning forward slightly when anticipating something.
This was it. The moment your carefully constructed world collapsed. The moment your daughter's life changed forever. The moment you had to face the consequences of a decision made five years ago.
"Okay," you finally said. "Tomorrow."
Jake's expression was unreadable—a complex mix of triumph, hurt, anticipation, and lingering anger. "I'll bring dessert," he said simply.
Jade cheered, already firing questions at Jake about his favorite foods, favorite colors, whether he liked movies about talking animals. He answered each one with a patience and focus that belied the emotional tsunami he must be experiencing.
Over Jade's head, his eyes met yours—intense, determined, and filled with a silent promise that tomorrow would only be the beginning.
The fairy tale you'd told yourself—that you could keep Jade's paternity secret forever, that your paths would never cross with Jake's again—had crumbled in the space of a single afternoon.
Tomorrow, Jake Sim would walk back into your life.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
-
By the time the doorbell rang at 6:02 PM, you'd changed your outfit four times, cleaned the entire house twice, and nearly canceled the whole thing approximately seventeen times. Only the memory of Jade's excitement—she'd spent the morning making a welcome sign decorated with wobbly soccer balls—had stopped you from texting Jake with some hastily constructed emergency.
"He's HERE!" Jade shouted from the living room, where she'd been perched by the window for the last forty-five minutes. She raced to the door, skidding across the hardwood in her socks, her special occasion dress (chosen after trying on her entire wardrobe) fluttering behind her.
"Wait, Jade—" But she was already yanking the door open, your warnings about stranger danger apparently forgotten in her excitement.
"Hi Jake!" she beamed, bouncing on her toes. "You're right on time! Mom said you'd be here at six and it's six! I've been waiting forever!"
You rounded the corner from the kitchen to find Jake standing in your doorway, looking simultaneously at ease and completely out of place. He'd traded his athletic gear for dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but even dressed casually, there was something about him that screamed 'professional athlete.' Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the watch that probably cost more than your car.
"I brought dessert," he said, holding up a bakery box. His eyes found yours over Jade's head, and the careful neutrality in his expression told you he was still processing everything. Still upset.
"And flowers!" Jade pointed out, noticing the bouquet in his other hand. "Are those for Mom? They're so pretty!"
"They are." Jake handed the bouquet to you with a formality that made your chest ache. Gone was the man who used to bring you wildflowers picked from the side of the road, who once filled your apartment with paper flowers he'd made himself when he was broke and couldn't afford real ones. "Thank you for having me over."
The subtext was clear: Thank you for finally allowing me into my daughter's life.
"Come in," you managed, stepping aside. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Jake, do you want to see my room?" Jade grabbed his hand without hesitation. "I have a whole wall of soccer stuff! And my trophy! And my cleats collection! And—"
"Jade," you interrupted gently. "Let's give Jake a minute to get settled first."
"It's okay," Jake said, his eyes softening as he looked at Jade. "I'd love to see your room."
"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist in victory, then tugged Jake down the hallway. "It's this way! The one with the stars on the door! Mom painted them for me because stars are my second favorite thing after soccer!"
You watched them go, Jake's tall frame following your daughter's bouncing form, and felt a wave of emotion so complex you couldn't even name it. Setting the flowers aside—you'd find a vase later—you retreated to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations and gather your thoughts.
Through the walls, you could hear Jade's excited chatter and Jake's deeper responses, though you couldn't make out the words. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. Just as you were about to call them for dinner, they reappeared in the kitchen doorway.
Jake's expression had changed. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but something else had softened. He was holding a small framed photo—the one from Jade's nightstand of her third birthday, blowing out candles on a soccer ball cake, her face lit with delight.
"Jade was just showing me her... everything," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "She's got quite the medal collection already."
"Mini league championships," you explained, busying yourself with the pasta. "Her team won last season."
"I showed him my scrapbook too!" Jade announced, climbing onto her usual chair at the kitchen table. "The one with all my important memories!"
Your stomach dropped. The scrapbook had photos from every stage of Jade's life—the hospital, her first steps, first day of preschool—all the moments Jake had missed.
"It was very impressive," Jake said, setting the photo down on the counter. His eyes never left yours. "Very thorough."
The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Jade remained blissfully oblivious, swinging her legs and arranging her silverware just so.
"Dinner's ready," you announced, grateful for the distraction. "Jade, can you get the water pitcher from the fridge?"
The meal itself was painfully awkward, saved only by Jade's non-stop commentary. She told Jake about her teacher, her best friend Emma, how she wanted to be a professional soccer player and a veterinarian and maybe an astronaut. Jake listened attentively, asking questions, smiling at her jokes, even as you felt his attention split between Jade's stories and the questions he clearly wanted to ask you.
"—and that's why I'm not allowed to bring frogs in the house anymore," Jade concluded one particularly animated story that you'd only half-heard. "Right, Mom?"
"Right, honey," you confirmed automatically, though you'd missed most of the context.
"Speaking of rules," Jake said, seizing the opening, "I'd love to know more about Jade's routine. What time does she usually go to bed? What's her favorite subject in school? Is she allergic to anything? Does she have any medical conditions I should know about?"
The rapid-fire questions had an edge to them, reminding you that this pleasant dinner was just the surface. Underneath lay five years of absence he was determined to make up for in a single evening.
"I go to bed at eight on school nights and eight-thirty on weekends!" Jade answered before you could speak. "And my favorite subject is P.E., obviously. But I also like art because we get to use glitter sometimes."
"Any allergies?" Jake pressed, looking at you now.
"No allergies," you said quietly. "She had some respiratory issues as a baby—croup that turned into pneumonia when she was about eighteen months. She was hospitalized for three days. But she's been healthy since then."
Something flashed across Jake's face—pain, anger, maybe both. Another crisis he hadn't been there for.
"I was really sick," Jade confirmed solemnly. "Mom slept in the hospital with me and everything. But I don't remember it because I was too little."
"I see." Jake took a careful sip of water.
"I'll put together a file for you," you offered, trying to defuse the tension. "Medical records, school reports, everything."
"That would be... helpful," he acknowledged, though his tone suggested it was the bare minimum.
The conversation shifted to safer topics through the rest of dinner, though you caught Jake studying Jade's mannerisms with an intensity that suggested he was cataloguing every detail, making up for lost time. The way she talked with her hands when excited—just like him. The way she tilted her head when considering a question—also like him. The dimple that appeared on only one cheek when she gave a half-smile—unmistakably his.
After dinner, Jade insisted on showing Jake her soccer skills in the backyard. You watched from the kitchen window as she demonstrated her "special move," a surprisingly coordinated series of dribbles ending with a shot on the small goal set up against the fence. Jake crouched beside her, making subtle adjustments to her form, and you could see Jade soaking up every word like a sponge.
They were so alike it was almost painful to watch.
When they came back inside, you had dessert set out—the chocolate cake Jake had brought, sliced and plated.
"Jade, after dessert it's bath time," you reminded her.
"But Jake just got here!" she protested. "Can't I stay up extra late? It's a special occasion!"
"Actually," Jake interjected, "I was hoping I could talk to your mom alone for a bit after you go to bed."
The way he said it made your pulse quicken. The temporary truce established during dinner was about to end.
"Will you come back tomorrow?" Jade asked, looking up at Jake with chocolate-smeared cheeks and hopeful eyes. "You could teach me more soccer moves! And meet my stuffed animals! You only met half of them!"
Jake glanced at you, a challenge in his eyes. "That depends on what your mom and I discuss tonight."
"Please, Mom?" Jade turned those same hopeful eyes on you. "Can Jake come back tomorrow? And the next day? And the next day?"
"We'll see, sweetheart," you said, avoiding both their gazes. "Let's finish dessert first."
An hour later, after Jade's bath, two bedtime stories (one read by Jake at Jade's insistence), and finally getting her to sleep (complicated by the excitement of having a visitor), you returned to the living room to find Jake standing by your bookshelf, examining the framed photos.
"She's finally asleep," you said, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"
"Answers," Jake replied without turning around. "I want answers."
You sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Ask whatever you want to know."
Now he did turn, fixing you with a stare that pinned you in place. "Why didn't you tell me? The real reason. Not what you think I want to hear, not what you've told yourself. The truth."
You took a deep breath. "I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of everything. Of telling you and having you resent us for complicating your new life. Of telling you and having you give up your dream to come back. Of raising a child with someone living on another continent. Of what would happen to Jade if we tried and failed at making it work."
Jake crossed his arms. "So you decided the best solution was to just cut me out entirely? Not even give me the chance?"
"I told myself I was waiting for the right time," you admitted. "But the longer I waited, the harder it became to imagine how that conversation would go. Weeks turned into months, months into years. And then..."
"And then what? Five years passed and you thought, 'Well, too late now'?"
"It wasn't like that," you protested, though part of you knew he wasn't entirely wrong. "Every birthday, every milestone, I thought about telling you. I almost did, countless times."
"But you didn't." His voice was flat. "Instead, you named her after me, gave her my last name, and kept her a secret. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To discover you have a five-year-old daughter who knows every Disney movie by heart but doesn't know who her father is?"
"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears threatening. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I am."
Jake ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "She has a whole life I know nothing about. First words, first steps, first day of school—all of it, gone. I can never get that back."
"I know," you said, your voice small. "And that's on me."
He paced across the living room, energy radiating off him in waves. "What have you told her about me? About her father?"
"Not much," you admitted. "That her dad is a soccer player who lives far away. That he's not part of our lives. She started asking more questions recently, but I've... deflected."
"So when were you planning to tell her the truth? When she's ten? Fifteen? When she googles me one day and puts it together herself?"
The question hit you like a physical blow because you had never had a good answer for it, even in your own mind. "I don't know," you confessed. "I should have had a plan, but I didn't. I just kept pushing it off."
Jake stopped pacing and fixed you with a stare. "Well, time's up. Because I want to be in her life—fully, completely in her life. I want joint custody."
Your heart dropped. "Jake, you live in Europe. Your schedule is insane. How would that even work?"
"I'll figure it out," he said, with the same determination that had taken him from local soccer star to international phenomenon. "My contract has a clause about family emergencies. I can get time now, and when the season's over in three months, I'll have more flexibility."
"And then what? She shuttles back and forth between continents? That's not stability, Jake."
"And growing up without her father is?" he countered. "I missed five years. I won't miss any more."
"I'm not saying you can't be in her life," you clarified. "I'm saying we need to be realistic about what that looks like."
"Realistic," he repeated, the word sharp with disdain. "Was it 'realistic' when you decided not to tell me I had a daughter?"
You had no good answer for that.
"I want everything," Jake continued, his voice calmer but no less intense. "School records, medical history, photos, videos—everything from the last five years. I want to know her favorite foods, her fears, what makes her laugh, what comforts her when she's upset. I want to know what she was like as a baby, as a toddler, every stage I missed."
"Okay," you agreed quietly. "You can have all of that."
"And I want to tell her I'm her father. Soon. Not some vague 'someday' that never comes."
This made your chest tighten with anxiety. "Jake, we need to be careful about that. She's five. This is a lot for her to process."
"And whose fault is that?" The words hung in the air between you, sharp with accusation.
"Mine," you acknowledged. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to handle this carefully for her sake."
Jake was silent for a long moment, conflict playing across his features. Finally, he let out a long breath. "Fine. We'll talk to a child psychologist, get professional advice on how to tell her. But it happens within the next month. I won't be a stranger to my own daughter any longer than necessary."
You nodded, relieved at this small concession. "That's fair."
"And in the meantime, I want to see her regularly. Every day while I'm in town, and we'll figure out video calls when I go back. I want to be at her games, her school events, everything I can possibly make."
"Of course," you said. "She'd love that."
Jake's expression softened marginally. "She's amazing," he said, almost to himself. "When she was showing me her room, the way she explained everything with such... enthusiasm. She's got this incredible energy."
"Gets that from you," you said without thinking. "She's been like that since she could crawl. Always moving, always excited about something."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The soccer obsession too?"
"One hundred percent you. I swear I never pushed it. She picked up a ball when she was two and that was it. Love at first kick."
For a moment, the tension between you eased, replaced by the shared wonder of the person you'd created together. Then reality reasserted itself.
"I'm still angry," Jake said quietly. "I don't know if or when that will change."
"I understand," you said, meaning it. "You have every right to be."
He checked his watch. "It's getting late. I should go. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, like I promised Jade."
"Okay."
Jake moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. I haven't told my parents yet. About Jade."
Your stomach dropped. Jake's parents had loved you once. You'd been planning a life together, marriage, family. How would they react to knowing you'd kept their grandchild from them for five years?
"When are you going to tell them?" you asked.
"Soon. They're flying in next week. I wanted to meet Jade first, to..." he trailed off, then finished, "to see for myself."
The implication stung, though you couldn't blame him. Of course he'd needed to confirm for himself that Jade was his.
"They'll want to meet her," he continued. "They have a right to know their granddaughter."
"Of course," you agreed, though the prospect filled you with dread.
Jake opened the door, then looked back at you one last time. "For what it's worth, you've done an amazing job with her. She's... perfect."
Before you could respond, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.
You sank back onto the couch, emotional exhaustion washing over you in waves. Through the half-open door of Jade's bedroom, you could see her sleeping peacefully, unaware that her world had just fundamentally changed.
Tomorrow, Jake would be back. He would continue piecing together the life of his daughter. And sooner than you'd ever planned, Jade would learn the truth: that the professional soccer player she'd been so excited to meet was her father.
The carefully constructed life you'd built was falling apart.
Or perhaps, a small voice in your mind suggested, it was finally coming together the way it should have been all along.
-
"Higher! You have to kick it higher!" Jade called from the backyard, hands on her hips in a pose of exaggerated exasperation that made her look startlingly like a miniature coach.
Jake laughed, adjusting his technique to send the soccer ball sailing high into the air. "Like this?"
"Perfect!" Jade's face lit up as she positioned herself beneath the descending ball, calculating its trajectory with surprising precision for a five-year-old.
You watched from the kitchen window, coffee mug clutched between your hands, as Jade attempted to trap the ball with her chest like she'd seen professional players do. Instead, it bounced off her head and rolled away, sending her into peals of laughter.
The day had started early—too early, with Jade bouncing into your room at 6:15 AM asking if it was "Jake time yet." When he'd arrived promptly at ten, she'd practically dragged him through the house to show him her new soccer cleats, her collection of medals ("Some of them are just for participating but these three are for winning"), and the scrapbook of soccer cards she'd been collecting.
Jake had brought a gift—a professional-grade junior soccer ball with the logo of his European team—which had immediately cemented his status as Jade's new favorite person.
"Mom!" Jade's voice pulled you from your thoughts as she raced toward the back door, Jake following at a more measured pace. "Jake says I have natural talent! That's a real thing that real coaches say!"
"Is that so?" you asked, unable to hold back a smile at her enthusiasm.
"It is," Jake confirmed, ducking slightly to enter through the back door. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his hair was charmingly disheveled from chasing after Jade for the past hour. "She has great instincts. Her spatial awareness is excellent for her age."
"I have special awareness," Jade repeated proudly, though clearly not understanding what it meant.
"Spatial," Jake corrected gently.
"That's what I said! Special!" Jade zipped past you to the refrigerator. "I need a juice box because athletes need to stay hydrated. Jake told me that's very important. Do you want one too, Jake? We have apple and grape and the gross one with vegetables that Mom thinks I don't know about."
Jake caught your eye over Jade's head, amusement dancing in his expression. "I'll take apple, thanks."
You'd expected today to be awkward, tense—a continuation of last night's emotional confrontation. Instead, Jade's presence had created a buffer, her boundless energy requiring both adults to focus on her rather than the complicated emotions between them.
"I was thinking we could all go to the park after lunch," you suggested, pulling sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. "They have a bigger field there."
"Can we get ice cream after?" Jade asked immediately, strategic as always.
"We'll see," you answered automatically.
"That means yes," Jade stage-whispered to Jake. "It always means yes."
Jake's laugh was genuine, unguarded in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade was his daughter. "Good to know your negotiation tactics."
"What's nego... that word you said?"
"Negotiation. It means figuring out how to get what you want."
Jade nodded solemnly. "I'm very good at that. Mom says I should be a lawyer because I never stop arguing."
"I can see that," Jake said, accepting the juice box Jade thrust into his hands. "You make a strong case for ice cream."
"What's your favorite flavor?" Jade asked, climbing onto her chair at the kitchen table. "Mine's chocolate with the rainbow sprinkles. Sometimes I get it in a cone but that's messier."
Jake shook his head with a small smile. "I don't really eat ice cream much anymore. Sweet things aren't really my thing these days."
Jade looked absolutely horrified, as if he'd just admitted to not believing in gravity. "You don't like ice cream? But everybody likes ice cream!"
"My nutritionist has me on a pretty strict diet," Jake explained, clearly amused by her reaction. "Professional athletes have to be careful about what they eat."
"That sounds terrible," Jade declared with the dramatic conviction only a five-year-old could muster. "When I'm a professional athlete, I'm still going to eat ice cream. And cake. And cookies."
"That's exactly what your mom used to say about diets," Jake said before he could catch himself, glancing at you with sudden uncertainty.
But Jade just nodded enthusiastically. "Mom's really smart about desserts. We have the same taste buds."
You busied yourself making sandwiches, aware of Jake's eyes on you but not ready to meet his gaze. The ease with which he and Jade interacted was both heartwarming and painful—a glimpse of what should have been all along.
"Peanut butter and banana for Jade," you announced, setting a plate in front of her. "Turkey and cheese for the adults."
"Did you cut it in triangles?" Jade asked suspiciously, examining her sandwich.
"Would I dare serve it any other way?" You mock-gasped, hand over your heart.
Jade giggled. "You forgot once."
"And I'll never live it down, apparently," you said to Jake with an eye roll.
"Triangles taste better," Jade explained to Jake with the conviction of someone stating an irrefutable scientific fact. "Rectangles are just wrong."
"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
Lunch passed with Jade dominating the conversation, jumping from topic to topic with the frenetic energy that characterized everything she did. She told Jake about her best friend Emma, her teacher Ms. Rivera, the class pet frog she wasn't allowed to bring home ("Mom has a no amphibians rule, which is so unfair"), and her upcoming soccer tournament.
"Will you come to my game?" she asked Jake suddenly, mid-bite. "It's next Saturday. I'm number ten, just like your jersey! Mom got me that number special."
Your eyes met Jake's across the table, a silent exchange passing between you. That number hadn't been a coincidence, and you both knew it.
"I'd love to come to your game," Jake said, his voice warm but with an undertone only you would recognize—the weight of a father being invited to his daughter's game for the first time.
"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist victoriously. "You can meet my coach and my team and show them some of your special moves!"
"We'll see about that," you interjected gently. "Jake might want to just watch."
Jade looked scandalized. "But he's famous! Everyone will think it's so cool if he shows us stuff!"
"Let's talk about that later," you suggested, seeing Jake's expression grow more complex. Neither of you had discussed how to handle his public presence in relation to Jade—not to mention the questions that would inevitably arise if Europe's star striker started showing up at a five-year-old's soccer games.
After lunch, you all headed to the park as planned. Jade insisted on bringing her new soccer ball, clutching it to her chest the entire car ride while peppering Jake with questions from the back seat.
"Do you know how to do a rainbow kick? Can you teach me? How many goals have you scored? Have you ever broken a bone? My friend Tyler broke his arm falling out of a tree but I would never fall out of a tree because I'm a good climber, right Mom?"
You caught Jake's eye as he turned slightly in the passenger seat, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She never stops, you mouthed silently.
Just like me, he mouthed back, and something warm unfurled in your chest at the easy acknowledgment of the traits Jade had inherited from him.
At the park, Jade immediately dragged Jake to the open field, demanding he show her "professional tricks." A few other children gravitated toward them, drawn by Jade's enthusiasm and Jake's obvious skill as he demonstrated simple footwork patterns.
You settled on a nearby bench, allowing yourself a moment to simply observe. Jake was patient, breaking down movements into steps Jade could follow, praising her efforts even when she stumbled. When she finally managed a basic step-over move, his genuine pride matched her excitement.
"Mom! Did you see that? I did it just like Jake!"
"I saw, sweetheart! That was amazing!"
As the afternoon progressed, more children joined their impromptu clinic. Jake seemed in his element, guiding each child with the same attention he gave Jade. You noticed a few parents doing double-takes as they recognized him, whispering to each other and discreetly taking photos with their phones.
Eventually, Jade ran over to you, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness. "This is the best day ever! Jake knows everything about soccer! And he likes all the same things I like! He even does the victory dance the same way I do! Watch!"
She demonstrated an elaborate celebratory move involving a spin and fist pump that was, indeed, eerily similar to Jake's signature goal celebration.
"That's amazing, honey."
"I didn't even show it to him, Mom! He just does it the same! Isn't that cool?"
"Very cool," you agreed, smoothing back her sweaty hair. "Are you ready for that ice cream now?"
"Yes! Jake, we're getting ice cream!" she called over her shoulder.
Jake joined you, slightly out of breath but looking more relaxed than you'd seen him since his return. "Ice cream sounds perfect."
"Can I go on the swings first?" Jade asked, already edging toward the playground. "Just for five minutes?"
"Okay, but only five," you agreed, knowing full well it would be at least fifteen minutes before you'd successfully extract her.
As Jade raced off, you and Jake were left alone for the first time that day.
"She's incredible," he said, eyes following her across the playground. "I know I keep saying that, but..."
"She is," you agreed. "And she's completely taken with you."
Jake sat beside you on the bench, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful space between you.
"Thank you for today," he said quietly. "For letting me spend time with her."
"Of course. She's your—" You stopped, glancing around to make sure no little ears could overhear. "She's your daughter. You have every right to know her."
Jake's expression softened. "I was prepared to be angry today. To keep fighting about the past." He watched Jade swinging higher and higher, fearless as always. "But it's hard to stay angry when she's so... full of life."
"She has that effect on people," you said with a small smile. "It's impossible to be in a bad mood around Hurricane Jade."
"Wonder where she gets that from," Jake said, a hint of his old teasing tone returning.
"Oh, that's all you. The energy, the charm, the inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds—pure Sim genetics."
He laughed, and for a moment it was almost like before—before Europe, before the breakup, before five years of silence and secrets.
"I meant what I said earlier, about her having natural talent," Jake said, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. "With the right coaching, she could go far."
"I've tried to encourage it," you admitted. "Signed her up for every age-appropriate program I could find. But there's only so much I know about proper technique."
"I could help with that," Jake offered cautiously. "If you're okay with it."
"I'd like that," you said softly. "She would too, obviously."
A comfortable silence settled between you, both watching Jade as she abandoned the swings for the climbing structure.
"About last night," Jake began.
"I have all the photos and videos organized," you said quickly. "After Jade goes to bed, I can show you everything. Her first steps, first words, birthdays—all of it."
Jake studied your face for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."
"MOM! JAKE! WATCH THIS!" Jade shouted from the top of the playground, preparing to slide down a pole firefighter-style.
You both instinctively tensed, ready to rush forward if needed, but she executed the move with practiced ease, landing triumphantly at the bottom.
"Your heart stops a dozen times a day with her," you murmured.
"I can see that," Jake said with a mixture of pride and newfound parental concern.
"Ice cream time," you confirmed, standing from the bench.
"Can I get sprinkles and chocolate sauce?" Jade asked, slipping her small hand into Jake's automatically, as if she'd been doing it her whole life.
You saw Jake freeze for just a moment, staring down at their joined hands with an expression of wonder, before he gently squeezed her fingers in response.
"I think this counts as a special occasion," he said, looking to you for confirmation.
"A very special occasion," you agreed, your voice catching slightly as you watched your daughter walking hand-in-hand with her father for the first time.
Jade looked up at Jake with pure adoration. "I've had so much fun with you today! You're really good at everything I like to do. Mom says I'm picky about people, but I think you're the best."
"Well, that's quite a compliment," Jake said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think you're pretty great too."
"Can you come over again tomorrow? And the next day? And maybe forever?"
"Jade," you cautioned gently, seeing Jake's expression.
"I'll definitely come back tomorrow," Jake promised. "We still have a lot of soccer moves to practice."
"And then Mom can show you my baby pictures!" Jade said brightly. "I was super cute."
"Still are," Jake said, swinging their joined hands playfully.
As you walked behind them toward the ice cream stand, you watched Jake bend down to listen intently to whatever world-changing observation Jade was now sharing. Their matching profiles, the same animated way of speaking, the identical dimples when they smiled—it was like seeing double across a generation.
These were the moments you'd imagined in your quietest thoughts over the years, the ones you'd convinced yourself would never happen. Now that they were unfolding before your eyes, you found yourself fighting back unexpected tears.
Whatever happened between you and Jake, however complicated your own relationship might be, today had made one thing clear: Jade had found her father. And despite everything, he was already proving to be exactly what she needed.
The rest would have to be figured out one day at a time.
-
"Higher! Throw it higher!"
Jade's delighted squeals had faded an hour ago, replaced by the peaceful quiet of evening as you sat on your living room floor surrounded by photo albums, memory boxes, and a laptop open to years of digital archives. After a full day of Jake and Jade's energetic bonding, she'd finally crashed, falling asleep mid-sentence during her second bedtime story.
Now, in the hushed stillness, Jake sat across from you, cross-legged on the carpet, holding Jade's first pair of soccer cleats—tiny pink things she'd insisted on wearing everywhere, even to bed.
"She was two and a half when she got these," you explained, sorting through a box of keepsakes. "Saw them at the store and had an absolute meltdown until I bought them. They were two sizes too big."
Jake turned the miniature cleats over in his hands, his expression softening in a way it hadn't when discussing the more difficult aspects of your past. "She was walking by then. Running?"
"Running, jumping, climbing everything in sight. She was an early walker—ten months. Never crawled much." You hesitated before adding, "Just like you."
His eyes met yours, a flash of something—surprise, connection, hurt that he hadn't known this parallel—before returning to the cleats.
"I found it," you said, pulling out an external hard drive. "All the videos. I had everything digitized last year."
You connected it to your laptop, acutely aware of Jake moving closer, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he positioned himself to see the screen. The faint scent of his cologne—different from what he'd worn five years ago, but with the same underlying notes—stirred memories you'd tried hard to suppress.
"I organized it chronologically," you said, opening the earliest folder. "These are from the hospital."
Jake leaned forward, his breath catching as the first image filled the screen: a newborn Jade, red-faced and wrinkled, wrapped in a pink blanket.
"She was so small," he whispered.
"Six pounds, four ounces. Smaller than the doctors expected." You clicked to the next image. "Twenty hours of labor, and then she just... arrived. Changed everything in an instant."
Jake was silent, eyes fixed on the screen as you cycled through those first photos—Jade sleeping, Jade crying, Jade with eyes barely open. You in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant. Every image seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
"I wasn't there," he said quietly.
The accusation from before was gone, replaced by simple grief. You didn't know what to say, so you kept clicking through photos.
"Did you... was anyone with you? During the birth?"
"Tia," you answered. "She held my hand through the whole thing. Called me every name in the book when I refused the epidural at first."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Sounds like Tia."
You opened the video folder, hesitating over the first one. "This is her first day home. I was a mess, hadn't slept in days. It's not exactly America's Funniest Home Videos material."
"I want to see it," Jake said. "All of it."
You pressed play. The video showed your apartment—your old place, before you'd moved to the house—with baby items scattered everywhere. The camera shakily focused on a bassinet where Jade slept, then panned to you curled up on the couch, half-asleep yourself.
Tia's voice came from behind the camera: "And here we have the natural habitat of the New Mom, surrounded by burp cloths and takeout containers. Note the attractive milk stains on her shirt and the distinctive dark circles under her eyes."
In the video, you flipped off the camera without opening your eyes. "I will murder you in your sleep if you don't let me nap while she's napping."
"Just documenting the miracle of motherhood for posterity," Tia's voice singsonged. The camera moved back to Jade, who was beginning to squirm. "Uh oh, the tiny dictator awakens. Your public demands an audience, Your Majesty."
Present-day you cringed, reaching to skip ahead, but Jake gently caught your wrist. "Don't. I want to see."
On screen, you dragged yourself off the couch, hair a mess, wearing what were clearly Jake's old sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. You scooped up Jade, who immediately quieted against your chest.
"She knows her mama," Tia's voice said softly.
Video-you looked directly at the camera, eyes tired but determined. "We're figuring it out, aren't we, little one? Just you and me."
Jake's hand was still on your wrist, his touch burning against your skin. You felt him inhale sharply at your words in the video, felt the subtle tension through his shoulders.
"I should have been there," he said again, but the anger from before had transformed into something more complex—regret, loss, a quiet ache.
"You didn't know," you said softly, no longer defending yourself but simply stating a fact.
He let go of your wrist, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You clicked through more videos: Jade's first real smile, her first laugh, her determined attempts to roll over. Jake watched them all with fierce concentration, as if trying to absorb every moment he'd missed. He asked questions about each milestone—when, where, how—creating a mental timeline of his daughter's life.
"Wait—go back," he said suddenly when you clicked past a video thumbnail. "Was that...?"
You returned to the previous screen. "Ah. Her first birthday."
Jake pointed to the image. "Is that my jersey?"
Your cheeks warmed. The thumbnail clearly showed Jade sitting in a high chair, cake smeared across her face, wearing a tiny replica of Jake's national team jersey.
"She was going through a phase where she'd only wear red," you explained weakly. "It was the only red thing I could find in her size."
Jake gave you a look that said he didn't believe you for a second. "You kept track of my career."
It wasn't a question. You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it.
"Yes. I followed your games when I could. Jade was too young to understand, but... I thought someday she should know what her father accomplished." You hesitated. "After you made the national team, I bought the jersey. She loved it—wouldn't take it off for days."
Something shifted in Jake's expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest hint of the smile that used to make your heart race. Before he could respond, you quickly pressed play on the video.
Your living room filled with the sounds of "Happy Birthday" being sung off-key, followed by Jade smashing both hands into her birthday cake with wild abandon. The camera panned to show a small gathering—Tia, your parents, a couple of friends—but focused primarily on Jade, who was now wearing more cake than she'd eaten.
Jake leaned forward, transfixed by the sight of his daughter's joy. When the video ended, he didn't immediately speak, just stared at the frozen final frame of Jade grinning with chocolate-covered dimples.
"She looks exactly like you," you said without thinking.
"She has your eyes," he countered quietly. "Your laugh, too."
The observation surprised you. "You think so? Everyone always says she's your mini-me."
"There's a lot of you in her." Jake turned slightly, studying your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "The way she tilts her head when she's considering something seriously. The little crease between her eyebrows when she concentrates. That's all you."
You hadn't expected him to notice such details about you, let alone remember them after five years. The fact that he had been paying such close attention—not just to Jade, but to you—stirred something you'd long tried to suppress.
"I have more videos," you said, breaking the moment before it became too charged. "Her first steps are somewhere in here."
As you scrolled through folders, Jake reached for one of the photo albums on the floor. "What's this one?"
"Preschool years," you said, recognizing the cover. "Ages two to four."
He opened it carefully, turning pages with a gentleness that contrasted with his athletic build. Each new image seemed to fascinate him—Jade at the beach, Jade finger-painting, Jade dressed as a lion for Halloween.
"She's fearless," he observed, pausing on a photo of three-year-old Jade at the top of a playground structure clearly designed for older children.
"Terrifyingly so," you agreed. "I've gotten more gray hairs from her daredevil stunts than from anything else in my life."
Jake's finger traced the outline of Jade's face in the photo. "I used to drive my mom crazy climbing trees. The higher, the better."
"She does the same thing! Last summer, I found her three branches up in the neighbor's oak tree. Nearly had a heart attack."
He laughed, a genuine sound that caught you both by surprise. For a moment, the weight of the past five years seemed to lift slightly. Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, you were back in your old apartment, planning weekend hikes and arguing over movie choices—before contracts and continents and complications.
"Here it is," you said, finding the video you'd been searching for. "First steps, thirteen months old."
Jake shifted closer as the video began playing. On screen, a wobbly Jade stood holding onto the edge of the coffee table, determination written across her tiny face.
Your voice came from behind the camera: "Come on, sweetheart. Come to Mama."
Jade looked directly at the camera, grinned her already mischievous grin, and took one tentative step away from the table. Then another. Three shaky steps before plopping down on her diaper-padded bottom.
"You did it!" your voice exclaimed as the camera shook with excitement. "Oh my god, you did it!"
The video captured you setting down the camera (showing a sideways view of the living room) and rushing to scoop up Jade, spinning her around as she giggled uncontrollably.
"We have to call Auntie Tia," your voice said. "She's not going to believe—" You stopped abruptly, and even in the awkwardly angled footage, your expression was clear: for a brief moment, you'd forgotten you couldn't share this milestone with Jake.
Present-day Jake noticed it too. His eyes shifted from the screen to your face, questioning.
"I almost called you," you admitted quietly. "So many times. Especially for the big moments."
"Why didn't you?" There was no accusation in his voice now, just a genuine need to understand.
You stared at the laptop screen, where the video had ended on a frame of you holding Jade close. "At first, it was all the reasons I told you before. Then... time passed, and it got harder to imagine how that conversation would go. 'Hi, remember me? Surprise, you have a one-year-old.'" You shook your head. "And then you became this massive star, and the gap between our worlds just seemed... unbridgeable."
Jake was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was different—less the angry man demanding answers, more the person you'd once known better than anyone.
"I would have come back. If I'd known."
"That's exactly why I didn't tell you," you said softly. "You would have given up everything you'd worked for. I couldn't do that to you."
"It wasn't your choice to make," he said, but the harsh edge from before was gone.
"No, it wasn't," you acknowledged. "And I can't change that now, no matter how much I wish I could."
Jake closed the photo album, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I've missed so much."
"You're here now," you offered. "And Jade already adores you."
"She doesn't even know who I really am to her."
"She will. Soon." You hesitated, then added, "For what it's worth, I think she's sensed something was missing. The last few months, she's been asking more questions about her father. It's like she knew something was about to change."
Jake's expression shifted as he processed this. "Kids are more perceptive than we give them credit for."
You nodded, thinking of how Jade had instantly connected with Jake, how natural they seemed together despite having just met.
A comfortable silence fell between you as Jake reached for another photo album, this one more recent. As he opened it, something slipped from between the pages—a small ultrasound image, creased from being handled many times.
Jake picked it up, staring at the grainy black and white image of Jade before she was Jade—just a tiny bean-shaped blob with the promise of a future.
"This was the first picture of her," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Twelve weeks."
Jake ran his thumb over the image. "I should have been there."
"I know."
"No, I mean—" He looked up, meeting your eyes directly. "I should have been there regardless. I shouldn't have left in the first place, pregnancy or not."
The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implications.
"Jake—"
"I made a choice five years ago," he continued, his voice steady but vulnerable in a way you hadn't heard since the night before he left. "And even before I knew about Jade, I've questioned that choice more times than I can count."
Your heart stuttered in your chest. "You never said anything."
"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, I know we broke up and haven't spoken in years, but I think I made a mistake'?" He shook his head. "You'd moved on. At least, I thought you had."
"I had a child to raise," you said carefully. "That doesn't mean I moved on."
The air between you felt charged, years of unspoken words and feelings suddenly pressing close. Jake's eyes held yours, searching for something that made your breath catch.
"I used to check your social media," he admitted, looking away. "Not in a stalker way, just... I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I didn't see any posts about dating or... anyone new, I assumed you were just private about it."
"There wasn't anyone to be private about," you said quietly. "Between work and Jade, there wasn't time. At least, that's what I told myself."
Jake's eyes returned to yours, a question in them. "And the real reason?"
The honesty of the moment demanded truth in return. "No one compared. To what we had."
The space between you seemed to shrink, the ultrasound photo still held in Jake's hand—tangible evidence of everything that had been lost and found.
He reached out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. A gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest hurt.
"I've missed you," he said simply. "Not just as Jade's mother. As you."
The words unlocked something you'd kept carefully guarded. You leaned forward slightly, drawn by a gravity that had never fully released its hold on you.
Jake's gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might close the remaining distance between you. Instead, he drew back, though his eyes betrayed how much it cost him to do so.
"We should take this slow," he said, voice rough. "There's a lot we need to figure out first."
"I know," you said, both disappointed and relieved. "Jade comes first."
Jake nodded, though his eyes still held yours with an intensity that made your skin warm. "We need to get the father thing right before we complicate it with... anything else."
"Anything else," you repeated, the phrase heavy with possibility.
He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes and made him look more like the Jake you'd fallen in love with years ago.
"I should go," he said, setting the ultrasound photo carefully back in the album. "It's getting late, and I promised Jade I'd come watch her practice tomorrow."
"Of course," you said, standing up as he did.
At the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "Thank you for tonight. For sharing all of that with me."
"It's only the beginning," you said. "There's a lot more to show you."
"I'm counting on it," he replied, his voice low with a promise that wasn't just about baby photos.
After he left, you stood in the hallway, heart racing with the realization that whatever had been between you and Jake might not be as buried in the past as you'd thought.
It would be complicated. There were a thousand reasons to be cautious.
But for the first time in five years, there was also hope.Chapter Seven: Soccer Practice
"And that's why the inside of your foot is better for passing," Jake explained patiently, kneeling beside Jade on the sidelines of the community soccer field. "It gives you more control."
"But power shots are with your laces, right?" Jade asked, examining her cleats as if they might hold the secrets of professional soccer.
"Right," Jake confirmed with a smile. "Laces for power, inside for accuracy."
You watched from the bleachers, pretending to focus on your phone while actually stealing glances at father and daughter. Jake had arrived at your house exactly as promised—fifteen minutes before Jade's practice—dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt that somehow still managed to hint at the athletic build beneath.
The way your heart had jumped when you opened the door was concerning. Last night's almost-moment had shifted something between you, created an awareness that buzzed like electricity whenever you made eye contact.
"Jake!" Coach Russell called from the center of the field. "Would you mind demonstrating that passing drill we talked about?"
You tensed slightly. Jake had been recognized immediately upon arrival—of course he had, he was almost a household name in soccer circles—but so far he'd been treated with surprising normalcy by the coaching staff. You suspected they were professionals enough to contain their excitement for the sake of the children.
"Sure thing," Jake called back, giving Jade's shoulder a quick squeeze before jogging onto the field.
Several parents around you whispered excitedly, phones emerging from pockets and purses.
"That's really Jake Sim, right?" asked a mom to your left, leaning closer with conspiratorial eagerness. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it, but my husband is going to freak when I tell him."
"Um, yes," you confirmed, unsure how much to say. You and Jake hadn't discussed how to handle public interactions yet.
"Is he..." the woman hesitated, clearly fishing, "...scouting the team or something?"
Before you could form a response, another parent jumped in. "He's here with the Sim girl." He nodded toward Jade, who was watching Jake with undisguised adoration as he demonstrated proper passing technique to the team. "Same last name. Must be related."
Your stomach tightened. Of course people would make the connection. You should have prepared for this.
"I heard he's her uncle," a third parent contributed helpfully.
You nearly choked on your coffee.
"He's a... family friend," you managed, the half-truth feeling strange on your tongue. You'd been careful never to lie to Jade about Jake being her father, just... selective with details. But these were strangers, and you weren't ready for the inevitable questions that would follow the truth.
Thankfully, the parents seemed satisfied with this explanation and returned their attention to the field, where Jake was now lining up the children for passing practice. Jade bounced on her toes at the front of the line, practically vibrating with excitement.
"My daughter says Jade talks about him non-stop," the first mom said, eyes still on the field. "Since the clinic on Saturday, it's all been 'Jake showed me this' and 'Jake can do that.'"
You smiled despite your nerves. "She's pretty taken with him."
"I can see why," the woman said with a laugh. "If I were twenty years younger and single..." She trailed off, fanning herself dramatically.
You felt a strange flash of something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness.
On the field, Jake was crouching next to Jade, adjusting her stance with gentle hands as she prepared to demonstrate the drill. He said something that made her giggle, then stepped back as she perfectly executed the pass, earning cheers from her teammates.
The pure joy on both their faces made your chest ache.
For so long, you'd carried the weight of your decision alone, convinced you were protecting both Jake and Jade. Now, seeing them together, you wondered how much your fear had cost them both.
"He's great with kids," the mom beside you observed. "Does he have any of his own?"
The question hit like a physical blow. "I... I'm not sure," you stammered, the lie bitter on your tongue.
You were saved from further conversation by the coach blowing his whistle, signaling a water break. Jade immediately raced over, Jake following at a more measured pace.
"Mom! Did you see? I did the pass perfectly! Jake showed me how to position my foot and everything!"
"I saw, honey," you said, handing her a water bottle. "You looked like a pro out there."
Jade beamed, gulping down water with the same intensity she applied to everything.
"She's a quick learner," Jake said, approaching the bleachers. He kept a careful distance, but his eyes held the same intimate awareness that had charged the air between you last night. "Coach Russell says she's one of his most promising players."
"Is that why he asked her to demonstrate?" you asked. "I thought he was just being nice because..."
You trailed off, conscious of curious parents within earshot.
"Because I'm here?" Jake finished, lowering his voice. "No, he told me he'd already pegged her as a natural. Said she has better instincts than most kids twice her age."
Pride washed over you, along with the bittersweet realization that Jake was finally getting to experience these parental moments—the simple joy of hearing someone else praise your child.
"Jake! Are you going to stay for the whole practice?" Jade asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Coach says we're doing shooting drills next!"
"I wouldn't miss it," Jake promised.
"And then can we get ice cream again? You didn't get any yesterday because you said sweet things aren't your thing, but maybe today you could try just a little bit?"
Jake laughed, that full, unguarded sound that had been so rare in recent days. "We'll see what your mom says."
"Mom always says yes to ice cream," Jade stated confidently.
"That's not true," you protested, though all evidence was certainly against you.
Jade gave you a skeptical look that was pure Jake, down to the slightly raised eyebrow.
"Two minutes, everyone!" Coach Russell called. "Back to positions!"
"Gotta go!" Jade handed back her water bottle and raced off, nearly colliding with two teammates in her enthusiasm.
Jake took a step toward the bleachers, then hesitated, as if unsure whether he should join you or return to the sidelines. The moment stretched, charged with all the things left unspoken between you.
"You can sit," you said finally, patting the space beside you. "If you want."
He climbed up and settled next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful inch of space between you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, watching as the children lined up for shooting practice, Jade bouncing impatiently in the middle of the queue.
"About last night—" you both started simultaneously, then stopped.
Jake gestured for you to continue.
You took a deep breath. "I just... wanted to say that I appreciate how you are with her. How quickly you've adjusted to all of this."
It wasn't what you'd been planning to say at all. You'd meant to address the almost-kiss, the charged moment that had fundamentally shifted something between you. But the words wouldn't come.
"She makes it easy," Jake said, his eyes following Jade as she moved up in line. "She's so open. So accepting."
"She gets that from you," you said softly. "I was always the cautious one, remember?"
Jake's lips curved into a half-smile. "Is that how you remember it? Because I recall someone climbing onto the roof of my apartment building at midnight because they wanted to see the meteor shower from the 'perfect angle.'"
You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. "That was different. Astronomy requires commitment."
"Uh-huh." His smile widened, eyes still on the field but clearly seeing a different time, a different you. "What about the time you decided we should go cliff diving even though neither of us had ever done it before?"
"You didn't have to follow me," you pointed out, falling easily into the familiar rhythm of your old banter.
"Yes, I did." His voice turned serious, though the smile remained. "Always."
The simple word hung between you, heavy with meaning.
Before you could respond, a cheer went up from the field. Jade had just sent the ball sailing past the junior goalkeeper, then immediately launched into a celebration that was eerily similar to Jake's signature move.
"She watches your games," you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "I saved them—the important ones. She doesn't know... who you are to her, but she's seen you play. I thought she should know what her father can do."
Jake turned to you, surprise and something softer in his expression. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that."
The moment stretched between you, fragile and significant.
"Mom! Jake! Did you see that?" Jade shouted from the field, breaking the spell. "I scored!"
"We saw!" you both called back in unison, then exchanged a quick smile at the synchronicity.
As practice continued, you found yourself relaxing into Jake's presence beside you. The conversation shifted to safer topics—Jade's school, her friends, her other activities—but beneath it ran a current of shared history and newly acknowledged feelings that neither of you seemed ready to fully address.
When practice ended, Jade ran to you both, sweaty and triumphant.
"Coach says I did really good today!" she announced, dropping her water bottle in her excitement. "Can we go for ice cream now? Please?"
Jake bent to retrieve the bottle, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightened. "I think you've earned it," he said, looking to you for confirmation. "If it's okay with your mom."
"Ice cream sounds perfect," you agreed, hyperaware of how close he stood, how domestic this moment felt—the three of you, a family for anyone watching.
And people were watching. Several parents were openly staring now, clearly trying to puzzle out the exact nature of your relationship to the famous soccer player who had spent the last hour focused exclusively on your daughter.
"Can Jake come back to our house after?" Jade asked, grabbing both your hand and Jake's without hesitation. "I want to show him my new library books. They're about space!"
The easy way she connected you physically, standing between you like a bridge, made your heart stumble.
"I'd like that," Jake said, his eyes meeting yours over Jade's head. "If your mom doesn't mind."
There was a question in his gaze, one that went beyond library books and ice cream.
"I don't mind," you said quietly, answering both the spoken and unspoken.
As the three of you walked toward the parking lot, Jade swinging your joined hands and chattering about which ice cream flavor best represented each planet in the solar system, you couldn't help but notice how right it felt.
How, despite five years of separation and secrets, you, Jake, and Jade had somehow fallen into the family rhythm that might have been yours all along.
It terrified you.
It exhilarated you.
And you weren't sure which feeling scared you more.
-
"Is she finally asleep?" Jake asked as you returned to the living room, wineglass in hand.
After ice cream and an enthusiastic tour of Jade's library books, your daughter had lobbied hard for Jake to stay for dinner. One homemade pasta later, he'd somehow been roped into bedtime story duty—a task he'd approached with the same focused determination he brought to professional matches.
"Three stories, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about why the moon doesn't fall out of the sky later—yes, she's out," you confirmed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "I'm pretty sure she was just trying to keep you here as long as possible."
"I don't mind," Jake said, accepting the glass of wine you offered. The soft lamplight caught the angles of his face, softening the features that had graced so many magazine covers. "Today was... good."
"It was."
A comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the distant sound of crickets through the open window. The evening was unseasonably warm, and you'd kept the windows open to catch the spring breeze. Jake had discarded his jacket hours ago, his sleeves now rolled up to reveal forearms that spoke of years of athletic conditioning.
You took a careful sip of wine, hyperaware of his presence just inches away on the couch. Something had been building between you all day—a tension that simmered beneath every glance, every accidental touch.
"I should probably head out soon," Jake said, though he made no move to leave. "I've got a team call early tomorrow."
"Right," you nodded. "The charity match. How long until you have to..."
"Go back?" He finished your thought. "Ten days. Then the European tour picks up again."
The knowledge settled like a weight between you. Ten days before he returned to his other life—the stadiums, the fans, the world that had taken him away five years ago.
"Jade's going to miss you," you said, staring into your wine.
"Just Jade?"
You looked up to find him watching you, his expression open in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade's existence. The guarded anger had faded, replaced by something warm and familiar that made your heart skip.
"I think I might miss you too," you admitted quietly. "Which is probably a terrible idea."
Jake set his glass down, turning to face you more fully. "Why is that?"
"Because you're leaving in ten days. Because we have a five-year-old who's already getting attached to you. Because we haven't figured out what any of this means yet." You gestured vaguely between you. "Take your pick."
"What if I said I've been thinking about this—about us—since last night? Actually, if I'm being honest, longer than that."
Your pulse quickened. "Jake..."
"I know it's complicated," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "I know we have a lot to figure out. But I can't stop thinking about what you said—that no one compared. Because it's been the same for me."
The confession hung in the air between you, impossible to take back.
"You dated," you pointed out weakly. "I saw the tabloids."
A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Dating isn't the same as connecting. Trust me, Jay tried his best to set me up with everyone from models to athletes. Nothing stuck."
"Why not?"
His eyes met yours, dark and intent. "Because none of them were you."
The simplicity of the statement stole your breath.
"That's not fair," you whispered. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?" Jake shifted closer, the distance between you shrinking to mere inches. "It's the truth."
"Because we're supposed to be focusing on Jade. On being co-parents. On not complicating things further."
"And how's that working out for you?" he asked, his voice gentle but knowing.
You couldn't answer, caught in the gravity of his gaze. The truth was, from the moment he'd walked back into your life, all your careful boundaries had begun crumbling. Every smile, every shared look over Jade's head, every brush of fingers had been dismantling the walls you'd built around your heart.
"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," Jake said, his voice dropping lower. "About what almost happened."
Your eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips. "We agreed to take it slow."
"We did," he acknowledged. "And we should. But slow doesn't mean not at all."
He reached out, fingers trailing lightly along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The simple touch ignited something that had been dormant for five years.
"Tell me to stop," Jake murmured, leaning closer. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll back off. We'll focus solely on Jade. Nothing more."
You should say it. You should establish clear boundaries, keep things simple, protect yourself from the inevitable pain when he returned to his life across the ocean.
Instead, you found yourself leaning toward him, drawn by a pull that had never truly released its hold.
"I can't," you whispered. "I've tried, but I can't."
His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip in a gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest tight. "Then don't try."
The first brush of his lips against yours was tentative, questioning. A heartbeat passed where you both hesitated on the precipice of something that couldn't be undone. Then, with a soft sound that might have been surrender, you leaned in, closing the final distance.
Five years evaporated in an instant.
His lips were as you remembered—firm, confident—but there was an edge of desperation that hadn't been there before. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He groaned softly, deepening the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.
You'd forgotten how perfectly you fit together, how easily your body remembered his. The kiss intensified, years of separation and longing transforming into a physical need that threatened to consume you both. His hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he angled your head to deepen the connection.
"I've missed you," he breathed against your lips. "So much."
The words broke something open inside you—a dam of emotion you'd held back for Jade's sake, for your own protection. You responded by pressing closer, trying to convey through touch what you couldn't yet put into words.
Jake's hands were everywhere, relearning the curves and planes of your body with reverent attention. When his fingers skimmed the bare skin at your waist where your shirt had ridden up, you shivered, heat pooling low in your abdomen.
"Is this okay?" he murmured, pausing despite the obvious desire in his eyes.
You nodded, beyond words, and pulled him back to you. The kiss turned hungrier, more urgent. His body shifted, guiding you backward until you were half-lying on the couch, his weight a delicious pressure above you. The feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his strength—was intoxicating.
His lips left yours to trace a path along your jaw, down the column of your throat. You arched into him, a soft gasp escaping when he found that sensitive spot just below your ear that he'd always known. He still remembered. After all this time, he still knew exactly how to unravel you.
Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his back. You could feel the new topography of his body—harder, more defined than before, testament to years of professional training. Yet underneath the changes was the same Jake, the man whose heartbeat you'd once fallen asleep to countless nights.
"You're even more beautiful," he whispered against your skin. "How is that possible?"
Before you could respond, a distant thump from down the hall froze you both. You listened, hearts racing for a different reason now, until the house settled back into silence. No patter of small feet, no curious voice calling out.
Jake pressed his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. "That was..."
"Close," you finished, reality crashing back in. "Too close."
Reluctantly, he shifted his weight, helping you sit up though his hand remained intertwined with yours. The loss of contact left you feeling oddly bereft, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire.
"I should probably go," Jake said, though his eyes told a different story.
"Probably," you agreed, equally unconvincing.
Neither of you moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened and what had almost followed.
"This complicates things," you finally said, stating the obvious.
Jake's thumb traced circles on the inside of your wrist, sending renewed shivers up your arm. "I think things were already complicated. We're just admitting it now."
You couldn't argue with that. From the moment he'd locked eyes with you across that soccer field, something inevitable had been set in motion.
"What happens now?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just the remainder of the evening.
"Now," Jake said, raising your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, "I'm going to leave before I lose the willpower to do so. But not because I want to."
The restraint in his eyes, the obvious tension in his body, sent another wave of heat through you. The knowledge that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him was both thrilling and terrifying.
"And tomorrow?" you pressed.
"Tomorrow I pick up Jade for the park like we planned. We keep building this—whatever this is—one day at a time." His eyes held yours, serious now. "I meant what I said about taking it slow, about doing this right. Jade comes first."
You nodded, grateful for his understanding despite the frustration still thrumming through your veins. "Jade comes first."
He stood, reluctantly releasing your hand. You followed him to the door, hyperaware of every movement, every glance. At the threshold, he turned back to you, his expression a mix of desire and something deeper, more profound.
"For the record," he said quietly, "I've never regretted anything more than walking away from you five years ago. And I don't intend to make the same mistake twice."
He forced himself to step back, putting a responsible distance between you.
"Goodnight," he said, the word carrying far more weight than its two syllables should allow.
"Goodnight," you echoed, leaning against the doorframe as he turned to leave.
He made it halfway down the front walk before stopping abruptly. You watched, confused, as he spun around and marched back to you with sudden determination. Before you could ask what he was doing, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.
When he pulled back, his expression was different—lighter, almost boyish, a glimpse of the Jake who existed before world tours and professional pressures. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, looking strangely pleased with himself.
"I forgot something," he said, his voice carrying a playful quality you hadn't heard in years.
"What was that?" you asked, unable to keep the smile from your own voice.
He shrugged, walking backward toward his car while maintaining eye contact. "Just making sure you don't forget about me before tomorrow."
The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet, so contrary to his usual composed demeanor, that you found yourself laughing—a genuine, surprised sound that seemed to delight him. In that moment, he wasn't international soccer star Jake Sim, but just Jake, the boy who used to leave silly notes in your textbooks and race you to the corner store for ice cream.
"As if that were possible," you called after him, feeling a rush of something light and warm in your chest.
He flashed you one more smile before getting into his car, and you remained in the doorway until his taillights disappeared down the street. Only then did you close the door, pressing your back against it, fingers touching your cheek where the innocent kiss still seemed to tingle.
The gesture had shifted something—added a dimension to the complicated tangle of desire, regret, and hope between you. Somehow, that simple kiss on the cheek felt more intimate than the passionate ones you'd shared earlier, a reminder of the many facets of the man you'd once known so well.
Ten days until he returned to Europe.
Ten days to figure out if what you'd just rekindled was strong enough to withstand the distance that had broken you before.
Ten days to decide if you were brave enough to risk your heart a second time.
-
"Dr. Winters thinks we should be straightforward but gentle," you explained, pacing the length of your kitchen. "No elaborate metaphors or complicated explanations."
Jake nodded, his fingers drumming nervously against the countertop. "Simple truth. I can do that."
A week had passed since that night on your couch—a week of soccer practices, ice cream trips, bedtime stories, and carefully controlled moments between you and Jake after Jade fell asleep. The tension between you had only grown, tempered by the mutual understanding that Jade's well-being came first.
Yesterday, you'd both met with Dr. Winters, a child psychologist who specialized in family transitions. She'd been reassuring, explaining that five was actually a good age for this revelation—young enough that Jade would adapt quickly, old enough to understand the basics of what it meant.
"She already adores you," you said, stopping your pacing to look at Jake. "That's half the battle."
"But what if knowing changes things?" Jake's concern was evident, the confidence he showed on the soccer field nowhere to be found. "What if she's angry we didn't tell her sooner?"
You crossed the kitchen to stand before him, surprised to find yourself in the position of reassuring Jake rather than the other way around. "She's five, not fifteen. And Dr. Winters said children this age are remarkably adaptable."
Jake took a deep breath, reaching for your hand. "I just don't want to mess this up."
"You won't," you said softly, squeezing his fingers. "We won't."
The sound of cartoons from the living room suddenly ceased. Jade had been given special permission for morning TV while the adults "talked about boring grown-up stuff" in the kitchen.
"Mom? Jake? Are you done with your meeting yet?" Jade called. "The show ended and I'm starving!"
You exchanged one final look with Jake—equal parts determination and terror—before calling back, "We're done, honey. Come on in. We want to talk to you about something."
Jade appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly noon. You'd deliberately kept the morning relaxed, following Dr. Winters' advice to have the conversation during a calm, unhurried time.
"Are we having pancakes?" she asked hopefully, climbing onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Because it's Sunday, and Sunday is sometimes pancake day."
"We can have pancakes," you agreed, taking the seat across from her while Jake settled beside you. "But first, we wanted to talk to you about something important."
Jade's expression immediately turned serious, her eyes darting between you and Jake with unexpected perception. "Is it about why Jake comes over all the time now?"
You blinked, surprised by her intuition. "Actually, yes. It is."
"I knew it," Jade said, nodding sagely. "Emma says when grown-ups have special friends, they spend lots of time together. Is Jake your special friend, Mom?"
Jake coughed, clearly trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the moment. You felt your cheeks flush.
"Jake is special to both of us," you said carefully, "but not exactly in the way Emma means."
"Jade," Jake began, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. "Do you remember asking your mom about your dad? About where he was?"
Jade's eyes widened slightly, her full attention shifting to Jake. "Yeah. Mom said he's a soccer player who lives really far away. That's why he can't visit."
Jake glanced at you, a silent confirmation passing between you before he continued. "I've been living far away, in Europe. Playing soccer professionally."
Jade stared at him, her brow furrowed in concentration as her quick mind worked through the implications. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until—
"Are you my dad?" she asked directly, her voice small but steady.
Jake's breath caught audibly. "Yes, Jade. I am."
For a heartbeat, Jade was perfectly still—an unusual state for her perpetually moving body. Then her eyes began to shine with tears. "Really? For real and true?"
"Really," Jake confirmed, his own eyes glistening. "For real and true."
"But... but why didn't you visit me before?" The question held curiosity rather than accusation, and it broke your heart nonetheless.
"Because I didn't know about you," Jake explained simply, just as you'd rehearsed. "When your mom found out she was going to have you, I had already moved to Europe to play soccer. She didn't tell me about you until we met at the soccer clinic."
Jade turned to you, her expression confused. "Why didn't you tell him about me, Mom?"
You'd prepared for this question, knew it was coming, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. "I thought I was doing the right thing," you said carefully. "Your dad had just started his big career, and I didn't want to make things harder for him. But I was wrong not to tell him, and I'm very sorry for that. To both of you."
Jade considered this with the serious contemplation of a judge weighing evidence. "So when you saw me at the soccer clinic," she said, turning back to Jake, "that's why you fainted? Because you were surprised that I was your daughter?"
"That's exactly why," Jake admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Finding out I had such an amazing daughter was the biggest surprise of my life."
Jade's face suddenly lit up with realization. "That's why we have the same last name! And the same dimples! And do the same victory dance! Emma says she looks like her dad too. She has his nose."
The mood in the room shifted, the tension giving way to something lighter as Jade began connecting dots with infectious enthusiasm.
"And that's why I'm so good at soccer!" she continued, practically vibrating in her seat. "Because you're good at soccer too! It's in my DNA! Mrs. Rivera taught us about DNA—it's the stuff inside you that makes you who you are!"
"That's right," Jake said, relief evident in his voice. "You got your soccer skills from me. But you got your brains from your mom."
Jade beamed at this, then suddenly her expression turned serious again. "Are you going to live with us now? Because Emma's dad lives in a different house. He comes on weekends and Wednesdays."
You and Jake exchanged glances. This part you'd deliberately left flexible, knowing that Jade's reaction would guide your next steps.
"I have to go back to Europe in a few days for work," Jake explained gently. "But I'll be coming back to visit as often as I can. And we can video call every day if you want."
"And when my soccer season ends in a few months," he continued, his eyes meeting yours briefly, "we'll figure out a more permanent arrangement. But no matter where I live, I'll always be your dad."
Jade seemed to process this, her legs swinging rhythmically under the chair. "But you'll come to my soccer games when you're here? And my school play? I'm going to be a star in the sky. I only have three lines but they're very important lines."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Jake promised, and you could see the emotion he was struggling to contain.
Jade slid off her chair suddenly, coming around the table to stand in front of Jake. With the directness of a child who hadn't yet learned social hesitation, she asked, "Can I hug you now? Since you're my dad?"
Jake's composure finally broke. "Yes," he said, voice thick. "I would really like that."
Jade threw her arms around his neck with the same wholehearted enthusiasm she brought to everything. Jake's arms wrapped carefully around her small frame, and over Jade's shoulder, his eyes met yours, filled with wonder and gratitude.
You felt tears streaming down your own cheeks as you watched your daughter and her father embrace for the first time—at least, the first time with both of them knowing what they were to each other.
After a long moment, Jade pulled back, studying Jake's face with new interest. "I think I'll call you Dad now, not Jake. Is that okay?"
"That's more than okay," Jake managed, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Jade's ear—the same gesture he'd used with you so many times.
"And can we still have pancakes?" Jade asked, switching gears with the fluid adaptability of childhood. "Because I'm stillstarving. Maybe Dad can help make them? I bet he makes good pancakes."
"I make excellent pancakes," Jake confirmed, the new title bringing a fresh sheen of tears to his eyes. "It's another thing you inherited from me."
"Along with your inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds," you added, wiping away your own tears.
Jade grinned, looking between you with a satisfaction that suggested, in her five-year-old mind, things were exactly as they should be. "This is the best day. I got a dad and I'm getting pancakes!"
As the three of you moved around the kitchen, falling into a surprisingly natural rhythm of pancake preparation, you caught Jake's eye over Jade's head. The gratitude in his expression mirrored your own feeling of relief—relief that amidst all the complications of your adult relationship, this most important revelation had gone better than either of you had dared to hope.
There were still countless details to figure out—custody arrangements, Jake's travel schedule, what would happen after his season ended, and not least, the undefined something that had been rekindling between you. But for now, watching Jake teach Jade the "perfect pancake flip" while she giggled uncontrollably, it was enough to know that your daughter finally had her father.
And maybe, just maybe, you had found your way back to each other too.
-
The last golden light of evening stretched across your backyard, casting long shadows as Jade chased fireflies in her pajamas, giggling each time one of the glowing insects landed briefly in her cupped hands.
"Five more minutes, then bedtime!" you called, though you were reluctant to end this perfect moment. Jake's departure for Europe loomed tomorrow morning, casting a bittersweet shadow over what had been an extraordinary week.
Since telling Jade the truth, everything had shifted. She'd taken to calling Jake "Dad" with the natural ease of a child who'd simply been waiting for permission to use the title. Her friends at school had been informed with five-year-old directness ("My dad is back from Europe and he's REALLY good at soccer!"), and Coach Russell had gently handled the sudden flurry of interest from other parents when Jake attended her final practice before leaving.
Now you sat beside Jake on the back porch steps, your shoulders touching as you watched your daughter—your shared creation—dart across the lawn with boundless energy despite the late hour.
"She's never going to sleep tonight," you murmured, sipping from a glass of wine.
"It's a special occasion," Jake replied, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy. "Last night before..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Tomorrow morning, he'd board a plane back to his team, his contract, his other life.
The past three days had been a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork—establishing formal acknowledgment of paternity, setting up emergency travel provisions, discussing international custody considerations. All of it driven by Jake's determination to have everything properly in place before he left.
In private moments after Jade was asleep, you'd found yourselves drawn together with increasing intensity, as if trying to store up enough connection to last through the coming separation. But you'd been careful to keep things from progressing too far, both acutely aware of Jade just down the hall, both hesitant to define exactly what was happening between you.
"Have you told her what time your flight leaves?" you asked, watching Jade attempt to do a cartwheel she'd been practicing all week.
"I told her I'd be gone when she wakes up," Jake said. "I thought that might be easier. No drawn-out goodbyes at the airport."
You nodded, remembering how hard airport goodbyes could be. Five years ago, you'd stood at a similar departure gate, forcing a smile as Jake headed toward his new life, neither of you knowing you carried the beginning of another life inside you.
"She made you something," you said, reaching for a folded paper on the step beside you. "She wanted me to give it to you after she went to bed. For the plane."
Jake accepted the slightly crumpled drawing, unfolding it carefully. In Jade's distinctive artistic style—which meant lots of color and minimal adherence to proportion—she'd drawn three figures holding hands: a small one in the middle with pigtails, and two larger ones on either side. "ME," "DAD," and "MOM" were labeled with painstaking capital letters, and across the top, "MY FAMILY" had been written with evident pride.
"She worked on it all afternoon," you said softly. "I think she wanted you to have something to take with you."
Jake stared at the drawing, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss so much being there instead of here."
The weight of that statement hung between you. Three months until his season ended. Three months of video calls, of Jade asking when Dad was coming back, of navigating a relationship across continents.
"We'll make it work," you said, though the exact shape of that "work" remained undefined.
"Mom! Dad! Look how many I caught!" Jade called, running toward you with cupped hands. She opened them carefully to reveal a single firefly crawling across her palm.
"That's a good one," Jake said, his voice impressively steady despite the emotion you'd seen in his eyes moments before. "But it's probably time to let him go home to his family now."
Jade nodded solemnly, walking a few steps away to release the insect. "Bye, Mr. Firefly!" she called as it flew away, then turned back to you both. "Is it bedtime?"
"I think so, sweetheart," you confirmed.
Usually, this would trigger negotiations for more time, more stories, more anything to delay the inevitable. But tonight, Jade simply nodded again. "Okay. But Dad has to read the bedtime story."
"Deal," Jake agreed, standing and offering his hands to both you and Jade, pulling you up from the steps.
Bedtime routine passed in a blur of toothbrushing, pajama straightening, and the promised story—which became three stories, each with different voices that Jake performed with theatrical commitment, drawing delighted giggles from Jade.
When the final story ended, Jade looked up at Jake from her pillow, suddenly serious. "You won't forget about me when you're in Europe, right?"
"That would be impossible," Jake said firmly, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I've spent five years not knowing about you, and I'm not missing another minute that I can help. I'll call every day I can, and before you know it, I'll be back."
"Promise?" Jade asked, holding up her pinky finger.
"Promise," Jake confirmed, linking his pinky with hers. "Dad promises."
Satisfied, Jade reached for the stuffed soccer ball that had become her favorite bedtime companion. "G'night, Mom. G'night, Dad."
"Goodnight, sweetheart," you both answered in near-perfect unison, a synchronicity that was becoming increasingly common.
Jake lingered a moment longer by her bedside, seeming to memorize every detail of her face before reluctantly following you out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as Jade preferred.
In the hallway, the weight of his impending departure descended fully. Tomorrow he would be gone, and the precarious balance you'd found over the past week would need to be recalibrated across time zones and international borders.
"Drink?" you offered, hoping to postpone the inevitable goodnight that would follow.
"Please," Jake nodded, following you to the kitchen.
You poured two glasses of wine in silence, hyperaware of the ticking clock, of moments slipping away. When you handed him his glass, your fingers brushed, and the simple contact sent a now-familiar current up your arm.
"I've been thinking," Jake said abruptly, staring into his wine rather than meeting your eyes.
"That sounds dangerous," you attempted to joke, earning a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"These past ten days..." he began, then paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "When I came back, I was angry. Hurt. I couldn't understand how you'd kept Jade from me all these years."
You nodded, accepting the pain you'd caused. "I know."
"But now," he continued, finally looking up at you, "I understand better. Not completely—I still wish you'd told me—but I understand you were trying to protect something you thought was important. My career. My dream."
"I was wrong," you said softly. "I should have let you decide."
"Yes," Jake agreed. "But I also made choices that brought us here. I left. I chose a contract overseas over what we had. I put distance between us that made it harder for you to reach out when you found out about Jade."
The honesty of his words caught you off guard. In all your guilt about keeping Jade secret, you'd rarely considered how Jake's initial departure had shaped everything that followed.
"So where does that leave us?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just this conversation.
Jake set down his glass, closing the distance between you with deliberate steps. "That's what I've been thinking about. What happens after tonight."
Your heart quickened. "And?"
"I don't want to leave you again," he said simply. "Either of you."
"You have to," you reminded him gently. "Your contract—"
"I know I have to go back tomorrow," he clarified. "But I don't want it to be like last time. A goodbye that turns into five years of silence and separate lives."
He took your hands in his, his touch warm and steady. "I want you both to come to Europe. Not tomorrow—I know that's impossible. But soon. When the school year ends. For the summer, at least."
Your breath caught. This wasn't what you'd expected. "Jake—"
"Just hear me out," he pressed. "Jade could see where I live, where I play. You both could experience that part of my world. And I'd look for opportunities closer to home for next season. There are teams that have been interested."
"You'd consider leaving your European team?" The magnitude of what he was suggesting stunned you. "But you've worked so hard to get there."
Jake's expression softened. "Five years ago, playing in Europe was all I ever wanted. Now..." he glanced toward Jade's bedroom, "now my priorities have changed."
The implications of his words hung between you, heavy with possibility.
"And us?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are we in this scenario?"
Jake's hands tightened slightly around yours. "I think you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."
"Say it anyway," you urged, needing to hear the words.
"I love you," he said without hesitation. "I never stopped. Not when I left for Europe, not during five years apart, and certainly not now, seeing you as Jade's mother—seeing how amazing you are with her, how you've built this life."
Tears filled your eyes, the simple truth of his words unlocking everything you'd held back. "I love you too. I tried not to, tried to move on, but..."
"But no one compared," Jake finished, echoing your words from days earlier, his smile reaching his eyes this time.
"No one compared," you confirmed.
He released your hands only to frame your face gently between his palms. "So, what do you say? Will you and Jade come to Europe this summer? Give us a chance to figure out what our family looks like going forward?"
The question was enormous, encompassing practical concerns about Jade's schooling, your work, living arrangements—a thousand logistical details you'd need to consider. But underneath all that was a simpler choice: forward together, or back to separate lives?
"Yes," you heard yourself say, the certainty of it surprising even you. "We'll come."
The joy that transformed Jake's face was worth any uncertainty the future might hold. He pulled you close, his kiss conveying everything words couldn't—relief, gratitude, love, promise.
When you finally separated, both slightly breathless, Jake pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll call every day until you get there. And I've already told Jay to start looking at teams back here for next season."
"You were that confident I'd say yes?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jake laughed softly. "Not confident. Hopeful."
A small noise from the hallway made you both turn. Jade stood in her doorway, stuffed soccer ball clutched to her chest, looking sheepish at being caught out of bed.
"I had a question," she said, though her sly expression suggested eavesdropping had been at least partly intentional.
"What's your question, sweetheart?" you asked, stepping back from Jake slightly, though his arm remained around your waist.
"Are we really going to where Dad lives? In Europe?" Her eyes were wide with excitement that told you she'd heard more than just that part of the conversation.
Jake looked to you, clearly unsure whether to confirm what she'd overheard. You nodded slightly, and he crouched down to Jade's level.
"Would you like that?" he asked carefully. "To come visit me in Europe this summer? To see where I play soccer?"
"Will I get to see a REAL game? With a REAL stadium?" Jade was practically vibrating with excitement now.
"Several games," Jake promised. "And maybe you could even help me practice sometimes."
"YES!" Jade pumped her fist in victory. "Can we go tomorrow?"
You laughed, moving to join them. "Not tomorrow, honey. Dad has to go back first, and we have some things to figure out here. But soon, after school ends."
"How many days is that?" Jade demanded.
"Forty-three," Jake answered promptly, earning surprised looks from both you and Jade. "I counted."
The simple admission—that he'd been counting the days until he could potentially see you both again—made your heart swell.
"That's a LOT of days," Jade observed with a dramatic sigh.
"We'll count them together," you promised. "And Dad will call us every day."
"And then we'll be a real family? All together?" Jade asked, her perceptiveness once again catching you off guard.
You and Jake exchanged a look over her head—a look full of promise, determination, and shared understanding of all that had been lost and found.
"We're already a real family," Jake said softly. "We're just figuring out the details."
Jade considered this, then nodded with the solemn acceptance only a child could manage. "Okay. But can I sleep in your room tonight?" she asked, turning to you. "Since Dad's leaving tomorrow?"
You recognized the request for what it was—not just a child's desire to delay bedtime, but a need for closeness on this night of transition. "Just for tonight," you agreed.
Later, as Jade slept peacefully between you in your bed, Jake's hand found yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining above your daughter's sleeping form.
"Forty-three days," he whispered.
"Forty-three days," you confirmed.
Tomorrow would bring separation, challenges, logistics to navigate. But for the first time in five years, you weren't facing the future alone. The family that had begun by accident, been divided by circumstance, and reunited by chance now had a direction—forward, together.
Whatever form that took, it would be enough.
It would be everything.
-
Epilogue: Three Years Later
"But WHY can't I have a baby brother RIGHT NOW?"
Jade's question echoed through the kitchen with the dramatic flair of an eight-year-old who had recently discovered the power of logical debate. She stood with hands on her hips, soccer uniform still grass-stained from her Saturday morning game, her expression a perfect mirror of Jake's determination.
"Because that's not how it works, sweetheart," you explained, exchanging an amused glance with Jake across the kitchen island. "Even if we decided to have another baby, it takes time."
"Emma's mom had a baby and she said it took NINE WHOLE MONTHS. That's FOREVER!" Jade flopped dramatically onto a chair. "I'll be practically a TEENAGER by then."
Jake choked back a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Jade shot him a suspicious look. Three years of fatherhood had taught him that showing amusement during one of her serious discussions was a tactical error.
"Nine months isn't quite that long," he said, maintaining an impressively straight face. "But your mom's right. These things take time and planning."
Jade narrowed her eyes, a look that had become increasingly effective as she grew older. "Are you guys planning it? Because I heard you talking in your room last night."
Now it was your turn to choke slightly. You and Jake had indeed been discussing the possibility, late at night, after assuming Jade was sound asleep. Apparently, her soccer-enhanced hearing had other ideas.
"It's something we've been thinking about," you admitted carefully. "But it's a big decision."
"I think you should decide YES," Jade stated with the absolute confidence only children possess. "I'd be an AMAZING big sister. I already know how to change diapers from when we babysit Emma's brother."
"You held the wipes once," Jake pointed out.
"That's an IMPORTANT job!" Jade protested. "And I could teach a baby all about soccer and stars and dinosaurs."
"All essential life skills," you agreed, unable to keep from smiling.
The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, followed by the sound of the front door opening.
"Where's my favorite soccer superstar?" Tia's voice called from the entryway.
"AUNTIE TIA!" Jade abandoned the sibling discussion instantly, racing toward the sound. "I scored TWO GOALS today!"
"Is that all? I thought we were working on a hat trick," Tia teased as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Jade already attached to her side like a barnacle.
"Coach said my second goal was good enough to count as TWO," Jade explained seriously.
"Ah, well, if Coach said so." Tia winked at you and Jake. "Speaking of coaches, I believe I was promised brunch with famous people in exchange for helping with yesterday's team pizza party. Twenty second-graders hopped up on cheese and soda is not something I do for free, you know."
"Reservations at Westfield in twenty minutes," Jake confirmed. "Though I dispute the 'famous' part."
Tia snorted. "Your face is literally on a billboard downtown right now."
"It's for a charity event," Jake protested, the same way he'd been downplaying his celebrity status for three years now. The transfer to the stateside team had somehow only increased his profile, especially after leading them to the championship in his second season.
"Dad, can I wear my medal to brunch?" Jade asked, already halfway to her room.
"Of course," Jake called after her. "But grab a clean shirt first!"
When Jade disappeared down the hall, Tia raised an eyebrow at both of you. "So... baby brother discussions? Is there something you two want to share?"
You shook your head. "Just Jade lobbying for a sibling. Though I think she'd be equally happy with a puppy at this point."
"Don't let her hear you make that comparison," Jake warned. "We'll end up with both."
"Considering how she has you wrapped around her finger? I'd say that's inevitable," Tia said, helping herself to coffee. "Remember when she convinced you a trampoline was an essential training tool for soccer footwork?"
"It improved her agility," Jake defended, though his smile acknowledged the weakness of his position.
"Face it, Sim. You're a pushover where that child is concerned."
"Like you're any better," you pointed out. "Who bought her professional-grade astronomical telescope for Christmas?"
"That was educational!" Tia protested.
The comfortable banter flowed naturally, a rhythm established through years of Sunday brunches and family dinners. Tia had remained Jade's favorite aunt and your closest confidante, seamlessly incorporating Jake into her circle of merciless teasing and unwavering support.
Jade reappeared wearing a clean shirt, her medal from the recent junior tournament proudly displayed on her chest, and a soccer ball tucked under her arm just in case an impromptu game broke out during brunch.
"Ready!" she announced. "Can we take the CONVERTIBLE?"
Jake glanced out the window at the perfect blue sky. "I think that can be arranged." The sports car—his one concession to professional athlete stereotypes—was reserved for special occasions and particularly good weather.
As you collected your things, Jade sidled up to Tia with the exaggerated casualness of a child with an agenda. "Auntie Tia, did you know that babies take NINE MONTHS to come? That's almost a YEAR. I could have a baby brother or sister for next Christmas if Mom and Dad would HURRY UP."
Tia's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as she looked between you and Jake. "Is that so? Well, maybe your parents are waiting for the right time."
"NOW is the right time," Jade insisted. "I'm already EIGHT. Soon I'll be too old to teach them important things."
"What important things are those?" Jake asked, unable to resist.
Jade rolled her eyes with the supreme exasperation only a pre-tween could muster. "How to do a RAINBOW KICK, obviously. And how to win at Monopoly, and which dinosaurs could beat other dinosaurs in a fight."
"All crucial life skills," you agreed solemnly, catching Jake's eye over her head.
The silent communication between you had only grown stronger over the years—the ability to have entire conversations with just a look, a small nod, a smile. This particular exchange carried the weight of late-night discussions, of quiet hopes, of "maybe it's time" whispered in the darkness.
At the restaurant, seated at your regular table on the patio, Jade regaled Tia with a play-by-play of her morning's soccer triumph while simultaneously stealing Jake's french fries. The spring sunshine caught the wedding rings on your and Jake's left hands—simple, matching bands that you'd exchanged in a small ceremony two years ago, with Jade proudly serving as both flower girl and "best daughter."
The path to this moment hadn't always been smooth. Jake's travel schedule, though less demanding than his European days, still required adjustments. Your careers had needed careful balancing, boundaries had been drawn and redrawn, and you'd both had to learn to parent together after years of you doing it alone. There had been arguments about discipline (Jake was indeed the softer touch), disagreements about schools, and the occasional clash about handling Jake's public profile.
But through it all, the foundation remained solid. The family that had formed in those first chaotic weeks had only grown stronger, more certain of its shape.
"Dad," Jade said suddenly, turning her focus from Tia to Jake, "do you want another kid? Mom said you guys have to BOTH want it."
Jake nearly choked on his water at the direct question. He caught your eye, seeking permission or guidance, but you simply raised an eyebrow, curious yourself about his unfiltered response.
"I do," he said finally, his voice softer than usual. "I think about it a lot, actually."
"See, Mom?" Jade turned to you triumphantly. "Dad wants one TOO."
"It's not quite that simple, Jade," you began, but Jake's hand reached for yours across the table.
"Maybe it is," he said quietly. "Maybe we're overthinking it."
A current passed between you—three years of building a life together, of watching Jade grow, of creating something stable and beautiful from what had once been broken.
"Maybe we are," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.
"So it's DECIDED!" Jade declared, pumping her fist in a celebration move inherited directly from Jake. "I'm getting a sibling!"
"Hold on there, soccer star," Tia laughed. "These things take time, remember?"
"Well, they should start RIGHT AWAY then!" Jade insisted with impeccable eight-year-old logic. "Can we go home after brunch so they can get started?"
Tia burst out laughing as both you and Jake turned interesting shades of red.
"I think," Jake said carefully, finding his composure first, "that your mom and I will need to have some grown-up conversations about this."
"More conversations?" Jade sighed dramatically. "Grown-ups talk WAY too much."
"Sometimes talking is important," you explained, squeezing Jake's hand. "But I promise we won't talk forever."
Jake's eyes met yours, warm with promise and possibility. So much had changed since that day at the soccer clinic—since the moment he'd looked at Jade and seen himself reflected back. The anger and hurt of those first days had long since transformed into something you couldn't have imagined then: a partnership deeper than before, tempered by separation and stronger for having been tested.
"So if you have a baby," Jade said, her mind already racing ahead as usual, "can I name it? Because I have some REALLY good dinosaur names picked out."
"Absolutely not," you and Jake responded in perfect unison, then broke into laughter at your synchronicity.
Some things never changed. Some things never would.
Later that night, after Jade had finally surrendered to sleep (following three bedtime stories and one "very important" discussion about what makes a good big sister), you found Jake on the back porch, gazing up at the stars that had become a shared fascination between him and Jade.
"She's persistent," you said, settling beside him on the porch swing. "Wonder where she gets that from."
Jake smiled, drawing you closer. "No idea. Must be from your side."
You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the gentle rhythm of the swing matching your synchronized breaths.
"Did you mean what you said at brunch?" you finally asked. "About wanting another child?"
"I did," Jake said, his arm tightening around you. "I missed everything with Jade—the pregnancy, the birth, those first years. The idea of experiencing all that with you this time..." He trailed off, emotion making his voice rough. "But only if you want it too."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, thinking of the past three years—the challenges, the joy, the family you'd built together. "I do want it," you said softly. "I've been thinking about it more lately. Seeing you with Jade, how natural you are as a father... I keep imagining you with a baby."
Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "So we're really considering this?"
"I think we're past considering," you admitted with a smile. "I think we're deciding."
Jake shifted to face you, his expression a mix of hope and certainty that reminded you of the night he'd asked you and Jade to come to Europe, the moment everything had changed. "Then let's decide," he said simply. "Let's expand our team."
You laughed at the soccer metaphor, so perfectly Jake. "Does this mean I should stop taking my birth control?"
His answer was a kiss that held the promise of the future you were choosing together—a family that had begun with a secret and a soccer clinic, with mistakes and courage, with finding each other again across years and continents.
"I love you," Jake murmured against your lips. "More than I did three years ago, more than I did yesterday."
"I love you too," you whispered back. "Always have. Always will."
Inside the house, your daughter slept peacefully, dreaming perhaps of soccer glory or dinosaur battles or the sibling she'd soon begin waiting impatiently for. And on the porch, wrapped in starlight and each other, you and Jake made the decision to grow the family that had fought so hard to find its way together.
Nine months might be forever in eight-year-old time.
But in the grand scheme of your lives together, it was just the beginning of a new chapter.
❝ i was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good i look. ❞
PAIRING ▸ xu minghao x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ fluff, humor, suggestive, coffee shop au, college au, childhood friends to lovers au
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, weed consumption, tooth-rotting fluff, lowkey jeongcheol and verkwan if you squint, everyone being whipped for minghao, a somewhat heated makeout scene, friend group antics as per usual, minghao being the living embodiment of a green flag, ft. yooyeon from triples
SUMMARY ▸ like most film students, you find yourself experiencing the worst creative block of your life when you're tasked to film a documentary for your final project. enter: your old childhood best friend turned stranger, xu minghao—an (incredibly handsome) ex-dancer and barista who just might be the spark of inspiration you need to make the best film of your academic career. on the flip side, minghao needs this film to win him the scholarship that lets him dance again. despite all, your circumstances don't stop your old, repressed feelings for minghao from resurfacing.
PLAYLIST ▸ insomnia by zerobaseone • kidult by seventeen • meme by &team • heart surf by kep1er • glue song by beabadoobee
WORD COUNT ▸ 20,606 words
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is for user junyangis my favorite bot
“THE TIGER: ICONIC SYMBOL OF THE WILD, AND AN APEX PREDATOR THAT WE FEAR AND ADMIRE.”
You panned your camera to focus on Yoon Jeonghan, who was currently sifting through the mess of papers and notebooks across his desk. All of the drawers were turned out with their contents scattered across the carpet. His frantic search for his missing vape had been going on for the past twenty minutes, and you were certain this was his fifth time going through his belongings again.
Normal people, such as yourself, would’ve given up within the first five minutes, but your best friend’s resilience was admirable. His unwavering persistence was exactly the sort of character you wanted to showcase in your films. Without the context of the vape addiction, of course.
“And here,” you continued in the best David Attenborough impression you could conjure up, “we see a tiger in the wild.”
“Go to hell, dude,” Jeonghan snapped back. You squinted at him through your viewfinder to catch him carding a frustrated hand through his hair. “My Circadian rhythm needs flavored air to function.”
The tiny red light flickered once, then vanished as you stopped recording. “Try regular air. It’s good for you—and free.”
“Yeah? Then maybe this is my calling to get sober.”
(It was important to note that Jeonghan tended to say this very frequently.)
He finally rose from the corner of his dorm room where he had strewn the contents of his drawer all over the floor. Jeonghan crossed over to where you were sitting—on his bed, leaning against the wall with his Doraemon pillow—and plopped down beside you. His eyes, glazed-over and half-lidded, were fixed on the ceiling, as if he was going over each groove in the drywall.
For the past two hours, you had been agonizing over ideas for your documentary. Jeonghan was typically great when it came to bouncing ideas off each other, so you often pestered him until inspiration struck. Today didn’t seem like a particularly stimulating day for either of you, though. Your best friend paid attention for maybe half an hour, but even he started running out of ideas for potential documentary content.
“By the way,” he added, still stuck in a faraway trance, “do not use whatever you just recorded for your film project. I don’t consent to being exploited for views.”
It had been weeks since you came to terms with the fact that Jeonghan didn’t want to be the subject of your documentary. You had a semester to complete this project for your documentary class, and although you still had a decent amount of time left, you were starting to get worried because most of your classmates already started outlining their ideas. You hadn’t even found your main character yet.
There were quite a few reasons why you wouldn’t have chosen Jeonghan in the first place; it didn’t just chalk down to his disinterest in being filmed. You wanted to capture someone with a story—a progression or growth that tugged at the heartstrings of your audience—and using someone you weren’t already close with would help you film more objectively.
You raised a brow at your friend. “You? I was clearly filming a wild animal in its natural habitat.”
“Recording without two-party consent is tasteless,” he reminded. “And just for that, I’m not telling you the incredible, brilliant idea I just had.”
“You haven’t exactly shared that many incredible, brilliant ideas for me to feel disappointed about that.”
“No, trust me. It’s really good.” He used his elbows to prop himself up, shooting you a wide grin. His resolve to withhold his proposition crumbled within seconds of his excitement. “It’s the best idea I’ve had since that one time I stole Seungcheol’s towel and t-shirt while he was showering.”
You glanced at him through the corner of your eyes. “All you did was make him walk around shirtless.”
“Exactly.” Jeonghan returned your look with far more judgment than you had given him. “That was the best part.”
The memory was hard to forget. During your freshman year, you were living in the dorms where your RA was Choi Seungcheol. It was safe to say that a solid majority of the people on your floor had eyes for the dreamy Resident Advisor. Jeonghan only contributed to the noble cause of fan service by ensuring that Seungcheol would end up having to walk through the hallway with his glorious abs on display, his chiseled body beaded with water droplets.
“So what’s your idea? Ask Seungcheol if I can film a strip tease?”
“No, it’s—wait, that’s so good. If we can get that greenlit, you should totally—”
“Nope, definitely not doing that,” you interjected with a firm shake of your head. You were not going to present a half-naked Seungcheol as your final project. “Give me something more PG-13.”
“Boring, but fine.” After mocking a pout, Jeonghan’s lips immediately curled up in a smirk. “Xu Minghao.”
The very mention of his name made you straighten up. You hadn’t spoken to Minghao in years, and although your friends would tease you about being his childhood friend, you didn’t see your past with him as anything worth mentioning. After all, being close friends during middle school was nothing compared to the plethora of memories you made after the two of you grew distant.
“Huh?”
“Xu Minghao,” he repeated. “Streets are saying he’s quit dancing.”
You frowned. “Minghao quit dancing?”
That couldn’t be right. Minghao? The same Xu Minghao who snuck out of his house to practice for hours in dance studios? The same one who took eight trains, walked fifteen miles, and hitchhiked to get to dance camp on his own? The same one who shed tears when he won his first dance competition?
Dance was Minghao’s life; it came as naturally as breathing to him. You so clearly remembered his overwhelming passion that drove him to practice tirelessly for years. Just watching him move to the beat made you feel like he was born to express himself that way. You couldn’t imagine your childhood friend, who had been dancing his entire life, to just throw away all his hard work and talent on a whim.
“Streets also mentioned he hurt his foot real bad. Poor guy can’t compete at nationals anymore.”
“Streets?”
“I’m protecting anonymity, okay?” After you peered at him for a moment, Jeonghan caved under the pressure of your stare and added, “Fine. It was Seungkwan.”
You scoffed. All credibility of the rumor vanished like a wisp of smoke.
“Seungkwan also claimed Vernon needed to go to the emergency room when he got a paper cut,” you replied, unimpressed.
“No, I think it really is serious this time. You can check it out for yourself, if you want,” Jeonghan said. “He’s working at the café like, every day now.”
“His mom’s café?”
“Mmhm. He stopped for a while ‘cause of school, but he just picked up his shifts again.”
“And you think that’s what I should do for my documentary? Minghao quitting the one thing that could be worth filming?”
“I don’t think he actually wanted to quit,” Jeonghan said, looking down at his intertwined hands in his lap with a puzzled expression, as if the Xu Minghao Dilemma™ had been keeping him up at night. “I don’t know what it is. Seungkwan said he seemed kind of off when he was talking about it.”
You were quiet for a moment, and Jeonghan continued, “You also find it weird, don’t you? It doesn’t make sense that he’d just quit like that.”
“I mean, if something’s really going on with him, then I don’t think it’s right for me to ask if I can turn that into a documentary,” you said.
“I’m not saying that, but…” He trailed off before shrugging. “I just think it wouldn’t hurt to check in on him.”
You arched a brow at him. “Why don’t you check in on him? Aren’t you two friends?”
“We’re bros,” he corrected. Cue a dramatic groan from you, which was promptly ignored as Jeonghan elaborated, “our way of showing that we’re there for each other is by queueing up on League together or talking about the Roman Empire.”
“Jeonghan, you have never once mentioned the Roman Empire.”
“Jokes on you, I did a research project on it in middle school.” He shut his eyes to wave off the tangent he started going off on. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a girl—a woman. Women get to the point. They get things done.” He gave you a resolute nod, and you were starting to wonder if he was simply trying to use flattery against you. “Hence why I think you can figure out what’s going on with Minghao.”
You sighed. “But Minghao and I haven’t even spoken in so long. I don’t want to overstep.”
“Look, I’ve texted Hao—even met up with him in person—but the guy won’t budge. He just gives me that customer service smile of his and says he’s fine.”
“And what makes you think I’ll be able to do anything?”
“I’m not saying you will, but I think he’ll turn around when he realizes more people are concerned about him.”
On one hand, you didn’t exactly have any sort of relationship with Xu Minghao that gave you a reason to visit him. Did he even remember your name? You could only imagine the confusion drawing his brows together upon seeing you after years of silence. Or perhaps he wouldn’t care at all. The two of you could probably pass by each other as complete strangers, and he wouldn’t experience the same flicker of old memories that made your heart ache.
On the other hand, you truly were curious. And it wouldn’t hurt to visit the old café, either.
Plus, you would never admit it out loud, but part of you had been waiting for an excuse to talk to your old friend again.
You felt utterly stupid as you stood at the entrance of the café.
First, your heart was beating unbelievably fast for something that shouldn’t have been this difficult of a feat. It was a coffee shop, for crying out loud. All you had to do was walk inside and order something without making a fool out of yourself. Couldn’t be that hard, right?
Second, it was hard to pretend like you were only here for coffee when your only intention was to check up on Minghao. Now you were wondering if you should’ve texted him first, but that probably would’ve taken you a few days to work up the courage to send.
And the cherry on top of your miserable cake was that you didn’t even like coffee. Maybe you could get something to eat, but you weren’t big on pastries, either. You just had to force yourself to get whatever seemed the most appetizing and hope that Minghao took notice of you.
That was another thing; you didn’t even know what hours he worked. Your plan was to work in the corner of the café until you saw him coming in. Knowing your luck, he probably didn’t even have a shift scheduled for today. Still, you were determined to wait it out since you had come this far already.
With a shaky breath, you pushed open the door and were immediately greeted by a rush of warmth. You instinctively tugged your cardigan tighter around your frame as you scanned the space. It had been years since you stepped into the café, but everything was about the same; almost all the tables were occupied with teenagers or lone adults who came to get work done, the back wall had a space reserved for people to leave cute notes and drawings, and a familiar barista was eyeing you from the get-go.
There he was, watching you from the counter. Clusters of stars encased in two midnight pools.
Xu Minghao, who you skillfully managed to avoid interacting with for the past six years, was looking at you with the same familiarity that stirred in your chest.
Your first reaction was to flee, but you would’ve looked ridiculous running out of the shop, so you walked to the nearest empty table first. Did people look for tables before they even ordered? You were starting to forget how to normally function as you set your bag down on the smooth oak wood.
“Sample?” a gentle voice called from behind you as you were fumbling with getting your laptop out of your bag. You looked over your shoulder to see Minghao with a tray of bite-sized slices of cheesecake with toothpicks sticking out of the top. A warm smile graced his features, so dazzling to the point where it was blinding. “It’s one of our signature desserts here.”
“Oh,” was all you could say at first, disoriented as you picked up one of the cheesecake bites. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be at the front whenever you’re ready to order.”
He left before you could get another word out, and you shoved the cube of cheesecake in your mouth so that you didn’t look completely frozen (which you were). Minghao probably went around giving samples to every customer, but surely he recognized you, right? It wasn’t like the two of you were completely oblivious to each other’s existence. Minghao had to know you two had mutual friends from the Instagram stories and posts you were featured in.
Moreover, his leg seemed fine. Boo Seungkwan had once again proven to be an untrustworthy source.
You worked up the courage to walk to the register after going over the menu about twenty times, finally deciding on getting a mango fruit tea. As soon as you were in front of Minghao, though, your predetermined order disappeared from your head and the menu looked like a blur of words.
Your mind went completely blank.
“Uh…” You were floundering for something to say—anything. Coffee was the only drink coming to mind, but you weren’t sure the caffeine would be good for your nerves. “I'll have, uh…”
This was so stupid. You waited for minutes on end to decide on your order and ended up looking like a complete fool in front of Minghao.
“Would you like a recommendation?” he offered smoothly, as if this was a routine response for him. You wondered how many other customers lost their train of thought upon seeing his face.
“Yes, please.”
“I know it's chilly outside, but our fruit teas are pretty popular. And, if I remember correctly, you've always been a fan of mango,” he said. You swore he was trying to avert his gaze now, although he had been maintaining proper eye contact up until this moment. “Injeolmi toast is a favorite here, too. I know you like injeolmi, unless your tastes have changed…”
Wow. Maybe you were off the mark all along. Minghao clearly hadn't forgotten you; in fact, he remembered more of you than you could even recall yourself.
“Mango fruit tea—that’s right. That’s what I wanted to order.” You let out an awkward laugh, brushing your hair over your shoulder to distract yourself from how hot your chest felt. “Then I’ll order both. I’ve never had injeolmi toast, but I do still like injeolmi.”
His face broke into a bright smile—the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Oh, good. I was worried I didn't remember correctly,” he admitted sheepishly. After entering your order into the tablet, he turned the screen around for you to pay. You were so focused on tipping that Minghao startled you when he asked, “How’ve you been?”
When you looked up, his gaze was sincere. A torrent of warmth rushed through your body.
“Good. I mean—college, you know?” Everything you wanted to say sounded garbled in your head. You didn’t even know where to begin. “I barely have any free time these days outside of assignments and working on sets.”
“Oh, right. You’re in film, huh? How’s that been for you?”
“It’s been good so far. I’m actually getting ready to film a documentary right now.”
He looked up at you with wide eyes, gleaming with genuine interest. Since Minghao had been no more than a stranger to you these past several years, you hadn’t expected to see such sincerity in his enthusiasm.
Your heart must have skipped a beat or two.
“A documentary? About what?” But then his attention was lost, his eyes unfocusing to glance at the customer waiting impatiently behind you. You immediately felt guilty for taking up so much time, but then Minghao said, “I get off in an hour. Are you still gonna be around?”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Great. Save a chair for me.” He flashed one of his shining, award-winning smiles again. “Your order will be out in a few minutes, Y/N.”
The injeolmi toast was cold.
It tasted good enough for you to not mind, but when you saw someone else carrying a tray of the steaming bread, you figured that Minghao simply forgot to heat yours up. You were disheartened that you were doomed to eat cold, chewy injeolmi, but the sweet and nutty flavor was so delectable that you ended up scarfing it down within minutes anyway. The café seemed rather busy around this time, so you didn’t put it past Minghao to rush your order.
The mango fruit tea was incredible, though. By far the best fruit tea you’ve had. It was compelling enough for you to download Yelp to leave a glowing five-star review.
When you opened Café du Soleil’s page, you noticed that your dear friend Seungkwan (credentials: Yelp Elite Squad) had already left a review mentioning the same drink.
★★★★★ Nov 7, 2024
Incredible customer service. I love Xu Minghao. The mango fruit tea changed my life for the better.
You left a review about the mango fruit tea and injeolmi toast (conveniently leaving out the fact that yours wasn’t warmed up). A much more comprehensive review than Seungkwan’s, you would say.
Your nerves were still buzzing from your conversation with Minghao. It had been years since you two had spoken to each other, and now you were waiting for him to get off his shift to catch up with you. If you maintained a friendship with him all these years, then maybe all of this would feel natural. Maybe this would’ve been your designated table to wait for Minghao after his shift, spending time with him after work and walking home together.
An hour passed by faster than you thought it would. The first ten minutes felt agonizing, watching the minutes tick by painfully slow, but once you were consumed in a discussion post for your Narrative Production class, Minghao was making his way over to you before you knew it.
“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, pulling out the chair across from you to sit down in. Your eyes followed the slice of cheesecake he brought over on a plate before he nodded toward the empty plate on your tray. “What’d you think of the toast?”
“Really good,” you gushed. You opted to leave out the part where your bread was cold. “I was almost about to go up to order again.”
“Ah, right.” He pushed the plate in your direction. “This is for you.”
“Oh,” you answered, startled. “How much was it? I can pay—”
“No, don’t worry. It’s on me,” Minghao cut in smoothly, signaling his objection with a wave of his hand. “I forgot to ask you if you liked the sample earlier, but I ended up bringing it over anyway.”
Just as you remembered, he was always thinking about others first. Minghao was so earnest in his words and actions that it was hard for you to grasp that he was real. Even in his adolescence, you remembered he had a different air of maturity from the other boys just because of how kind he was. You wanted to pick him apart and dissect his brain to figure out if he was just biologically wired to be perfect.
He was so different now—not completely different but just enough to set you on edge. Minghao had grown into his features so beautifully and still spoke in that calm and soft voice, but there was this newfound confidence he carried that seemed almost unshakeable.
With the way he was staring at you so intently, you felt pressured to give your opinion on the cheesecake right away. You forked a sliver of the cake into your mouth, hand hovering over your mouth as you chewed. Mostly because you were trying to swallow as fast as possible so that Minghao would stop being so laser-focused on you.
“It’s good,” you mused. “I should come by more often.”
He perked up at your words, and soon Minghao was enthusiastically asking you to give him a recap on everything that was going on in your life. You hardly knew where to begin—or, rather, where to pick up after the two of you stopped being close.
You told him about how your parents disapproved of your film major, how it took months of convincing and begging until they realized that you were serious about your passion for filmmaking. He listened intently as you talked about all the short films you made on your own to persuade your parents, and he even watched one of them on your phone, giving you nods of acknowledgement and an impressed hum.
The conversation bled into different aspects of your life, and Minghao was able to join in while you two talked about how you met your mutual friends. You explained how you met Jeonghan and Wonwoo at a party, somehow hitting it off so well that you two ended up hanging out the morning after. Minghao met Jeonghan when they were placed in the same orientation group, and you thought about how funny it was that the world was small enough for you two to have grown apart and still ended up with mutual friends.
It was getting dark outside by the time Minghao was giving you the rundown of how he met Seungkwan, detailing the encounter in a way that made Seungkwan seem a little insane. Apparently, Minghao had gotten Seungkwan’s number at a dance workshop and the younger boy spammed him with texts one night until Minghao agreed to hang out. Thankfully, Minghao found Seungkwan’s persistence to be charming. A stark contrast from how you went home early during your first time hanging out with Seungkwan because you were so overstimulated.
When Minghao started talking about going to a dance workshop with Jeonghan, you realized this was your opening.
“Oh, yeah,” you said, feigning a casual tone, “Jeonghan mentioned that you were quitting dance?”
A sad smile dawned on his face. “At least until I finish college. I just needed to take some time off to focus on school.”
“That makes sense, I guess. But weren’t you supposed to have a competition at the end of the year?”
“Nationals,” he clarified. “I’ve been pushing back my withdrawal, but I’m gonna have to do it soon.”
You noticed his gloomy expression, and it was making you remember Jeonghan’s words about how Minghao probably didn’t actually want to quit. If he really wanted to drop out of the competition, then you were certain the corners of his mouth wouldn’t be tugging down, nor would the light in his eyes dim.
The Minghao you once knew was honest about his feelings. He unapologetically wore his emotions on his sleeve, and he prepared himself for every possible outcome so that he could keep a strong front. You always admired how he was able to stay so calm and collected as the world weighed on his shoulders.
Now, the Minghao before you looked like a kettle sputtering water from its spout, a whistle away from overflowing completely.
It was a bold question for someone you weren’t close with anymore, but you asked, “You don’t want to withdraw, right?”
With his mouth set in a grim line, Minghao shook his head. “If it was up to me, I’d still be dancing.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“It’s just… complicated,” he said. “Our café’s been doing decently, but it’s not enough for it to stay up and running. We were barely keeping up with rent and now they’ve upped the prices, but…” He moved his leg from under the table so that it was stretched out to the side. “I tore my meniscus around four months ago. It’s a lot better now—still sore sometimes—but we had to pay for physical therapy on top of everything. I’ve had to pick up shifts here because we’re so understaffed now, so there isn’t really enough time for me to focus on dancing.”
“If we had enough money to cushion our rent for the next three months, I think this place would be saved,” he continued, “but if I’m gonna make that happen, I have to dedicate all my time here.”
Oh. You sent Boo Seungkwan a mental apology for ever doubting him about Minghao’s injury. Perhaps he wasn’t as unreliable of a source as you assumed he would be.
You knew that the situation must have been serious for him to quit dancing, but you didn’t expect the café to be at stake. Of course, you had zero knowledge on what it took to be a dancer at a national level, but you just couldn’t wrap your head around Minghao giving up this easily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s my decision.”
You asked, “Are you okay with that, though? Not dancing?”
“It is what it is.” He shrugged. “Our studio’s tuition on top of competition fees, private lesson fees, and workshop fees… it’s just not feasible for me to be able to keep doing this right now. Of course I could just practice on my own in the studio, but we just don’t have enough people to cover every shift here.”
You nodded along. He really sounded as defeated as his explanation made you feel, and you realized you were going to have to recount this to Jeonghan to get him to give up. This situation was far too nuanced for either of you to push Minghao to keep dancing out of pure passion. Sometimes that just wasn’t enough.
Minghao eventually had to go to close up the shop, and you had to turn down his insistent offers to give you more food until he basically shoved a bunch of pastries into your arms before you left. As you walked back to your apartment, braving the icy bite of the wind, one thing was for certain: you were most definitely not making a documentary out of Xu Minghao’s tragic story.
“I’m running a survey,” you declared, “because this is a democracy and I value all of your opinions.”
You had called for an emergency meeting the day after you met up with Minghao. Your friends were all sitting haphazardly around your room; Seungkwan had his legs up against the wall and his body sprawled across your bed, Jeonghan was right next to Seungkwan, Junhui was sitting on top of your laundry basket despite being scolded about crushing it, Vernon was on top of your desk, and Wonwoo was the only one sensible enough to be sitting in a proper chair.
Jeonghan scoffed. “She just doesn’t want to do the Minghao documentary.”
“There is no Minghao documentary,” you said. “There was never a Minghao documentary.”
“There was”—Jeonghan paused for long enough for the rest of them to think he had finished talking—“to me.”
Junhui leaned forward, nearly toppling over the laundry basket. Vernon was able to hold it down with his foot in time, although Junhui hardly even noticed his friend’s silent efforts to save him.
“What’s the Minghao documentary?” he asked, his eyes bigger than ever. “Like, Xu Minghao?”
“Yes,” Jeonghan answered. “Wouldn't you watch a Xu Minghao documentary?”
“I’d pay to watch a Xu Minghao documentary,” Junhui said, reaching over to high-five Jeonghan, who was extremely pleased that someone else supported his cause. “What can I say? He's a beautiful man.”
“Okay, there is no Xu Minghao documentary,” you repeated. “It's more of a… Xu Minghao dilemma.”
“So you called us here because of Xu Minghao,” Vernon chimed in.
“No,” you replied pointedly, “I called you here because I really value your guys’ opinions and want to hear your suggestions about what I should include in my documentary.”
“Xu Minghao,” Jeonghan supplied.
“Except for Jeonghan. I don’t value his opinion.”
“I think someone should die,” said Junhui with bright, sparkling eyes. “Something super tragic.”
“Or we can all live,” Seungkwan said.
Vernon offered, “Or how about something more sentimental—”
“—where everyone dies,” finished Junhui.
“Okay, that wasn't what I was getting at,” Vernon said with mild concern crossing his features. “You scare me.”
Seungkwan, distressed at this point, spoke up louder to rehash, “Why don’t we all just live?”
You let out a resigned sigh. “Jun, let’s keep in mind that I’m filming a documentary for a college film class, not a Marvel movie.”
This was going nowhere. Clearly, you misjudged when you decided your friends were the people to go to for serious inquiries. At this point, you were considering following up on the email you sent to the local ice skating rink a month ago, outright begging them for the chance to film their team practicing. (Spoiler: They ghosted you.)
“How about the geology department?” Wonwoo suggested, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re researching crustal processes during the Hadean geological period right now. Exciting stuff.”
Because Jeon Wonwoo was an incredibly persuasive man (mostly because of his lethal attractiveness), you were immediately swayed by the idea. “Wait, that’s an incredible idea, Wonwoo.”
“That is the worst idea I’ve heard in my life,” Seungkwan blurted out. “If you make a documentary about the geology department, I will personally come to the screening of your film myself just to throw tomatoes at you.”
As much as you hated to admit it (or, rather, hated to admit it in the presence of Wonwoo), Seungkwan had a fair point. Presenting a documentary about crustal formations was probably categorized as a form of social suicide. You had no true interest in the topic to make it sound interesting, and the only selling point would be geology major Jeon Wonwoo and his face of the century. The lackluster content coupled with your indifference toward rocks was a disaster waiting to happen.
Maybe you could make geology sound interesting. You entertained the idea for a few seconds before recollecting the time when Wonwoo got four shots deep and started rattling off about the demand for lithium in China. Your freshman year self was almost charmed before those beguiling minutes stretched into long, torturous hours of Wonwoo breaking down geopolitics until you blacked out.
No, you could not make geology sound interesting.
“Thank you for that visual, Seungkwan,” you said. “Now that I’ve returned to my senses, I’ll accept ideas that aren’t about Xu Minghao or rocks.”
“What’s wrong with the geology department?” Wonwoo spoke up, his hand shooting up in the air to get the room’s attention.
Jeonghan snorted. “Dude, what’s she gonna film? Planet Earth?”
Wonwoo accepted his defeat wordlessly as his arm slowly retreated back to his side.
“Not that I don’t think you can come up with better ideas,” Vernon started carefully, “but why are you so against making a documentary about Minghao?”
“I’m not against it,” you clarified. “It’s simply out of the question. He doesn’t even have time to dance right now because of how busy he is with the café.”
“If that’s the issue, I can literally ask around to see who’s interested in working there,” Jeonghan said.
“Minghao’s going through a lot right now. I personally think it’s insensitive to push him to do something when he’s got so much on his plate.”
The men finally quieted down at your words, and you came to the realization that your girl friends would have probably been more useful for this sort of conversation. Maybe it was because the guys were all on good terms with Xu Minghao that they were pushing for you to ask him to work with you. It was the only conclusion you could come to with how insistent they were on you choosing Minghao.
Then, Jeonghan spoke up, “Didn’t you say you wanted to make an impact with your documentary? What if you could really help him out?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Just think about it.”
Your forehead creased. He clearly did have something in mind and just wanted to complicate matters for you, but you held your tongue instead of pressing Jeonghan further.
Later that night, while you were laying in your bed with your laptop warm on your stomach, you could only think about Xu Minghao and his sad smile when he talked about quitting dance. He didn’t really want to quit, but there was just too much going on for him to juggle that along with the countless other balls being thrown at him.
But was it right for him to just quietly let go of his dream? A passion that he had chased his whole life?
If you were in his shoes and you had to give up your dream of film, you weren’t sure you could go down without a fight. Even when your parents were against film school, even when everyone around you questioned your abilities, you pushed yourself to take on every opportunity that came your way. Your situation had never been as dire as Minghao’s, but you could imagine how he must have felt for his dream to crumble in the palm of his hands. With the right amount of support, you believed he could mold that dream together again.
In the still hours of twilight, you opened up a Word document and started typing away like your life depended on it.
“You look like shit.” Kim Yooyeon’s eyes were wide when she watched you walk out of your room right when she was about to leave for her 8:00 a.m. lecture. She was in the middle of her bowl of cereal when you crossed her on your way to the couch. “Did you even sleep?”
Your hand flew up to gently prod at the tender skin under your eyes. “Do I really look that tired?”
You all but fell against the couch, sinking into the cushions like it was quicksand. Normally, you could pour yourself a cup of coffee and get through the day, but you had accumulated enough sleep debt over the past few weeks to reach your breaking point.
Your roommate snorted. “Remember when you stayed up for three days straight during finals week last year? You look exactly like how you did back then.”
Thanks to Jeonghan’s cryptic words, you ended up spending the entire night researching and planning ways for you to help Minghao—or, at least, what you thought would help Minghao. Your document spanned almost forty pages, and you weren’t even sure if you would be using any of it. Your intention was to share your proposals with Minghao in hopes that he would find at least one of them to possibly work out.
The problem was: you were seconds away from falling asleep on the spot and your eyes felt sore every time you blinked. There was no way you could make it to Minghao’s coffee shop and deliver your pitch in this state.
“I stayed up all night working on something for Minghao.”
Yooyeon’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “Xu Minghao?”
You gave her the same rundown you gave your friends yesterday—a much more vague one because you didn't want to get into the nitty gritty details of Minghao’s life, especially when Yooyeon probably didn’t even care. Plus, you were too tired to get into the specifics. By the time you were finishing up your story, your mouth was hardly moving in time with your brain and your eyelids were drooping. You weren't even sure if you were speaking coherent sentences.
Yooyeon had her bag slung over her shoulder and was asking you something. You couldn't quite tell what it was because you were hanging by a thread at that point, but you definitely heard Jeonghan’s name at some point—maybe. All you could muster was a noncommittal sound before you drifted into a slumber.
A flash of red behind your eyelids roused you from your dreamless sleep, but you didn’t have time to squint before the nuisance of a light source was instantly blocked. You opened your eyes to see Xu Minghao sitting by your feet, using his hand to block the ray of light that shone through the window and landed directly on your face.
Perhaps you overreacted, but you were sure anyone would scream at the sight.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” Minghao stood up, alarmed.
Clearly.
You scrambled to sit up while he awkwardly shifted to the middle of your living room.
“No, Minghao, I was just warming up my vocal cords,” you deadpanned. “I don’t think it’s weird at all that you’re inside my apartment while I’m asleep.”
“Oh.” Minghao went still for a second. You watched the puzzled look on his face morph into one of dread once he seemed to understand how odd the situation looked. “Oh.”
After a few more moments of gawking at you, he started again, “This looks pretty bad.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks. Jeonghan said you wanted to see me, and then your roommate let me in. She told me to just wake you up, but I felt bad after a while. That’s why I just let you sleep.”
That must have been what Yooyeon was asking you while you were half-conscious, and you probably stupidly agreed despite not catching anything she said. This wasn’t how you wanted to talk to him; you needed time to mentally prepare yourself to meet Minghao—preferably in an outdoor setting where you were appropriately dressed—but now he had caught you completely off-guard.
It looked like he had just gotten back from the gym with his flushed cheeks and the sleeveless top that showed off his toned arms. When he raised his arm, you could even catch a glimpse of the infinity tattoo inked across his shoulder blade.
“I can leave,” he suggested, unsure.
“No, stay,” you said. “It’s just that I was gonna go see you on my own. How long have you been waiting here for, anyway?”
“Maybe ten minutes? I tried calling your name, but you asked me to let you sleep a little longer.”
You flushed, mortified. On top of accidentally inviting Minghao over to wait for you to wake up, you were sleep-talking in front of him too? Any semblance of professionalism you had was crashing and burning before you.
“I think I was sleep-talking with my roommate, too. That’s probably why she thought I needed to see you now,” you explained with a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry about that.”
Minghao laughed and took a seat once he realized you weren’t going to shoo him out of the apartment anymore—or perhaps now he felt less guilty about showing up unexpectedly.
“So we’re even, right? Your stalking is forgiven,” you said, “but not forgotten.”
His eyes went wide with mock surprise, feigning a gasp. “Stalking? I could sue you for defamation of character.”
“Then sue me,” you challenged. “I have an outfit that I’ve been dying to wear in a courtroom.” Minghao raised his eyebrows with mild interest before you reached for your laptop on the coffee table. “Anyway, I wanted to show you something that could probably make you rethink that defamation lawsuit.”
You then turned to face him and clasped your hands together out of sheer desperation. “Please let me make you the star of my documentary.”
Minghao blinked at you for a few seconds before asking, “The documentary for your class? You want me in it?”
You nodded eagerly. “It’ll be all about you—your dancing, the café—everything that shows how hard you’ve worked for your dreams.”
“I don’t know, Y/N…” He looked slightly uneasy at the prospect. “I might not have the time for this. I already have shifts at the café every day.”
“I think I have a solution for that, too.”
“That’s great and all, but either way, I don’t even know how much longer we’re gonna be able to keep the café running.”
“But Minghao, listen, I have it all planned out.” You scooted closer until your knees were bumping against his, and you angled your laptop for him to see the screen. “There’s a scholarship offering twenty thousand dollars, and they’re asking for a video submission on what success means to you. It’s specifically for the arts—something you’re passionate about.”
“You mean…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the screen.
“I say we kill two birds with one stone; I film the documentary for my final project while you use it to win that cash prize.”
Minghao looked from you, to the screen, and to you again. There was a suspension of fear across his face that was coupled with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. It looked as if stardust had scattered across his irises and lit them up.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” he started before mouthing the words again in disbelief. “That kind of money could save the café.”
“And pay for nationals,” you added. “I stayed up all night planning this out. If you trust me, I think we can actually make this work.”
“You really think so? But do you really think people would be interested in watching something that’s just about my life?”
“No doubt about it. That face sells,” you deadpanned, which caused the tips of his ears to go an endearing shade of red. “I wouldn’t have done all this work if I didn’t think we could pull it off.”
“This is all assuming I even get selected.”
“I’ll make sure you do. It’ll be my best work yet.”
After Minghao spent a considerable amount of time scanning your document over and over again (you were pretty sure the words were probably burned into his brain by now), the corner of his mouth quirked into a mischievous smile. “So, how good are you?”
“Good at what?”
“Filmmaking. I’ve never seen your work.”
You folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had plenty of experience. I’m just using you for my big break.” You didn’t realize you had stiffened up until you let your body relax. “Do you want to see something I’ve filmed?”
“Can I?”
“Of course. I can’t have you agree to something before you know the standard of quality you’re getting,” you said with a prideful puff of your chest that deflated too quickly when you realized that you would have to show Minghao something so vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal for him, but you shed your heart and soul into your craft; it was precious to you. You opened the video file and looked at him expectantly. “We don’t have to watch it.”
“No, I want to,” he said in a voice so earnest that you wanted to believe him. He focused on the file name at the top of the video player. “A Bite of Summer—what’s it about?”
“It’s pretty short. I’ll just play it for you.”
You hit play and moved the laptop onto Minghao’s lap instead, watching both the screen and his reaction to your videography. He was so zeroed in on the film that he hardly seemed to notice the way you kept glancing at him.
Summer was sweltering. Growing up, you always spent your summers surrounded by friends and family, whether it was going to the beach or going to the park. Living in the moment was simple back then; you weren’t confined to responsibilities and commitments that kept you from enjoying what life had to offer. In fact, some of your best summer memories were shared with Minghao. The two of you laughed without a care in the world as the warmth of the sun enveloped you.
Once you entered high school, however, summer felt so humid that it was suffocating. You were up to your neck in assignments, exam preparation, and part-time jobs. It became difficult to enjoy your youth when you had countless hours of work to do. Coincidentally, it was your first summer spent without Minghao; you weren’t sure if things would’ve been any different if you two were still friends back then, but maybe it would’ve simmered the ache in your chest.
Your short film, A Bite of Summer, was created amidst your summer blues. The film was about a girl named Rhea who meets her younger self at the beach she once used to frequent during the summer. It represented the relationship the older you had with your younger self; you were excited to grow and move forward as the seasons changed, but summer was always a bittersweet reminder that you had no time to grieve over your childhood. You didn't know what you lost until it was gone, but perhaps that made the memories even more precious.
You were still looking at Minghao, but you could hear your main character, Rhea, asking her younger self, “Are you ever scared of growing up?”
Minghao was watching intently, hanging onto every word. You weren’t sure why you felt so nervous about him watching. In your last year of middle school, you and Minghao began to have long conversations about how terrifying it was to grow up. He would open up about how much pressure he felt from balancing dancing and school, and you would tell him how you felt like you couldn’t breathe in the summer heat. Perhaps he had forgotten by now. Perhaps he wouldn’t connect your film back as being so personal to you.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his reaction during the scene where the younger Rhea reaches for the older Rhea’s hand, gripping tightly even as cold waves started to lap at their feet. Minghao watched quietly, dark eyebrows pulling together as he focused.
“I am,” the younger Rhea answered.
“You are?”
“It sounds exciting, but nothing scares me more.” You watched as Minghao’s lips parted, chestnut eyes glistening when she continued, “Maybe it doesn't feel that way because you don’t have to live through those hard times anymore, but I’m glad the good times stuck. That means this feeling will pass”—their hands dropped to their sides—“and yours will, too.”
And that was when a tear fell from Xu Minghao’s feathery lashes.
You’ve never witnessed anyone cry over the work you created. Sure, it tugged at your own heartstrings since it was so personal to you, but to watch someone else have such strong feelings over your film made tears well up in your eyes.
“Are… are you crying?” you stammered out, a tittering laugh following as Minghao used the pads of his thumbs to smear his tears off his cheeks. It was a pretty sight, like watching wet clay come undone before you.
“It was really good,” he mumbled, giving you the most adorable pout you had ever seen on an adult man before turning his head away to keep wiping at his tears. “I’m serious. Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m just surprised. I’ve never seen someone react like that to my work.”
If you were just a little braver, you probably would’ve thanked him first before telling him that you were touched. You would’ve told him that no one had ever peeled back your layers without making it uncomfortable—sometimes even painful—but he handled you with so much delicacy. You would’ve told him that this film was about you, at your core, and perhaps he had already picked up on that, but you would’ve been brave enough to express yourself.
But you weren’t brave, so you just smiled at the lone tears that streaked Minghao’s face before he wiped them with his sleeve.
“Seriously, you’re incredible,” he said, still staring at the paused video on your laptop. The corner of his mouth lifted. “That was so short and it still made me cry.”
You couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across your face. “You’re actually crying.”
“Well, yeah. Are you having fun watching me suffer?”
Was it borderline psychopathic that you were smiling while Minghao cried? Probably. On the other hand, you were simply glad you didn’t burst into tears alongside him. You nearly felt like you could’ve with the way he got so emotional about your work.
“A little,” you admitted. Surprisingly, that got a smile out of him. “I’m just happy you like it.”
“I do,” he said. A pause, then, “Why’s it called ‘A Bite of Summer,’ by the way?”
You scoffed. Actually, you had your reasons, but no one had ever asked you about that film specifically.
“I hate summer, that’s why,” you told him. “I can’t stand the heat.”
“Really?” His brows lifted. “I think summer’s pretty overrated, too.”
You cracked a grin. “No, you don’t. It’s your favorite season.”
“Hey, I can still acknowledge my favorite season’s overrated.”
He grinned and held the palm of his hand out to you. You were confused before Minghao gently grabbed your wrist and put your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and giving you a firm shake. Your hands were too clammy to be gripping Minghao’s calloused palms, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Use me however you want, director,” he continued, and the sparkle in his eyes was something magnificent. “I’ll be your best star yet.”
“No lawsuit?” you asked.
Minghao laughed. “No lawsuit.”
You were sweating like you had just run a marathon. (You practically did; the distance from your apartment to Jeonghan’s location in the library was a mile and a half, and you were sprinting half the time.)
Since you needed some time to plan out your filming, you exchanged contact information with Minghao and told him that you would contact him when you were ready. Your nerves were buzzing with excitement now that you actually had a subject for your documentary. Conversations with your classmates would no longer make you feel like you were desperately hurrying to catch up with everybody else.
Your friends usually claimed the big table on the third floor. It was positioned at an optimal location next to the bathrooms and the elevator, so you were quite proud of your unassigned-assigned table. Junhui and Wonwoo were normally the ones who spent the most time in the library, whereas Seungkwan and Vernon usually only stopped by if they wanted to mess around.
“You bitch,” you spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Jeonghan, who was trying to frantically wave off clouds of smoke when he coughed in surprise. You collapsed into the chair next to him, catching your breath while Junhui and Wonwoo hardly batted an eye. “You should be prosecuted for vaping in the library, by the way.”
“I know, right?” Junhui frowned disapprovingly. “Take it outside, Jeonghan.”
“Addiction kills,” Wonwoo added, doleful.
“I was gonna ghost it!” Jeonghan cried in defense, lowering his voice toward the end once he realized they were, in fact, still inside the library. He turned back to face you. “Anyway, why am I a bitch again?”
“You invited Minghao into my apartment!”
“Okay, a lot of accusations here. What about a hi? A hello? A congrats-on-finding-your-vape-Jeonghan?”
You fixed him with a glare. “It’s one accusation that has already been confirmed, Jeonghan. Start talking.”
“Yooyeon told me that you needed to see Minghao. All I did was pass along the message,” he explained before a smirk grew on his face. “So what did you need to see him for?”
“Oh, right.” You cleared your throat. “I’ve decided on doing the Minghao documentary.”
Jeonghan’s lips parted in surprise, the corners of his lips twitching upward again. “Oh my god, you’re actually doing it! I mean, I had a feeling after Yooyeon called me, but…”
“Good choice,” Junhui said. “He’s an absurdly attractive man.”
“Phenomenal face for the cameras,” Wonwoo agreed, humming along.
“Okay, since when were you guys the Xu Minghao Fan Club?” You looked around the table and shook your head once you saw Junhui’s dreamy expression. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Point is, the Minghao documentary is in motion and I have a shit-ton to plan.” You turned to face Jeonghan. “You said you’d help out at the café, right? You’ll get paid, of course, but Minghao can’t keep taking shifts every day.”
“They’re still having money problems?” Jeonghan asked.
“Unfortunately, but he said that hiring part-timers is better for them financially.”
He hummed, nodding along to your words. “Well, I didn’t say I’d be helping at the café, but I’ll find you someone.”
“They’ll still have to be interviewed, of course. Oh, and they’ll have to be trained, and—”
“Don’t even worry,” Jeonghan assured. “I have the perfect person in mind. Actually, I think I can find you a few more, too.”
“I’m a little scared.”
“When have I ever let you down?” Before you could point out that there had actually been a few instances, Jeonghan seemed to realize the flaw in his question and added, “Rhetorical question. Anyway, just leave it to me.”
To an extent, you did trust him. Not only was Jeonghan involved in several clubs and organizations on campus, but he was also a freshman orientation leader for two years in a row. This was especially useful in the sense that he had connections to students you had never even seen in your life; when you used to have inquiries on subjects you wanted to film, you always asked Jeonghan for any references, and he almost always had a name in mind.
After a pause, your friend gave you a quizzical look. “Did you run all the way over here just to say that?”
“Uh…”
“You know you could’ve just texted me, right? Or called? Modern technology works wonders, Y/N.”
“Oh—right.”
Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so excited over something that you full-on sprinted to tell your friends. It begged the question of whether you would be this ecstatic if you weren’t filming a certain someone. The ice skating rink surely wouldn’t have gotten this reaction out of you.
You were fairly certain you knew the reason behind your lapse in judgement, and it was becoming clear that Xu Minghao was tangled right in the center of everything.
Filming started the following Monday.
You captured Minghao throughout his everyday life at first, which meant you had to follow him around all day to compile footage. Mentally, you weren’t very prepared for this. Following Minghao from campus, to the café, to his dance studio, and wherever else he decided to venture made you feel as if you were intruding. It was as if you were peaking into a world that you weren’t allowed into.
He wasn’t that great when it came to school as a kid, but now Minghao really tried to study hard, even if that meant dozing off in the middle of reading a page of his textbook. Just a few days ago, he invited you over for a movie, and you were really supposed to be editing your footage, but you caved within minutes of him asking. You remembered Minghao had always been a sucker for coming-of-age movies, but you were dumbfounded when he shed tears during Little Women. (What you wouldn’t dare tell him was how endearing you found him).
You toed the line as someone between a friend and a stranger; perhaps to Minghao you would be considered a friend, but you weren’t quite sure why you couldn’t see yourself fitting in that space again. Still, as you filmed him and shot his interviews, you were so intrigued by the new sides of him that kept coming up, as well as the parts you nearly forgot about. It felt strange to hear such sincere accounts of Minghao from the interviews with his instructors and peers, yet to be the one behind the camera that couldn’t hold onto him before.
Today, he was waiting for you at 11:30 a.m. sharp outside of the Arts building. It had been a little over a month since you and Minghao started working together, but you were more worried about the scholarship deadline than your own assignment’s deadline. Filming was going smoothly, but you still needed to get interviews from his friends and family. Editing the dance footage was going to take the entire night since you were in the studio for hours.
You were overwhelmed, to say the least.
Minghao was finished with classes for the day while you had an annoyingly long gap between your morning and evening classes. You were supposed to shoot some B-roll, but that completely slipped both of your minds as you were well into scarfing down the breakfast wraps you two had bought before sitting on a cold bench.
Dark, gray clouds moved like smoke across the sky. It was getting chillier, and you were suddenly reminded of when you’d wait for the school bus with Minghao in middle school. He was always carrying around hand warmers back then, offering you one without fail whenever you started to shiver. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder without thinking too deeply about how close you were. Now, with the awkward gap between you two, you wished you could go back to those simpler times.
Maybe you were already considered friends. Maybe you were overthinking all of this.
You rarely analyzed your other friendships this thoroughly.
You would rather shrivel up and die than admit that you missed being the closest to Minghao, but whenever he said something particularly sweet or gave you that gentle smile where his eyes crinkled at the corners, you felt your heart soar just a little higher. Maybe—just maybe—if he pressed enough, he would get it out of you.
“I told my mentor I’m gonna keep practicing for nationals,” he said once he was waiting for you to finish the last few bites of your wrap, “and I told my mom about the scholarship. It took some time trying to convince her that it could actually work.”
“She was against it?”
“At first, yeah. I mean, I don’t blame her. We’re doing this on the off-chance I get selected—nothing’s guaranteed.” He gave you a crooked smile. “But, at the end of the day, it could save our café, so she’s touched that you’re trying.”
You took the last bite of your wrap instead of replying. Of course Minghao meant well, but you couldn’t help but feel your stomach pitted with anxiousness at the mention of how everything was riding on this film. It made you feel even worse because Minghao had more to lose than you did. Nationals and an assignment grade; it was almost ridiculous how high-stakes his situation was compared to yours.
“Jeonghan actually managed to find part-timers for the café,” he continued. “They’re coming by in the afternoon.”
“That’s good news, right? You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised. We hardly get people who wanna work there.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s not as convenient as an on-campus job, so most people aren’t willing to walk that far for a part-time job when they can easily find something closer.”
You didn’t mind the commute yourself, but you only visited the café occasionally; it would’ve been a different story if you were heading to work there every single day. You hoped whoever Jeonghan found was actually committed to their job.
Then, Minghao asked, “What’re you gonna be filming today?”
“I was thinking we can get some footage of you training the newbies,” you said. “Speaking of, now that you have more employees, does this mean you won’t have to work at the café as much?”
He grinned brightly. “My shifts are cut down to three days a week now. I’ll have plenty of time to focus on dance. We have other employees to train the new guys, too, so it’s not all on me.” Minghao then leaned in a little closer (making you laser-focused on stepping on every crunchy leaf at your feet to ignore how your brain was spinning) to say, “Jeonghan thinks there'll be a lot more girls coming to the café.”
“Because of the new baristas?”
He shrugged. “They’re good-looking guys.”
You thought back to the demographic of cafégoers when you first visited Café du Soleil. The majority were, in fact, teenage girls. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you discovered that Minghao’s face was the selling point, but to have multiple men like him working there? Not only were you worried that the coffee shop would turn into the Ouran Host Club, but you simply couldn’t picture even more people of the same visual caliber as Xu Minghao.
Before you could reply, Minghao noted your pause and asked, “What’re you thinking about?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Curious about what?”
When you looked at him, his gaze frantically scattered about before he returned to looking down at his wadded-up wrapper. You wouldn’t have found it weird if you caught him looking at you, but the fact that he looked away so quickly made you feel conscious of how warm you were getting under your jacket.
“Just wondering if they’re really all that. I find it hard to believe that whoever Jeonghan called is gonna bring in more of a crowd than you already do.”
Minghao looked baffled before he chuckled. “I don’t bring in a crowd.”
“There were so many girls when I visited yesterday! Didn’t you notice them giggling after you left their table?”
“They were probably just giggling over whatever teenage girls giggle over.”
Minghao was oblivious by nature. He was also a man, therefore he was stupid.
Coupled together, it was a disastrous combination that resulted in wildly attractive Xu Minghao being utterly useless when it came to recognizing that he was blessed with a first-rate genetic sequence.
“Hao,” you started slowly, “teenage girls giggle over guys.”
“Oh.” He frowned, and you held yourself back from rolling your eyes as you witnessed him take actual offense to what was supposed to be a compliment. You figured he had deeply misunderstood what you were getting at.
“Cute guys,” you corrected.
“Oh.”
You straightened up and stared back at him, bewildered. “You don’t even know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Your—” Unable to articulate what you were trying to say (partly because it was far too embarrassing to outrightly call Minghao attractive), you made a dramatic gesture to refer to his face. “That!”
To your horror, he turned incredibly smug. “What, my face? What about it?”
“Uh…”
“Are you trying to say I look good, Y/N?”
This just in: Xu Minghao was a sick and twisted man.
In this very exact, very precise moment, you felt the most vulnerable you had ever been in front of the dancer, and he was using the very opportunity to humiliate you even further.
“I’m speaking objectively,” you said.
“You’re objectively saying I look good.”
“Yes.”
“What about subjectively?”
“Can we circle back to the café instead?” you offered, buffering as if you had to muster up the strength to push the words out through your teeth. “I’d much rather talk about the café.”
“Really? I was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good I look.”
A groan fell from your lips. “You objectively and subjectively need to shut up.”
Minghao laughed at your reaction before standing up and reaching into his pockets. “C’mon, let’s get going before it gets late,” he said and pulled out a hand warmer from his coat, holding it out to you. “Here.”
You took it from him. “What’s this for?”
“You’ve been shivering this whole time.”
While Minghao chatted your ear off on the way to Café du Soleil, all you could think about was how he surprisingly paid attention to the little details about you that most people would miss. You were formulating a rough theory in your head: Xu Minghao had to be some sort of otherworldly being because there was no other explanation for how perfect he was.
Yoon Jeonghan was going to the deepest circle of Hell.
As soon as you saw Choi Seungcheol in an apron, you knew your insufferable friend had an agenda of his own when he was scouting out potential baristas. To Jeonghan’s credit, the other two baristas he found seemed like they had been objectively scouted (no offense to Seungcheol, but you were 99% sure Jeonghan just wanted a chance to see the man as frequently as possible).
“That’s Chan.” Jeonghan jerked his chin in the direction of the younger guy who was fumbling with the cash register, and then you followed his gaze over to the barista who was fixing an acrylic pin of Elphaba from Wicked to his apron. “And that one’s Seokmin.”
Apparently, Jeonghan met Lee Seokmin through a hiking club. More specifically, Jeonghan met Seokmin at a hiking club party while they were trying to puke their guts out in the same bush.
Lee Chan, on the other hand, was a family friend’s son that Jeonghan adored. You recalled him bringing Chan to a college party once and never again; the high school senior was later given twenty bucks to keep his mouth shut about Jeonghan hitting his vape.
After his eyes lingered on his eye candy (read: Seungcheol) for a ridiculously long amount of time, Jeonghan finally noticed the reproachful look you were giving him. “What?”
“I know damn well you just wanted to get Seungcheol in an apron.”
“No,” Jeonghan sneered, as if he was disgusted by your accusation. “I was trying to see him with his sleeves rolled up. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever, dude. They both boil down to you being a whore.”
“Hey, I mention a hiring notice to the man I want,” Jeonghan started with an air of confidence, leaning back in his seat to take a sip of his latte, “and you turn yours into the star of your film. We’re basically birds of a feather here.”
You nearly choked over your own drink (the mango fruit tea—again), and you were suddenly grateful that Minghao was currently training the newbies behind the counter despite feeling jealous earlier about them getting most of his attention. It was a relief that you two were alone at a table and out of earshot. Jeonghan needed to stay far, far away from Minghao; he was clearly not to be trusted to run his mouth around the dancer.
You gave him an incredulous look, ignoring the burst of heat that exploded within your chest. “First of all, lower your voice before someone hears you and actually takes you seriously. Second of all, what?”
“What’s wrong with me wanting Seung—”
“I’m talking about the other part!”
“I said what I said—and if you think about it, you’re crazier than I am.”
“Excuse me?” Your whisper might as well have been a shout. You quieted down again before speaking, “I’m not crazy, and I don’t want Hao.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jeonghan replied, unconvinced, “So you’re telling me that you didn’t feel any sort of way after he gave you a piggyback ride home from the club last week?”
It would be impossible to forget, even if you were blasted out of your mind. After much persuasion from Seungkwan and Jeonghan, you were convinced to invite Minghao last-minute to your night out. You were already several drinks in when he finally showed up at the club, so your first instinct was to throw yourself into his arms. Not your finest moment. But he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer by the waist, so you couldn’t help but let yourself get carried away.
Several shots later, you found it impossible to walk with how your balance was completely off. Minghao, being the knight in shining armor he was, opted to carry you home on his back while holding onto your heels.
You settled for saying, “He was just being nice.”
“That wasn’t my question, and I don’t think he was just trying to be nice.”
“Is it so hard for you to believe that he’s just a genuinely good guy?”
“Well, he is, but it’s not like you guys just film your little documentary and move on with your lives after,” Jeonghan said. “He hangs out with you, texts you every day, finds literally any excuse to invite you over, and you guys even bought matching pajamas!”
“They were on sale!”
“Lots of things were on sale, Y/N; it was literally Black Friday.”
“It was Cyber Monday,” you corrected in a grumble.
“You specifically chose the pajamas to wear with him.”
“We’re friends,” you insisted, although it sounded like you were more so trying to convince yourself than Jeonghan. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the undercurrent of your emotions tugging at your ankles, but that was not a revelation you were meant to have at Café du Soleil with Minghao in your vicinity. “We’re just doing what friends do.”
Jeonghan slurped his drink in a ridiculously loud manner. You shot him a disapproving look.
“You know what I think?”
You were certain that you didn’t want to hear what Jeonghan thought, but nevertheless, you entertained his attempts to provoke you. “What now?” you snapped.
“I think you’re still hurt by how you two drifted apart—you and Hao,” he said, “and you’re probably thinking it’s gonna happen again. That’s why you’re too scared to admit he’s being a little more than nice to you.”
Bullseye. Jeonghan had watertight intuition when it came to the people he was close with, and you were no exception. His words were so on the mark that you felt vulnerable and exposed, like your skin was suddenly clinging too tight around your bones.
The thing was, you still couldn’t exactly remember how you and Minghao grew distant. You recalled the throng of memories of when you two were friends, but everything leading up to your falling out was hazy. Could you even call it a falling-out if there weren’t necessarily any hard feelings? He certainly hadn’t done anything that made you want to block him out of your memory (it was Xu Minghao, for God’s sake), but you couldn’t imagine why you would be so hurt over growing apart from an old friend.
“You really chose the worst possible time and place for this conversation,” was all you could mutter in response.
“We have air conditioning and cheesecake. What could possibly be better than this?”
Whether Jeonghan was selective about what he chose to be perceptive about or simply didn’t understand the gravity of this situation, you couldn’t tell; you just gave him a dumbfounded stare. “Anywhere else! Anywhere else would’ve been better!”
“You’re so picky.”
“And you can’t read the room.”
“You know what I can read,” he started with a cheeky grin while his eyes focused on something—or someone—else behind you, “Xu Minghao’s name tag.”
“Oh, do you like it? I drew Seungkwan’s dog and Vernon’s cat next to my name,” came a breezy voice from behind you, making your heart plummet to your stomach.
How long had he even been standing there? You thought you could just ignore Minghao, but you found yourself turning around to see his two pets he doodled on his nametag. Unfortunately, they were cute, but you were still too mortified to give him a proper reaction.
“How—how long have you been there for?” you stammered. “Did you hear what we were talking about?”
Minghao raised a brow. “Not long. Why? Is it something I’m not supposed to hear?”
You balked before answering, “No,” but the inflection in your tone made you sound as if you were questioning yourself.
(Jeonghan made direct eye contact with you and mouthed the word pussy. You made a mental note to deal with him later in a potentially homicidal manner.)
“By the way, Jeonghan, the guys you brought in are doing great,” Minghao went on to praise. “I don’t think we even need to train them for that long. Seokmin’s a natural at this.”
Jeonghan let out a wistful sigh. “I knew I recognized his potential.”
“Didn’t you guys meet at a party? How’d he manage to show barista potential?” you asked.
“I was thirsty and he brought me water.”
Nice. That was one way to prove himself, you supposed.
Then, Minghao turned his attention to you. “Were you gonna get some more shots today? Chan says he won’t make a run for it if he sees the camera this time.”
Earlier, you were trying to film Minghao showing Chan the proper technique of steaming milk, which Chan hardly was able to pay attention to because he was too busy gawking at the camera. As soon as Minghao was done talking, the high schooler hurried into the break room.
“I think I got everything I needed,” you answered, tilting your head up to see him smiling fondly down at you. The look in his eyes made you feel like something syrupy was trickling down your throat, as if you were drowning in his endearment. “Why’d you call Jeonghan over here, anyway? He’s pissing me off.”
As expected, your words got a rise out of Jeonghan. “All I did was sit here!”
“And you opened your mouth. That’s basically a misdemeanor.”
“Jeonghan, quit bothering her,” Minghao scolded. (“What? What the hell? What did I do?” Jeonghan went on to complain. “This is going in my Yelp review, by the way—one star for betrayal and terrible customer service.”) He looked back at you with a softened gaze as Jeonghan’s maundering turned into background noise. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
You were about to head out, but your legs suddenly didn’t feel like moving once Minghao looked at you with those warm eyes of his that made your insides feel like they had been doused in kerosene and lit aflame.
Jeonghan, who was hell-bent on his mission to push you and Minghao closer as much as you resisted, appeared to take your hesitation as an opportunity.
“We’re going back to my apartment to smoke,” your friend declared. Although that had never been the plan, you kept your mouth shut to see where Jeonghan was going with this. “You coming, Hao?”
Minghao snuck a glance at you. “Tonight? I don’t know. I might be free.”
“Holy shit,” Jeonghan gushed before Minghao’s words could even properly register in your ears, leaning over the table to put his hand on top of yours. “I should invite Soonyoung. Remember? The guy from our orientation group that you thought was cute?”
Of course you remembered Kwon Soonyoung. How could anyone forget a face like that? But you wanted to reach over the table and strangle Jeonghan for bringing him up in the worst possible context and potentially screwing up your non-existent love life for good. As you fought down your murderous tendencies and glanced nervously between the boys, however, you noticed a muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitch.
You started, “Soonyoung? I mean, sure, but—”
“Actually, I’ll be there,” Minghao cut in, his face void of emotion. “What time?”
Jeonghan simpered, quite pleased with himself. “Eight?”
“Sounds good.”
Without another word, the barista walked off, leaving you in stunned silence. Did you just witness Xu Minghao get jealous? There was no way for you to spin this as anything else; it was pure, unadulterated envy that bled out of him.
As your face grew increasingly hot, you spoke in a frantic, hushed voice, “He cut me off. He cut me off! Have you ever seen Hao that mad? I’ve never seen him that mad.”
But Jeonghan didn’t seem the least bit worried at all. In fact, he looked far too smug. “He’s really mad, isn’t he?”
“What’d you say all that for? I don’t think I can handle Hao and Soonyoung in the same room after this. I haven’t even brought up Soonyoung since last year, you douchebag!”
“Relax,” Jeonghan replied coolly. “I’m not inviting Soonyoung. I just said that to fuck with Hao.” A Cheshire-like grin spread across his face, and he pulled out his phone to start tapping away in front of you. “I’ve never seen him that jealous before. Maybe you should wear something nice and lace—”
“Shut up,” you interrupted with a scowl. “There were never any plans to begin with, were there?”
“Yes, there were—now,” he said, causing you to groan at the end. “I just told the group chat about it. You can thank me later.”
“I am not thanking you for the amount of torment you just put me through,” you said, hesitated, then stiffly added, “but thank you.”
“See? I’m always looking out for you.” He gave you a sincere look. “Now do me a solid and please get Seungcheol to show up.”
“I knew there was a catch.”
yoon jeonghan: smoke sesh at my place @ 9
yoon jeonghan: be there or our friendship’s over
boo seungkwan: i have no weed
boo seungkwan: lost my vape too
you: real hustlers would never make excuses
wen junhui: she’s right
vernon chwe: i have your vape seungkwan
boo seungkwan: wtf give it back
boo seungkwan: wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤
vernon chwe questioned “wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤”
you: alright chill
boo seungkwan: if i close my eyes i can almost taste him
vernon chwe: um.
vernon chwe: i'd like to give it back because it’s yours but idk if i should anymore
jeon wonwoo: Why are we having a smoke sesh on a random ass day
jeon wonwoo: I have a midterm tomorrow
boo seungkwan: leave tomorrow’s problems for a Tomorrow You
jeon wonwoo: True
jeon wonwoo: Ok see u guys there
yoon jeonghan: i’ll provide the smoke sesh essentials
wen junhui: i have 11 edibles
wen junhui: each person gets 1 and fight to the death over the rest
boo seungkwan: pog
you: thanks for that
jeon wonwoo: Amazing
vernon chwe: incredible
You were blasted out of your mind.
True to his word, Jeonghan didn’t invite Soonyoung to his gathering; and true to your word, you roped Minghao into bringing Seungcheol along.
You were initially worried that things would be awkward between you and Minghao, but he seemed to be in a significantly better mood by the time you got to talk to him. He didn’t even know that this whole night had been Jeonghan’s maniacal plot to set you guys up, so Minghao was completely oblivious when Seungkwan ushered him to sit next to you on the couch.
The night started off with Junhui passing out his edibles and auctioning off his last three to whoever did the best animal impression (one went to Minghao, one went to Jeonghan, and one went to Vernon). You were content with your one edible because you never had that strong of a weed tolerance, and halfway into watching Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle, you felt your eyes starting to grow heavy.
There were two types of people when high, though: one was you, who could probably be considered motionless and inanimate; and the other was someone like Seungkwan, whose not-so-wise ideas seemed to increase tenfold.
And, of course, since Harold and Kumar wanted to go to White Castle, Seungkwan and Vernon wanted to go on an adventure, too.
After much planning (which you weren’t part of because your body felt as if it was sinking into the couch cushions), your friends mobilized their efforts to come up with a scheme to bring back food from three different restaurants at once. They split themselves up into teams; Jeonghan and Seungcheol were going to Taco Bell, Seungkwan and Vernon were going to Panera Bread, and Junhui and Wonwoo were going to Chipotle.
If you were sober, you probably would have reminded them that UberEats still existed—or that they should probably look up the closing hours.
Naturally, you and Minghao were left in Jeonghan’s apartment. You didn’t mind because they promised to bring back food, but Jeonghan had definitely orchestrated getting you alone with Minghao. This meant you were probably expected to make a move or do whatever else was deemed entertaining in their eyes.
“Why didn't you go with them?” you asked Minghao. Everything seemed much more amusing to you all of a sudden, like the tuft of his hair that just wouldn't stay down.
“I’d rather stay here.” He shrugged and nudged your arm with his elbow. “Why? Do you want me to go?” he teased.
You reached over and patted down the strands of hair that kept sticking up. “No, stay. I need a witness if Jun’s edibles kill me.”
He laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”
“I am.” You placed a hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat thundered at lightning speed. “Please don’t be mad at me if I flatline.”
“No, you’re fine,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. His heartbeat was fast but probably not as fast as yours. “See? They’re the same.”
You thought Xu Minghao should’ve done the right thing for your heart and not look so devastatingly good all the time, but he always managed to catch you off-guard with that sickeningly sweet smile of his. He also should’ve been making an effort to not touch you so casually when your heart was already running at a million miles per hour. It wasn’t very fair that you were cursed to control your emotions every time you saw him from a decidedly good angle (which was almost every angle). You needed to bury whatever you were feeling before he entered a dangerous territory of your heart.
On second thought, you weren’t sure you could keep him out.
“No, they’re not,” you said. “I think it’s because of the weed and the fact that you’re very close.”
You swore you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips, but Minghao expertly concealed it by raising a brow at you instead. “Oh? You’re blaming it on me now?”
“Blame is a strong word.”
Even he couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from appearing on his face as he leaned in closer. “Then why am I such a problem for your heart, Y/N?”
“I don’t know,” you muttered. “You just are.”
“Does it have anything to do with me being objectively good-looking?”
You groaned. “You won’t let that one go, will you?”
“Unfortunately for you, I think I like where this is going.”
Something very dangerous was brewing in your chest.
You weren't sure if it was the weed that was making you bolder, but the haze was surely letting down your inhibitions. Instead of feeling like you were sinking deeper into the couch, you felt like you were gravitating closer to Minghao.
“Will you ever give me an answer?” he asked, and your breath caught in your throat when he delicately held your chin with two fingers, turning your head to look at him.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He pouted, and then you mocked his pout in return.
And just when you thought he was done messing with you, Xu Minghao dipped his head to seal his lips over yours, kissing your pout away.
Alarmed, you pulled back immediately, your eyes wide and unblinking as you stared at him in shock. He didn’t seem all that fazed himself, but he pressed his lips together tightly and withdrew his hand slowly. It was a short-lived kiss, but you were so close to getting hooked and losing all semblance of self-control.
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly.
“W-why are you sorry?” you stuttered, pitchy.
“I should’ve asked first.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
You shook your head to clear the mess of tangled thoughts. This was the worst possible conversation to be having while you were both high out of your minds, but you were also feeling a lot more courageous now that you knew that Minghao actually wanted to kiss you.
You wanted to kiss him, too. Now that you had a taste, you couldn’t resist thinking about how his lips would feel against yours again, how he would touch you again with such tenderness.
“Sorry, I thought you were asking,” you said.
“Asking what?”
“To kiss me.”
“Oh.” Minghao went silent for an entire minute. (You counted the seconds.) You watched as he stared blankly into space before the weight of your words seemed to finally register. “Oh.”
Your face felt hot. “Don’t just oh me.”
Minghao chuckled in response. He shifted so that he was turned toward you, one of his hands finding purchase on the back of your neck and the other on your knee. You nearly forgot how to breathe as you were so focused on how his touch burned your skin.
“No, I was just thinking about how cute you are,” he clarified.
“Huh?” You were pretty sure your voice was an octave higher, judging by how Minghao now looked even more amused by you. “Cute?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” His hand started to inch up from your knee, torturously moving up and down. You swallowed thickly. “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
You choked out a laugh. “Are you kidding?”
“I’m dead serious,” he insisted, and you could tell he was by the way his eyes darkened and his hand slid higher up your thigh. “You know I’m not a liar, Y/N.”
When you didn’t respond, he lowered his voice and continued, “You know, a big part of dancing is about the finer details.” Minghao’s hand dragged across your skin so slowly that you couldn’t hold in your trembling breath full of want. “I always make sure to pay extra attention, so I think you can trust me when I tell you you’re pretty.”
For a moment, you were floundering for words. You were already feeling dizzy by his mere touch, and then he went on to say something that made you feel even more feverish. Xu Minghao truly was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“Here,” he said, “let me just show you.”
He moved the hand on your thigh to grip your chin again, pressing a few tentative, experimental kisses to your lips before finally capturing them in a longer, desperate manner. Your heartbeat was hardly a rhythm anymore, just a steady line of white noise that rushed loudly in your ears. Kissing Minghao was addicting, and as you moved your arms to wrap around his neck, you found yourself losing the last shred of control that was keeping you from him.
By the time Minghao made the daring decision to slide his hand up your shirt, you two had been kissing each other senselessly. Your legs were haphazardly strewn across his lap while he bent you down to kiss you at a better angle.
Part of you was worried that this was moving too fast; the other half was begging you to speed up.
You couldn’t make sense of anything when his tongue slid against yours so languidly, sending delightful shivers up your spine. One of your hands moved up to entangle your fingers in his roots, tugging just enough to have him groaning into the kiss.
Just when you were certain things were going to escalate further—and god, did you want them to escalate—a loud knock at the door had you and Minghao pulling apart like two magnets with opposite poles.
“I don’t have a key!” Junhui’s muffled yell was heard through the door.
You and Minghao exchanged a look before he stood up to get the door. You ran a hand through your hair to look presentable again, even though your half-lidded eyes were a dead giveaway that you were floating elsewhere, high up in the clouds.
With his taste still on your lips, the tangle of an unspoken truth wound itself tighter around your throat.
You used The Kiss™ as an excuse for some space. The excuse you gave Minghao, however, was that you “needed a week for editing.”
This was a (white) lie for two reasons:
Minghao wasn't going to interfere with your editing process to the extent of needing to completely push him away.
You definitely did not need a full week for editing.
The cherry on top of your excellent decision-making was that it only took you a little over a day to start missing Minghao again.
The worst part of it all was that being the sweetest man to grace this planet, Minghao understood you right away and stopped texting you immediately. And, of course, you started to overthink his silence, as if you weren’t the one who needed time.
After you and Minghao had been rudely interrupted by Junhui and Wonwoo, the two of you carried on like nothing happened. Apparently, Jeonghan had been very strategic about where he made everyone go to pick up food: Chipotle was close by, and he claimed it was important that you and Minghao didn’t spend too much time alone in case things got awkward; and the other two were mostly for Jeonghan’s convenience (Panera Bread because he wanted a charged lemonade, and Taco Bell because it was the farthest away and gave him more time to be alone with Seungcheol). There were good intentions, yes, but you were bitter because the only part of Jeonghan’s plan that was supposed to benefit you was the part that ended up cockblocking you.
The guys made it impossible for you to get some alone time with Minghao for the rest of the night. You couldn’t even see him the next day because you ended up sleeping in so late that Minghao was gone by the time you woke up.
Going back to your apartment the next morning felt like The Walk of Shame.
Now, you were sprawled across the couch in your living room, laptop warm on your stomach as you sifted through your camera footage. Yooyeon was sitting on the carpet and doing her nails at the coffee table. Earlier in the morning, when you gave her the rundown of the events from last night, The Kiss™ had her jumping on the couch for so long that you ended up banishing her to the floor.
“After everything you just told me,” Yooyeon said, “I think you should just tell him how you feel. Don’t mince your balls. Just get right to the point.”
“Mince my balls? I don’t think that’s an expression.” You paused for what felt like forever until the appropriate idiom dawned on you. “It’s mince your words, dumbass, not mince your balls.”
“Mince your words, mince your balls—same thing.”
“It’s really not.”
“Okay, but you two have had this weird back-and-forth for, like, a month now,” she said. “It’s not like he’s gonna say no to a date.”
“But what if he does say no?”
Yooyeon rolled her eyes. “You guys literally kissed. Pretty sure that’s a free pass to ask him out.”
You thought back to Jeonghan’s words, how he suggested that you were still hurt by you and Minghao drifting apart in middle school and that you subconsciously thought it could happen again. It was uncharacteristic for you to hold a grudge this long, though, but you really couldn’t remember what was the turning point that made you feel like you had to walk on eggshells around him.
After putting your headphones over your ears, you clicked on the next video file to decide whether you were saving it for the film or not. The thumbnail that popped up was Minghao’s arm around your shoulders while you were trying to record the both of you sharing takoyaki outside. It was one of the videos that you took for fun in the middle of your shoot, but the sight made your heart flutter in your chest.
“I’ll feed you,” Minghao in the video said, a wide grin on his face as he stabbed a toothpick into a takoyaki ball and inched it closer to your lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Your face twisted as soon as the searing hot takoyaki hit your tongue. You remembered how you were about to drop your camera and spit the takoyaki out, but in order to not embarrass yourself in front of Minghao and everyone else around you, it was crucial that you kept your composure.
“I said it was hot!” Minghao exclaimed when you shot him an icy glare.
As you attempted to eat the takoyaki without burning your tongue, some of the batter dribbled down your chin. You let out a muffled yelp when it scalded your skin, pointing frantically at the mess you were making. It looked like your lips were trying to frame the word tissue, but you immediately covered your mouthful of takoyaki with your hand.
Minghao laughed at you, a dimple carving into the corner of his lip. “Stay still. Let me get it for you.”
The video cut right while Minghao was wiping your chin with a spare napkin. You remembered how gentle his hold was on your face, as if you were fine china. The fond smile fixed on his face wasn’t doing your heart any favors. You glanced over at Yooyeon to make sure she was too preoccupied with her nails to catch the growing smile that kept creeping onto your lips.
When you opened the next video file, the thumbnail wasn’t a frame you recognized. Minghao was in his dance studio, facing the camera at the full-length mirror to capture his entire body. You remembered the exact day he must have filmed this because he let you attempt to braid his hair on the bus ride home.
“Hey, Y/N, I’m recording this without your permission,” he started, a mischievous grin playing on his face. “Since you’re out getting snacks, I’ve decided to vlog the choreo I just came up with.”
This time, you realized too late that your face had broken into a smile so affectionate that Cupid may as well have sent an arrow right through your chest. You were seven minutes into watching Minghao trying to master his self-made choreography when it finally hit you that you had spent the entire month with Minghao—laughing, hanging out, watching movies, going on long drives, studying at his café, and getting to know him all over again. All of that was under the pretext of filming your documentary, but now that you were realizing there was no excuse for you to be around him anymore, a strange feeling of apprehension consumed you.
You could say that you and Minghao were friends now, but your life had become so intertwined with his that you weren’t sure how you would feel when things went back to normal.
Your attention snapped back to your laptop screen when Minghao stopped dancing to speak to the camera again.
“I know you’re probably procrastinating on editing this, so you owe me five dollars if you haven’t watched this by the 19th,” he said. You checked the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, past said date and well into the week after. Just as you were about to make a note to send Minghao the money, he lowered his voice and continued, “But, since you watched till the end, I’ll tell you a secret. You can’t tell anyone, though, especially not Jeonghan!”
You noticed his face was flushed a faint shade of pink when he confessed, “Now I’m only telling you this because it’s been bothering me for weeks. You never brought it up, but… I intentionally didn’t warm up your injeolmi toast that day because I wanted you to bring it back so that we could, um… talk, I guess. I still can’t believe you ate the whole thing without realizing.”
Your heart stuttered—tripped, fell over, got up again, repeated the process—and, oh, you were a discombobulated mess on the inside.
Minghao chuckled to himself and started going off on a tangent about the injeolmi toast, but you were unable to move on from what he had said. (“You know it’s supposed to be warmed up, right? I figured you just didn’t know because you’ve never had it… maybe I should’ve given you the wrong drink instead.”)
The answer was jammed in your throat like a pill you couldn’t swallow: you liked Xu Minghao.
And, strangely enough, the feeling wasn’t unfamiliar.
You remembered exactly what it was like to long for the sun. You’d fallen in love with all of Minghao long before. A rush of repressed feelings from your middle school years bubbled to the surface, and perhaps they didn’t make any sense to you in the past, but it was all too clear now. What you felt for Minghao wasn’t anything new; your first love blossomed long ago, and you plucked out all the petals of your feelings before they could grow any further.
You just didn’t nip enough of them in the bud.
If you remembered correctly, you and Minghao started growing apart the day he got his first girlfriend. It wasn’t that you two had a proper argument or fell out, but you safeguarded yourself from the heartbreak by distancing yourself until you were out of each other’s lives. He must have been too caught up in his new relationship to realize it himself, but of course you couldn’t blame him when you were the one who pulled away first.
But things were different now. You were different now.
In the past, you made sure to swallow your feelings down, no matter how painful and thick they were lodged in your throat. Now, however, despite how hard you tried to suppress them, you felt as if you were glowing in the light of reciprocated love. It was maddening—agonizing even—but so wonderful.
“I think I like him, Yooyeon,” you blurted out, only looking in your roommate’s direction when you heard her knocking over her collection of press-on nails. The mess was hardly a concern to her right now, though. “Minghao, I mean.”
“Can I tell Jeonghan?”
You reached around your laptop to grab a throw pillow and whack her over the head with it. “I’m having the most insane revelation of my life and pouring my heart out to you here, and your first instinct is to tell Jeonghan?”
“Okay, damn, I’ll give it a few hours.” Yooyeon set her phone back down and turned around to face you again, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Now tell me everything. Like, everything. I need you to explain from start to finish.”
“That might take a while,” you warned.
She snorted and picked up her nail file. “I think I can make time in my very busy schedule.”
Your interrogation with Yooyeon didn’t take a few hours, as you expected it would; rather, your discussion cut into the late hours of the night, keeping you and your roommate up until dawn. Jeonghan joined over FaceTime at some point and screeched loud enough for you to worry about noise complaints (Wonwoo made a guest appearance, too), but you also learned that your friend group had seen this coming from the beginning. You weren’t sure how you felt being the only one out of the loop, but Jeonghan made sure to point out that you were just completely oblivious.
You didn’t exactly discuss your next steps, though. Yooyeon mentioned asking Minghao out on a date, but you weren’t sure how to do that without acknowledging The Kiss™ first. You had to bring it up somehow, but you kept putting it off to work on editing.
Thinking about Xu Minghao proved to be dangerous for your motivation. It had only been a week but you instinctively kept checking your phone to see if he texted you. (Spoiler: he didn’t.) It took all of your willpower, but you forced yourself to push him out of your head and focus on getting the documentary done.
Editing was torturous. You practically spent all day and night glued to your laptop, whether it was in the dining hall or in your bed. For something that was only supposed to be ten minutes long, there were hours of footage for you to get through, some of which ended up being unusable, much to your frustration.
Finally, though, after long days of tirelessly working, the finished project was in your hands.
Of course, Minghao was the very first person you told. You were so giddy that you called him immediately, your heart soaring when he picked up on the second ring. In under an hour, you found yourself running to Café du Soleil to show him the documentary.
Upon seeing Minghao’s bright face, before you could even get a hi out, he crushed you in his embrace. You breathed in the addicting scent of his cologne—gaiac wood and cedar. It was clear that neither of you wanted to pull away, but you took a step back first.
“Congratulations,” he praised, rubbing small circles on your upper arm with his thumb. “Do I get to watch it now?”
“If you have ten minutes to spare, we can watch it together,” you said, pulling out your laptop once you reached your usual table. “I wanted you to be the first person to see it.”
“I’m off my shift,” he replied, pulling up a chair right next to you, “so I’ve got time to kill.”
You handed him an AirPod to listen along with you. Sound was one of your favorite parts of creating a film—setting the atmosphere, building the tension, playing with senses and emotions—so you really wished you could give Minghao the full experience, but since you were in a public setting, this would have to do.
The documentary opened with Minghao at his dance studio, sweat glistening on his toned muscles as his body moved to the beat. The demanding choreography coupled with his exhaustion didn’t stop him from showcasing an almost flawless performance. There was a brief exchange with his mentor before the scene cut to an interview with Minghao explaining how his passion for dance started and how he had grown into competing in national-level tournaments.
You added a compilation of clips from Minghao’s previous performances, as well as accounts from his peers about how hardworking and motivated he was. His mentor gave a particularly heartwarming speech on how driven Minghao was as a dancer and how he put his all into everything he did. The part you were the proudest of had to be getting Jeonghan to give his two cents on being Minghao’s friend, and you were pleasantly surprised that he took it seriously and said something sweet.
“To me, success is about working hard despite my circumstances,” Minghao said. In his interview clip, he took on a more serious tone. “I don’t have to be the best dancer in the world as long as I’m doing what I’m passionate about. At some point, I think I lost myself for a while… but someone special pulled me out of that slump and pushed me to keep going. I can’t thank her enough, honestly.”
You knew it was coming because you put the clips together yourself, but your face still grew hot regardless. Minghao being right next to you wasn’t exactly helping your case or making you feel any less flustered. Perhaps most people watching your documentary wouldn’t realize who he was referring to, but you knew that he was talking about you.
The film then got into Minghao’s financial struggles with the café, showing segments of his mother talking about Café du Soleil and how much the place meant to her family. You then showed the new part-timers being trained (with extra screen time for Seungcheol, as per Jeonghan’s suggestion—or, well, persuasion), and Seokmin even gushed about how much he looked up to Minghao in his own interview.
The documentary ended with a few words from Minghao, switching back and forth between the dance studio and the café. The screen then faded to black with the bustling sounds of the café gradually fading out.
It was only when your screen was dark enough to see your reflection that you realized there were tears in both yours and Minghao’s eyes. You already watched it about five times yourself, but something was different about watching it alongside the person you worked with for over a month to bring your ideas to life.
And, apparently, you two weren’t the only ones tearing up.
Minghao flinched when he turned his head to see the part-timers sitting at the table behind them and peering at the laptop screen. “Fuck, you guys scared me.”
“Sorry,” Seokmin apologized, hastily wiping at a stray tear. “It was just so beautiful.”
Chan gave you a nod of approval. “The only thing it needed was more screen time from me.”
“You literally ran away every time you were on camera,” you said, swiveling around to look at the two baristas. “Were you two just sitting behind us this whole time?”
“Yes,” Seokmin confirmed. “We appreciated the subtitles.”
Truthfully, you were extremely satisfied with their reactions. Your short film, A Bite of Summer, bringing Minghao to tears was enough to rile you up for days, and now you had two other people who got emotional over a documentary you filmed and produced with your own two hands.
“You really outdid yourself,” Minghao murmured, and when you turned to him, he was looking at you as if no one else was in the café except you. He reached his hand out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
With a shy smile, you said, “It wouldn’t have come together without you.”
Through your periphery, you noticed Seokmin and Chan exchanging a look.
“Alright, they’re having a moment,” Seokmin announced, standing up and gesturing for Chan to follow him. “Let’s get back to work.”
Minghao, whose ears were a bright shade of red now, tried to awkwardly laugh off the embarrassment. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked back at you, and you burned up all over again once you remembered how his soft lips felt against yours. Unfortunately, one of the symptoms of having a crush on someone was that your mind often went blank and filled itself up with all things Xu Minghao instead, so you couldn’t exactly think straight right now.
“I’ve finished the application and essay for the scholarship,” he said, “so I guess all there’s left to do is submit.”
“I’m sure no one else had an incredibly talented film major directing and producing their video,” you joked.
“No, you’re right. If I don’t get the scholarship after this, I might take it personally.”
“Oh, please,” you muttered quietly, “you’re too nice.”
“I’m not that nice, Y/N.” To your surprise, Minghao’s eyes hardened. You had never seen such an expression on his face, and it made your stomach instantly sink to your feet, but he bounced right back to his cheery self soon after. “I’ll walk you home after we submit these?”
“Y-yeah.”
Minghao pulled his own laptop out of his bag while you copied the link to your video in Dropbox. You pasted the link into an email, but your finger hovered over the send button for far too long. Once it went through, you were officially done with this project; it no longer tied you to Minghao.
You sucked in a breath and sent him the link.
You could only stare at your Canvas submission page. The link to your documentary was already pasted in; all you had to do was hit submit, but you felt so anxious. Maybe you missed one of the guidelines, or maybe you needed to watch it again, but you knew deep down that you replayed it several times and it was as close to perfection as you wanted it to be.
“Hao, I’m scared. Let’s submit ours at the same time.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have anything to be scared of, but yeah, let’s do that.”
It took another thirty minutes for Minghao to prepare himself, though. He read over his application and essay again, handing it over to you afterward for a second look at it. When Seungcheol eventually entered the café for his shift, Minghao had him take a look at it, too.
Finally, you and Minghao were both ready with your submissions. You both had your cursors hovering over the submit button just before he slipped his free hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Ready?” he asked.
With the heat of a thousand suns burning your cheeks, you nodded eagerly.
You submitted your film.
It felt like a truckload of weight had been lifted off your shoulders, but the feeling of relief didn’t come without the slight unease. You looked over at Minghao, who had just submitted his and was being clapped on the back by Seungcheol, and you felt weird. You felt so incredibly proud of yourself, but another part of you couldn’t accept that it was over now.
“Hey,” Minghao said softly, grinning when your eyes met his. “We really did it.”
You sort of melted under his gaze, the corners of your mouth hitching up into a lovesick smile. “Yeah, we did.”
With that, his hand slipped out of yours to tell his mother about finishing the scholarship application, and you felt cold again.
Minghao offered to walk you home, but you could hardly hold a proper conversation with him; your head was a mess.
Maybe it was wrong for you to feel this way after your week of radio silence, but something about this felt so final. You were scared that once you reached your apartment, you would go back to the life you had before you reconnected with Minghao. As much as you told yourself that you were just overthinking, there was a nagging fear in the back of your head. Maybe it was from the high of submitting your project, but you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you.
You wanted to hold onto Minghao one more time and tell him how you felt.
It had been on your mind ever since you had your revelation yesterday, and sitting next to him in the café and pretending like you weren’t mad for him was nearly impossible. As you two trudged down the cobblestone street, your hands balled into the pockets of your coat, you realized that something along the lines of a confession was ready to burst through your lips. Minghao kept droning on about a holiday-exclusive drink that was coming to the café, but you couldn’t even listen to him properly without your brain screaming at you to tell him how you felt.
It was when he brought the conversation back to your documentary that you found the perfect opportunity to bring up the secret video he filmed.
“We must’ve filmed hours of content,” he was saying, throwing his head back and groaning at the mere thought. “I can’t believe you watched all of it—wait, did you watch all of it?”
“I did watch everything, Hao,” you said quietly.
“Hm? What was that?”
“I knew that the injeolmi toast was supposed to be heated up,” you blurted out. Minghao froze in his tracks and stared at you, wide-eyed, and normally this would’ve made you shy away immediately, but you wanted to be braver. You stopped walking too, and you raised your head to meet his eyes. “I thought you forgot to warm it up by accident, so I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”
At your sudden admission, Minghao was speechless, even more so when you continued in a breathless ramble, “And I want you to know that the only reason I chose this subject for my documentary was because of you; and I missed you all of last week because all I could think about was how you kissed me; and I really fucking hate summer, Hao, but you made me fall in love with the sun.”
“And… and I like you,” you confessed. “I liked you back in middle school, and I like you again now.”
Minghao’s jaw went slack as he searched your eyes, as if looking for a lie in your words, as if he could hardly believe that what you were telling him was real.
“Are you serious?” he asked quietly, almost scared that you would say no. He walked closer to you. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Your courage threatened to falter, but you kept his gaze even as he reached out to hold your face with gentle hands. “I’ve never been this honest in my life.”
With a shuddering breath, he said, “You’re telling the truth.”
“Yeah, I—”
“Do you even know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?” Although Minghao spoke in a murmur, your words died on your tongue the moment he started talking, especially after his eyes dropped to your lips.
You could only blink back at him in stunned silence.
“You were my first love, too,” he confessed.
His words struck you right in your chest. The winter bite no longer chilled you to the bone; if anything, a wildfire was ripping through your body. For a split second, you wondered if you were actually on fire, so you remained perfectly, unmovingly still until you realized that Minghao was waiting for you to answer.
You swallowed hard. “I was? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I guess I was scared it would ruin our friendship… but I didn’t do a very good job of salvaging it, anyway.” You could see the regret painted on his face, but then he steeled his nerves. “I don’t care if I don’t win the scholarship, Y/N—I mean, I sort of care—but no matter what happens, I’m happy just being with you.”
Your heart beamed.
Even days ago, the mention of your past with Minghao would’ve been a sore spot for you. Now, however, you didn’t want it to keep weighing you down like an anchor buried deep within the sand. Maybe you were both just stupid kids who didn’t know what to do with their feelings.
But all of that hardly mattered now that your souls found each other again. You weren’t ever someone who was big on the idea of destiny, but if there were stars out there that predetermined fate, they must have been shining for you and Minghao.
This time, you initiated. It was almost effortless how your arms found themselves circling around Minghao’s neck, drawing him closer to you. His eyes looked as if they were still in a dream, but after a few seconds, his gentle hands found your waist.
“I’m happy as long as I’m with you, too,” you said, your voice only loud enough for him to hear.
Minghao let out a breathless sort of laugh, almost like he was still in disbelief, and you smiled before pressing your lips to his. Compared to your first kiss, which was charged with lust and intoxication, this one was so loving and calm that you lost yourself in him so easily. He smiled into the kiss, and you couldn’t help yourself either once you felt his lips curve up against yours.
His hand found your chin, pulling away for a brief moment to take a good look at you. Let the high of your reciprocated feelings sink in. Your eyes flitted from Minghao’s lips to his twinkling eyes, your heart doing a series of backflips and spins when you saw his lips curl into a smirk.
“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, “I think I can get used to this.”
And when his lips found yours again, you were sure your souls touched, too.
(“So, are you gonna tell me if I’m objectively good-looking now?”
“Let it go, Hao.”)
EPILOGUE
Vernon scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know if I was tripping out, but I swear they just had us watch Kim Mingyu doing tricks on a skateboard for ten minutes straight.”
“I think that was an actual film.” Seungcheol looked through the pamphlet of student films that were being screened and read, “Kim Mingyu Does a Kickflip—yeah, that’s the one.”
“Whose bright idea was it to make us take Jun’s edibles?” Jeonghan, who was fitted in a formal suit and tie, complained as he slouched deeper in his seat. His eyes were a few shades too close to red to pass as sober, but he was at least able to function on his own. “This shit has to be laced with something.”
“This is your fault, dude,” Seungkwan replied, exasperated. He didn’t seem as faded as Jeonghan was, but he looked more like he had just woken up. “You told us this would be more fun if we got high!”
“Okay, and who listened to me?” He sat up to catch Seungkwan, Vernon, and Wonwoo’s guilty heads hanging shamefully. “Exactly.”
Yooyeon shot you a withering look. “They're stressing me out.”
It was the night of your film’s showcase. After you passed the class with flying colors, your professor recommended your documentary be screened during the showcase for all the film majors in your year. It was an annual event, but only a certain number of films were selected from the students. In short, this was big for you. You invited your friends, of course, although you were starting to regret it now that you had to put Seungcheol and Junhui in charge of babysitting them.
“Jeonghan, you really didn’t have to dress up like that,” you said once you noticed the contrast between his formal attire and Seungkwan’s sweater and jeans ensemble. “This isn’t even a formal event.”
Jeonghan leaned over Seungcheol to tell you, “This is important to me, okay?”
“Aw, Jeong—”
“I have to be the hottest one here.”
Alright, then.
“Jeonghan, remember what we’re actually here for,” Junhui prompted, motioning to the front of the theater.
You put a hand over your chest, touched. “Jun, you’re too sweet, I—”
“To see Minghao’s gorgeous face on the big screen,” he finished.
You decided you were going to let them finish their sentences from now on.
Minghao, who was sitting next to you and gripping your hand, raised your hands to press a kiss to each one of your knuckles. He saved his public displays of affection for rare occasions, such as your grand showcase.
You two had been dating for the past five months at this point. It wasn’t much of a surprise to any of your friends, but what did change was that Minghao spent a lot more time with your friend group now. (Sometimes you worried if they liked him more than you, but you weren’t one to vie for attention.) It was also safe to say that you two weren’t exactly out of the honeymoon phase yet. Your heart still fluttered whenever he did anything particularly sweet, and Minghao still went bright red whenever you were feeling a little bolder.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice tickling your skin. “You said your professor recommended submitting it to a film festival, right?”
“Mhm.” You grinned and used the hand he wasn’t holding to pinch his cheek lightly. “Your face could be seen by thousands.”
He laughed. “It’s really all about you, not—” Minghao paused when his phone buzzed from inside his pocket. You two exchanged a nervous look before he fumbled to pull it out. “I think it’s them.”
A week ago, the announcement of the scholarship recipient was supposed to be sent out. However, there was a complication that led to them postponing the results until today. You and Minghao had been on edge all week, but having to think about the outcome on the same day as your film showcase was nerve-wracking.
“It is them.” Minghao bit his lip when he saw the sender in his notifications. He looked over at you and squeezed your hand tighter. “I’m gonna open it now.”
With suspended breath, you tried to gauge his reaction as he opened the email. (It wasn’t very hard to read Xu Minghao’s expression when he wore his heart on his sleeve.) He took so long that you thought he was reading over each word twice, but then you watched as his expression morphed into one of pure astonishment.
“What is it?” you asked. “What does it say?”
“I…” He swallowed thickly. “I got it.” He turned to you again, mouth twitching into a grin. “I actually got it!”
Your life had been going so smoothly recently that the scholarship results had been plaguing your thoughts for the past few weeks. You didn’t have to worry about your project anymore, so saving the café and getting Minghao his chance to compete had been weighing heavily on your mind.
Now, though, upon hearing those words and seeing his eyes light up, you felt like you were glowing yourself. They selected Minghao, and they watched your film. Your work was going to save his mom’s café. It was going to let him keep chasing his dreams.
You let out a yelp so loud that dozens of heads turned in your direction, but you didn’t mind any of them as soon as you reached over your armrest to tackle Minghao into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.
“I knew they’d pick you,” you told him. “There’s no one else who deserves it more.”
“It’s seriously all because of you,” he said. When you pulled apart, Minghao looked absolutely winded from being so overjoyed. “I have to tell my mom as soon as we get home. She’s gonna be so happy that we get to keep the café running.”
Jeonghan, who was brazenly eavesdropping, patted Seungcheol firmly on the chest. “Hear that? You just got saved from unemployment.” He reached over Seungcheol (again) to dap up Minghao.
You felt someone tap your shoulder from behind, and you craned your neck around to see your professor gesturing for you to go up on stage. That was your cue to introduce your film, and you gulped down the bundle of nerves that rose up your throat.
Yooyeon squeezed your shoulder as you were getting up. Shakily, you straightened up, smiling weakly when your friends started cheering obnoxiously loud for you. Minghao caught your wrist before you walked to the front and gave you a reassuring squeeze that managed to calm your jittery hands.
You recognized a lot of your friends from your classes, so it wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you were hopeful that the unfamiliar faces would be cheering for you by the time they saw your documentary.
“We know her!” Jeonghan and Seungkwan were screaming from the top, pointing you out to every stranger in their vicinity. “That’s our friend!”
At the right wing of the stage, you were handed a mic and instructed to walk out to the center. You had never been in front of a crowd this huge, but seeing your friends in the seats melted away whatever fears were holding you back.
“Thank you everyone for coming out today,” you spoke into the mic, smiling when it resounded throughout the grand auditorium. “My name’s Y/N, and I’m so excited to share my documentary: The Xu Minghao Dilemma.”
TAG LIST ▸ if you made it all the way here, thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed xu minghao's dilemma 💗 first and foremost, this was written for @junyangis so shoutout my film major inspo. i tried to emulate the film student experience to the best of my ability so i hope it delivers 🙏 also you might notice the banner has jeonghan as the writer which sort of sounds misleading but it's because he was the one orchestrating everything between mc and minghao, so i thought it was fitting :') first fic of 2025, yay!! i hope to share more of my works with you this year & sending my love to everyone reading this right now ♡ thank you to everyone who asked to be part of the tag list as well !! 🫂
➸ Synopsis: After having one too many drinks and being taken home by your nonchalant boyfriend, you realize despite his stoic, calm, personality, that you quite literally have him wrapper around your fingers.
➸ Warnings: lots of cursing, reader stutters (go away if u don't like that) mentions and usage of alcohol and cigarettes, kissing but not super intense.
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Rarely had there been a time where you drank, really.
"kjasduahdaidhaasd more alcohol!"
.... But when you did, the atrocities are at most, unimaginable.
Like right now. The crisp, appetizing air of the barbecue roamed around your nose. With a very, odd, obnoxious wiggling of your nose you giggled uncontrollably, holding your shot glass up high.
"Barbecue~ Nice! Yummy! Delicious! Whoo! Give-"
"You can stop now."
With not much of a notice, a strong grip swiftly takes away the shot glass from your fingers, the other preventing your left hand for taking any more alcohol.
It was a familiar voice.
"Oh my goodness, there you are Riki! Thank you so much for coming."
Riki?
As in, Riki?
"Guysss! Gosh, stop fooling around!" You babble in front of your friends, fanning your hands in the process. With flushed cheeks, you gave them a grin. Why did they bring your boyfriend up all of a sudden?
Your "boyfriend."
"I know Riki, MY boyfriend is attractive, and cute, and lovable and all that, but—"
"Y/N."
Damn. It really is him.
With a swift turn, the sight that confronted your blurry eyes, was none other than Nishimura Riki in the flesh. His hair is disheveled, he looked like he had just woken up from a nap, given his raspy voice and the tired look in his eyes. He wore one of the hundreds of his chrome hearts collection of black sweater pants and hoodie.
You rubbed your eyes, hoping you'd just imagined things, but he felt real. You tapped his shoulder, hard and broad. Poked his cheek, soft and cute, held his finger, long and veiny. You wiggled your nose, still smelled as amazing as ever.
But the fact that he was here was not even the problem. The fact that he possibly heard what you said is what is.
"It is real..."
"Of course I am real," Niki turns to your friends, "Thank you for taking care of her. Is it okay if I take her home now? I'll bring her home safe, don't worry."
"O-of course! We're done with eating too, just waiting for you, because, well... Y/N kind of goes uncontrollable when it comes to alcohol."
Niki, the ever so nonchalant, simply just nods his head, taking one of your arms and wrapping it around his shoulder. "Thanks for that."
Without much of a word, you left the restaurant with Nishimura Riki, the person who is, in fact, not your boyfriend, but the person who has been courting you for a little while now.
~~~~~~~
"Come hop on my back, Y/N." Niki mumbles once the both of you were outside the restaurant. Without much of a protest, you willingly jumped onto his back, reclining a bit when you felt you reeked of alcohol.
In the very back of your mind, you felt it run through a hundred million emotions at the same time. More so from the alcohol, but half from the fact that you were really here. Right here, right now, cradled in Nishimura Riki’s broad, sculpted, back.
Riki is a fellow junior in your college, pursuing a course in arts and design while you pursed tourism. The story as to how the two of you met was odd. That certain day a year back, you’d gone to one of the free smoking areas of your school to go through the last of your pack, only to find him there, cigarette in hand, as poised and sharp as ever.
Since then, he immediately was the apple of your eye. Barely did he spoke, yet his presence and aura felt intense, as if it was commanding— I’m actually right here. You tried talking to him, to which he responded in a very unwelcoming manner.
Until a certain moment in time where the universe had to pull you in together. The classic getting stuck in an elevator trope on your way to the fifth floor of your facility. Odd, right? Still, ever since, Nishimuka Riki has always just been there, perhaps not in a vocal and showy manner, but his actions proved otherwise.
That’s why you rarely showed these sides of yours to the person who is currently courting you, aiming to be in your best behaviour. Nishimura Riki, despite having bad habits such as smoking, (though, well, you couldn’t speak much you did the same) he was by all odds, the most stern guy you’ve ever countered. Stern as in, by all means, whatever shits life throwed his way, he was rarely distracted and kept his goal straight.
Meaning, you never know what he thinks most of the time.
“‘M sorry for acting like this.” You mumble beneath, refusing to lay your head on his shoulder and instead withstanding the strong effects of the alcohol making you sluggish.
Riki does not respond for a second.
“You don’t have to be, it’s fine.”
You squint your eyes, playfully whining and kicking your legs around. Riki pulls you closer to his back, “I feel like… Most of the time, you have me figured out and I don’t.”
He hums. “What do you mean?”
You poke his cheek, finally giving and resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re always so calm, composed, nonchalant even. While I always lose my shits at the smallest things. It’s like, I feel like I have to have myself together around you.”
Nishimura Riki listens.
This is what you always thought about him. Never jumping into conclusions, making assumptions of his own. He waits, patiently, before giving an opinion.
“And well… I didn’t want to show this side of you because you might think of me different.”
“Different? How?”
“That I’m someone who doesn’t have her life together, or gets so noisy and playful when drunk or, that I have the most weirdest interests and hobbies. I didn’t want you to think like that, especially since I am older than you.” You admit, craddling your head closer to his neck. He smelled good.
“… You’re a bit funny noona, you know that?” Riki says. You slap his back with a snort, “I thought we stopped we the noona thing.”
Riki laughs, twisting his head to side. It was one of his habits, whenever he says something that perhaps embarrassed, made him shy, disappointed or whatever— he clicked his head to the side.
“We did. Say, can I put you down? Are you not stumbling down anymors and saying weird stuff?”
You were immediately reminded of what happened just a few minutes back at the restaurant.
“I did NOT say weird stuff!” You counter. Riki laughs, putting you down gently and turning to face you.
The embarrassment was replaced with shock as he comes to place a hand on your warm, red cheeks. The both of you stood beneath a sparking street light in the quiet of the night.
Riki stares. Just stares at you.
“W-what are you doing…” You say, turning your head to the side. He pinches your cheeks, “Ow! Ow!”
“I’m sorry.” Riki laughs, truly not sorry. “What were you saying earlier? I’m your boyfriend?” He teases, pulling your cheeks a little tighter.
You pout, “I’m sorry… It’s just that— Ah! Nevermind.”
Riki’s ears piqued with interest. No way in hell where you going to—
“What was that?”
He inches impossibly closer to your face, distance was no longer a word. You felt his nose brush a bit against yours, he was staring so intensely at you again with that stern gaze of his. His hand looses itself from your cheeks.
Fucking hell. You felt as if you couldn’t breath.
“I said it was n-nothing…”
Riki grins, “you can tell me.”
He always had his with words, always had his ways with you.
“My friend who called you also used to have a massive crush on you, but that was before!” you raise both your hands in defense, “She respects this, and us now, and—“
Riki laughs, really laughs, reeling his head back in such a dramatic way. The shame inside your body bubbled, and you could not find the right words to even say, the right movement to even do.
Maybe Riki thought it was funny because well, by all technicality as to what relationships actually mean— you are not his boyfriend, yet. You have not answered him as to what the both of you truly are, yet your actions, time spent together, the things you did with each other— for people who do not know you well would think otherwise.
“You are so adorable.” He says, patting your head.
“Am not!”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
Without much of a word, Riki suddenly places a soft, gentle kiss on your cheek. It tenses you up, keeps you in place. It was moments like these where you feel vulnerable around Riki. Sure, you were older than him, perhaps know a little bit more than he, but his unpredictability keeps you on your toes.
It excites you, and it makes you feel childish in a way, too.
“The most adorable.”
Riki grins as he looks into your eyes. He pats your head, “let’s get you home, yeah? I have a duty as your boyfriend.”
And you smack him in the arm.
~~~~
“Thank you for taking me home, Riki.”
Your footsteps hit the ground of your apartment as you face Riki, fingers intertwined with each other. It had been around midnight, and although Riki lives just a little farther away from you, you felt appreciative of his efforts of coming all the way to pick you up.
“Don’t sweat it, I want you to get home safe.” He says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Well… I guess this is—”
“Say,” Riki coughs, turning his head to the side. “I’m a little thirsty… Is it okay if I crash and get some water?”
“Oh? Ah! Yeah sure, hold on.”
You visibly panick.
Riki wants to go into your house?
You felt yourself internally squeal. Lucky enough for you, the fact that you cleaned beforehand means you’ll be saved from the embarrassment. But another fact remains: You’ve finally reached the point where he wants to go into your house?
Without a word, you fumble with the keys as you turn to open the door and let him inside. You do not dare to look at him, only closing the door and heading towards the kitchen as he follows you.
However, before you were even able to get a step in, Riki swiftly holds your hand and embraces you. He embraces you.
“Wha-”
“Shh.” He cooes, arms wrapped around your shoulders, as his head placed itself atop your head. Hundreds of fireworks exploded in your head. You saw nothing but his black hoodie, and only felt his tight and warm embrace as well as his strong perfume which stained your nose into a coma.
God, it feels so right when you’re wrapper around his arms.
“Just tell me if you want to answer me already.” Riki mumbles, vulnerability in his voice. “You’ve been going back and forth— it’s driving me crazy, Y/N.”
“Seriously, it’s fucking driving me crazy.”
Riki spoke more so to himself, this is the first time you’d ever hear him, feel him with so much more than his stoic, and calm composed self. It was as if he is breaking in front of you right now.
“I can never go to sleep at night knowing I can’t have you in my arms, because we’re not together.”
Riki holds you impossibly closer to his body. You wrap your arms around him, listening.
“I want to say to the world you’re my girlfriend, and that I’m your boyfriend. Yeah?”
You nod.
“So just… Be honest with me and tell me if you want me.”
He pauses, “Otherwise-”
“I want you, Riki.”
You say without a doubt. Truly, you did want him. And although this may not be the best occassion to say it out loud, here you were, admitting your heartfelt feelings to the man who’s been by your side for months now.
It felt right, it felt absolutely right.
And you’d be damned if Riki hears your longingness for him once more through your mumbling drunk self.
“I guess I just don’t know how to say it, I’m sorry—”
Riki presses his lips against yours, rough, yet soft and delicate at the same time.
He kisses you deeply, and you kiss back, holding onto his hoodie for dear life. It was as if the alcohol had consumed you, yet at the same time, you felt conscious and aware that the two of you are doing this. He knows, you know, too.
The both of you know that doing this would mean you’d be answering his long awaited courtship, would mean that you’re trying a knot that signifies you both not as friends, not as anything platonic, but as partners. As soulmates.
And you kissed him like your life depended on it. Riki does the same, holding you tight as if letting go of you would mean you’d be out of his grasp.
But you won’t let go of his grasp, your legs felt too weak to do so. Your arms felt too tense to even more, and god, your lips were stuck on his.
Yet the only thing that kept you apart was the need for air, gasping as your lips fell apart from his and a string of your heavy breaths and saliva connected you both.
Riki lays his forehead into yours, holding the small of your back. You cup his cheeks,
“I want you bad too, Riki.”
The two of you smile, souls connected and intertwined.
“I guess I’m your boyfriend now, huh?”
And Riki just hoped you didn’t feel the warmth of his cheeks, or the red of his ears the whole night, or the fact that he, in fact, ever only tried to keep his composure around in hopes of impressing the wits out of you.
𖤓 Feelings for you
By @txt-trash
19.3k, roommates au, Soobin has a shitty ex, strangers to friends to lovers, hesitant to date at first, fluff, smut, barista Soobin, college graduates, one instant of fake dating
𖤓 Friendly desires
By @txt-trash
8.8k, college au, friends to lovers, jealousy, kind of himbo Soobin, flirting, smut, fluff, helping one another get with someone else, accidently falling for each other
𖤓 Alice in Wonderland
By @acidsoju
21.1k, basically an Enchanted au, Prince Soobin, fantasy au, royalty au, multidimensional au, Prince Soobin in the modern world, fluff, angst, falling in love, "doomed relationship", slow burn, best friend Yeonjun
𖤓 Lost in Neverland
By @acidsoju
22.7k, part 2 to Alice in Wonderland, fantasy au, royalty au, multidimensional au, waking up in Soobin's dimension, fluff, angst, romance, love triangle, mage Beomgyu, second lead syndrome, slow burn
𖤓 Muse [part 1] & [part 2]
By @acidsoju
4.9k, college au, smut, poetry major!Soobin x art major!reader, alcohol, struggling to find motivation/inspiration, slight fluff, friends TXT, art major!Kai, helping one another
𖤓 Loser
By @acidsoju
4.6k, college au, project partners, fluff, smitten Soobin, slice of life, romance, kind of loser Soobin, alcohol, pining
𖤓 Class Prez
By @acidsoju
4.4k, high school seniors, enemies to ??, class president!Soobin, troublemaker!reader, smut, fuck buddies?
𖤓 When your lips touch mine
By @wonustars
4.2k, college au, friends? to lovers, classmates, meeting after being stood up, cheering up, smut, slight fluff, undeniable attraction, kind of obsessed with one another, friend Yeonjun
𖤓 Random texts w/ Bf!Soobin
By @saursoob
SMAU, established relationship, fluff, slight sexual innuendoes, humour
𖤓 Level up
By @iicehoon
Streamer Soobin, established relationship, they both play videogames, cute relationship, fluff, being on stream
𖤓 Home
By @tubatwo
1.2k, established relationship, fluff, slight angst, jealousy, silly flirting from friends!TXT
𖤓 When you forget to switch accounts
By @bowlofsoob
SMAU, Spotify media manager!reader, accidents, forgetting to switch accounts, fangirling, flirting, meet cutes, cute relationship, sexual innuendoes
𖤓 Awakened desires [part 1] & [part 2]
By @lexawoah13
Non-specified au, likely non-idol au, friends to lovers, smut, slight fluff, discussions of relationships, drunk moments
𖤓 Our little darling
By @sophvilla
Yeonjun x reader x Soobin, unspecified au, bf Yeonjun, best friend Soobin, smut, threesome
𖤓 Truth or drink! Engaged edition
By @beom-pyu
Part of a series, based on YouTube videos, answering questions, truth or drink game, fluff, suggestive comments
𖤓 Texts with bf!Soobin
By @blue-jisungs
SMAU, fluff, established relationship, slight suggestiveness, cuteness
𖤓 Lather
By @jjunieworld
2.5k, smut, rich playboy!Soobin, strangers to hook-ups??, charity events, raising money, sexual innuendos, other girl idles as friends, bikini outfits
𖤓 Inexperienced!reader x soft dom!Soobin
By @txtistheloml
Established relationship, straight up smut, pwp, idea of corruption
"NO NO NO NO," you heard your boyfriend, Soobin, yell in despair.
Glancing at the Snoopy-themed clock, it read 2:30 AM, marking five hours since he started streaming. You recalled his excitement about being sponsored by the game, hoping for future offers if it goes well.
Rising from your spot on the shared bed, you crossed the dimly lit hall to quietly open the door to his room. He remained intensely focused on the screen, the soft clicks of his mechanical keyboard echoing as you entered. Frustrated sighs followed each demise of his character on screen.
"Chat, you don't understand," he started, setting aside his keyboard and mouse. "No username, I am not taking backseat gaming or any advice from you. The last time I did that, it made me restart the ENTIRE game."
You chuckled softly, watching your boyfriend ruffle his hair in frustration. His slouched shoulders hinted that he was nearing his breaking point and pretty ready to end the stream.
"Binnie," you called out, settling into the beanbag adjacent to his desk.
Soobin perked up instantly at the sound of his name, swiftly removing his earbuds as he rose to approach you. "When did you come in?" he asked, crouching down to your level. Leaning in, he planted a kiss on your lips before gently settling on top of you, eliciting a surprised yelp at his sudden weight.
"You've been at it for five hours, hun," you said, poking his side playfully until he squirmed and finally got up after the tenth poke.
"Come here, and I'll show you why," he motioned you over, patting his lap. His followers knew about you because he couldn't help but talk about you at times, and they have seen your face from the times you brought him snacks or a drink during his streams.
"Hi Chat," You smiled, bringing your face closer to his webcam and giving them a little wave when you settled on his lap.
"Okay," Soobin placed his chin on your shoulder and returned his hands to the keyboard and mouse. "Just watch and see why I just can't get past this stupid level."
You weren't as big of a gamer as Soobin, but you knew your way around from the games he played or even those you tried yourself from the days when he didn't want to be at his computer.
One of the perks of having a gamer boyfriend who was also a popular streamer was having access to his Steam account and his credits to buy games that piqued your interest, often discovered from TikTok.
Your eyes analyzed his movements, and you couldn't help but giggle when he dropped his head, hitting the back of your neck. "I don't understand why it's not working," he sighed in frustration.
"Well, it's because you're not hitting that when you're doing your runs," you explained, gently removing his hands from the setup in front of you. Slowly, you moved his character over to what you believed was the key element for him to pass this level. "See, it's breakable with that TNT sign on it."
You restarted the level and began to execute your run. As you played, Soobin's eyes moved back and forth between his main screen and your side profile, a lovestruck smile spreading across his face, just as his chat had claimed always happened whenever you were in his peripheral vision.
His smile widened as you cheered, successfully passing the level he had spent the majority of his time on. "Wait, babe, you're crazy good," he exclaimed, his jaw-dropping in amazement at the winning transition.
"I'm just better than you, Soobie boobie" you teased, twisting slightly to face him and sticking out your tongue.
He shook his head, laughing, and wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, giving you a quick peck on your cheek.
His joyful expression quickly shifted to one of furrowed eyebrows as he read his chat.
"Chat, she IS NOT replacing me," he groaned, "And stop asking if she's single. I'll literally make out with her right here, right now."
an | there is no specific game I'm referencing, I couldn't really think of one but if anyone has an idea, I can make it for another one!
synopsis: Yeonjun hates parting at night or... peeks of y/n's and yeonjun's relationship underneath the night sky.
pairing: College student! Choi Yeonjun x afab! reader
song: Goodnight and Go - Imogen heap (lost the plot halfway through, but point is, they are DOWN BAD for each other, Yeonjun more, and they are sickly sweet which the song is too, so... a win is a win.)
warnings- none? not really a plot... just moments of the relationship... mostly fluff/comfort, CHEESINESS (SELF INDLUGING), yeonjun being head over heel for you, just sickly sweet im telling ya... mentions of sexual acts but none performed (not there yet sadly)
( AND PROBABLY BAD WRITING BUT WE FINISHED A STORY SO?????? I WIN), OH FORGOT TO SAY.... it's also unedited....
Word count: 4.8k (ha...)
A/N: Hello! this is my first work on here, and honestly its a bit of a mess, but I made a new years resolution that id start writing more and posting it, and I just spent a couple of hours writing non stop... Please give me constructive criticism, I need rejection therapy LMAO, no but really, I want to be good so bad...
Yeonjun rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath in between them, trying to defrost his frozen fingers, and it works but only for a bit. He watches that same air crystalize in front of him as he thinks of what else to say. You both stood by your door now, the front yard light was dim but shined brightly enough to see the blush across both of your faces. He was desperate for the night to continue, he wanted to hear you talk until the end of time, be around you until the sun came up, but he notices the shiver your body does everytime the wind blows.
Yeonjun had seen you around before asking you on a date. It was one of those weird moments in cheesy rom coms, where you just wouldn't stop spawning everywhere he went. All throughout campus, you would appear, with the brightest smile he'd ever seen. You were always laughing, always smiling, always speaking with such enthusiasm in a conversation. When he finally put a voice to the smile, after sitting in the only chair left available in a class you shared, Yeonjun understood why those around you carried the same smile around, even after parting from you. Yeonjun had never felt as listened to as much as he did in the first conversation you had and the ones following it. He wondered just exactly how you did it, to make any person that spoke to you, the most important person in the world.You were addicting to be around, a source of comfort and laughter. When he finally got the courage to ask you out, a day before fall semester ended, he felt the clouds push back as you smiled softly, for the first time looking nervously everywhere else before saying yes, a twinkle shined in your eye, like a disney movie and he felt absolutely captivated from there on.
“Um, anyways, thanks for dinner tonight,” You say looking directly up at him, your eyes shined with hope as if you were expecting something. You clear your throat before continuing, “and thanks for the jacket.”
You begin to peel it off your shoulders:
“Now, please put it on before your future cold gets worse,”
“Pfft, what cold? Ill be fine~”He smirks confidently, waving a dismissive hand as he bunches up his jacket to prove a point.
“I can't wait to say I told you so.” you tease.
“You wish, in fact I'm gonna be so fine, I'm hoping I can see you again? Maybe before the weekend ends? Friday? There's that new spiderman movie… ” Anything. He thinks to himself. He doesn't worry about looking too desperate, it truly doesn't bother him to show you that he wants you, bad, because he really does.
“Hmm… okay let's make a deal. If you're feeling fine by this Friday, you get to pick the movie. If youre sick, I pick it…” A win-win. He smirks, “...after you get better…” His smile drops.
“Ugh..” He rolls his eyes playfully before sticking his hand out, “...deal.” He makes a mental note to take vitamins before heading to bed.
You shake his hand as a giggle falls from your lips.
You're surrounded by an awkward silence again, you're no longer looking at him but literally anywhere else. He knows what you're waiting for, and honestly he wants it too. Your lips, that were tinted and glossed, had been distracting him all night, but he was nervous. Yeonjun had always been someone who moved fast, always quick to jump the rope. In the past, he would have walked right on in on the first date and would've stayed the night, and the relationships themselves would move quickly to the point that things would get messy and things were not fully thought through. He didn't want to do that with you, he didn't want to ruin this. But was a kiss considered slow? Fast? He didn't have enough time to mull it over.
“Um, so yeah let me know…” You chuckle awkwardly, reaching back for the handle of the door. There's still hope in your eyes until he speaks up.
“I will, thanks for coming out with me tonight, y/n” Yeonjun steps backwards, feeling regret rush through his body. He thinks it might overcome him before he catches a genuine smile on your face, “Goodnight, Jun.”
“Goodnight.” He watches you walk in before walking back to his car, where he dwells on the sweet image of your smile.
Your lips. God, your lips.
He should've done it, what's fast about a kiss? The look you gave him replays in his mind, flutters breaking out in his stomach over and over again each time. The regret is making him move ten times slower and distracts him well enough that he doesn't notice the moving figure circling around his car to the driver's side window.
The knock makes him jump. He rolls his window down, looking awfully confused because here you were, kneeling down to his level, with a nervous look.
“Y/N? Are you okay? Did you forget something?”
You stare at him for a bit, “Um, yeah, j-just this…” You lean forward hesitant before landing a quick peck on his lips. It happened so fast Yeonjun barely had time to feel your lips pressed on his, but he felt them, they were on there. He notices the nervous look as you wait patiently for his reaction and it makes him break into a smile. Who knew being on the same page felt so good?
He reaches your face with both of his hands to bring you back to him, this time keeping your lips on his for longer than a peck, and they feel much softer than they looked, and he was able to taste the leftover sweetness of the slice of cake you shared, he can't believe he said goodnight before doing this. He can't believe he lived a whole life before your lips.
The wind picks up and he feels you shiver once again, and he remembers that its winter and you ran out in your dress and a thin cardigan. He lets go, not before pecking your lips once more, and smiles up at you, the blush on your cheeks were his doing and he's feeling really good about that.
“Okay, for real now, goodnight.” You giggle before tightening your cardigan and running back inside.
He watches you scurry in, and he drives off, the faint feeling of your lips are as present as the permanent smile on his lips that night.
——-
“Are you sure there’s nothing more I can help you with, Mrs. L/N?” Yeonjun stands by the open door, leaning against the wall, using it as support as he fits his foot in his shoe. The table was cleared and the dishes were washed, yet he felt like he could stay longer if needed.
Yeonjun loved your family home. Everything reminded him of you, from the smell to the style to every single picture on the wall having either a call back to stories he remembers you telling him or a younger version of you in them. It made it feel like you, and it was hard to leave every time.
“You've done more than enough, sweetie. Thank you.” Your mother replies leaning to give him a tight hug and an affectionate squeeze on the cheek before heading to the living room.
“Y/N, dont forget to lock the door once youre back inside.”
“Got it!” You respond back, closing the door behind you as you both step out to the refreshing breeze of a summer night. The buzzing of the insects filled the silence as Yeonjun turned back to you.
“Thank you, sweetie.” you tease, wrapping your arms around his waist.
“Oo, someone jealous~”
“Am not!”
“Its okay, baby. I won't steal your mom.” He ruffles the top of your head before leaning into your embrace.
“You wouldn't succeed anyways~” It came out muffled that he could barely understand it, making him chuckle lightly.
He knew he had to leave soon, you both had class in the morning. Yet in your warmth, it made it so hard to care about anything other than the feeling of your head in his chest.
“Dont go.” You say softly. Once again, it's like you were in his head.
“Mmm, We have class tomorrow though, and you have that exam, i'm only gonna distract you.” He hated to be the responsible one in these circumstances but you had been nervous about this class and he knew better than to fall for the temptation of staying and not allowing you to study.
“Ugh.. Please dont remind me.” You rub your face on his chest before stepping back and he looks at you with an amused face.
“Are you picking me up tomorrow?”
“Duh.”
“Okay. Can we go to that one cafe with the fluffy cheesecakes after?”
He nods before pulling on your fingers, leaning in for a kiss.
“Goodnight, Baby~” He says in between kisses.
“Night, Junie~” You turn to go, your hand being the last thing lingering on him, before you feel back. He grabs your face gently bringing you in for a second kiss.
“Goodnight, Baby~” He says again, a small smile playing on his lips as he pecks you twice.
This brings a small laugh out of you.
“Goodnight, Junie~” You drag out before turning around again, only to again feel a pull back, this time his hands slip and pull your long sleeve instead.
“Yeonjun!” You laugh out, his lips once again attaching themselves to you.
“Okay, okay, forreal goodnight” He laughs too, his hands closing in behind your head, bringing you in for what should have been the final kiss of the night. He feels your smiles in the kiss fade as he keeps you in the kiss for a bit, he can feel the soft sigh you let out and he feels dizzy from it. Yeonjun breaks the kiss, landing pecks before leaning back slightly, your head still in his hands. The warmth spreads across his face, down to his chest and he can't tell if the buzzing is coming from the insects anymore or from his heart. What he can tell, is that you're feeling it too as he watches how your half lidded eyes continue to stare at him, so full of adoration and love he almost feels shy by them.
“I love you” He whispers, watching you carefully for any sign of a reaction. He thinks he might have read the room wrong, until he watches your eyes widen and sparkle cartoonishly, a smile breaking wide on your face.
“I love you too.” He takes a moment to process your response before leaning down to touch foreheads and Yeonjun feels an explosion of emotions in him, like fireworks being set off all over his body.
“Good.” He says trying to play it off as not a big deal. But he can't play off the crack in his voice. You giggle.
“Shut up,” You push him gently and Yeonjun can't help but just stare at you, “Goodnight, Baby. I love you~” He loves the enjoyment in your eyes as you say it.
“I love you too. Good night~” And just like the night of your first date, and almost every week since it happened 6 months ago, he watches you walk towards the door.
“Okay! Goodnight! Go already!” You laugh from the door. “Text me when you're home!”
———
Yeonjun watches you from the corner of his eye at the way you run a hand through your hair, standing across from him, your arms crossed. Your parents weren't home, and they wouldn't be for the whole weekend, something that was often celebrated between the two of you, spent in each other’s arms, in each other's beds, but right now Yeonjun sat slumped on the couch. He spent the past five minutes in silence trying to figure out how to direct the conversation, but he felt like you were both losing patience with each other, and he hated the feeling.
“Y/N. Can you please just sit with me?”
He watches you stand there for a moment before walking towards him. Arguments weren’t common enough to know how to have a healthy one. Words and accusations have been thrown, and Yeonjun wants to put an end to it before it gets worse.
It started with a light stray, just a small comment from you that caught him off guard.
“You can go, I don't mind staying home.” you lean facing the island as you watch the water of the sink hit the drain, steam rising up makes you turn the faucet handle the other direction before Yeonjun puts his hands in boiling water.
“What? No, come on, it'll be fun.” he rubs your back as he stacks the dishes in the sink.
“Right, because being stuck in a corner is fun.” From the look on your face, the soft chuckle that escapes your lips, he knew you didn't mean anything provoking about it, but he couldn't help but believe there was deeper meaning behind it.
“What's that supposed to mean?” He no longer focused on the dishes.
“Huh? Nothing? I just mean like sometimes your friends' parties aren't fun. ”
“But we already said we’d go? I don't want to back out now.”
“Then go, baby. We don't both have to be there. I'm sure they won't even notice I'm not there.”
“Of course they'll notice! Chaewon and Soob are gonna be so bummed you're not there. I'm gonna be bummed you're not there”
“Jun, I really don't want to spend the one weekend having the house to myself, at someone else's house. I'm tired, I'm on my period and the last thing I want to do is drink and have the bass booming in my ears. If you really wanna go, it's fine. You should go.” You were getting frustrated, he could tell but the feeling was throwing him out on a loop.
Yeonjun felt like something was off. Have you always felt this way about the parties you’d go to? Had it had something to do with his friends? With him?
“Come on, I always go to your parties, come to mine.” It hadn't occurred to him how pushy he sounded, but the idea of leaving you home alone didn't sit right with him.
“No one asks you to go though.”
“You don't have to ask me, I do things without needing to be begged.” it hits him. He's saying the wrong things, but it's too late, because you're giving him a look of total shock.
“You don't have to beg me. I don't want to go. And even more so now that I'm being forced out of guilt.”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“It doesn't matter what you meant. It's how it came out.”
The argument only escalated from there. What started out as a simple rejection evolved to a yelling match and ended with Yeonjun slamming the door on his way out. No ‘goodnight’, no goodnight kiss, just the fall wind making it hard to walk out into the night.
Yeonjun thinks he might have been overdoing things, overestimating the meaning behind your words, but it was hard to be sure, when you always hid behind them. Yeonjun couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to it. And now leaving you alone in an empty house sent a wave of regret and sadness throughout his bones. Yeonjun hated saying goodnight to you, hated that he had to settle on kissing you, settle on the faint ghosting feeling of your lips on his before he went to bed, but preferred it over this feeling anyday and now he royally fucked it up for the night and had to suffer through it.
He wouldn't be able to even enjoy the party with the thought of you angry at him. He wouldn't be able to focus on the conversations nor enjoy the drinks with the memory of your furrowed eyebrows playing in a loop.
He only made it two blocks away before he turned back, and headed back to you. He found you in the kitchen with teary eyes and soapy foam on your hands. The water running filled the dead air around you.
When Yeonjun finally makes his presence known, you're quick to look back down.
The silence that surrounds you now, as he gets you to sit beside him, has him questioning how he can fix this.
His hand is hesitant in reaching for yours, and you move it closer to him to reassure him that it was okay to grab it. Thank god. He thought.
“I'm sorry for everything I've said,” He rubs your palm looking at you focus on your hand, “I shouldn't be forcing you to do anything you don't want to do, it's not a big deal if you miss a couple of my friends parties, we don't have to go to every single one, i'm sorry i wasn't thinking about you. I like having you there and being around me and when you hangout with my friends I feel good, like all my favorite people are in one room. I think that just made me become a little selfish.” He joins you in watching how his thumb presses into your skin. You nod.
Silence overcomes the both of you again, before you break it next.
“I'm sorry too. I don't mean to be mean, I think my words just come out that way before I can think them through and I really need to work on that. You're not selfish for wanting that, but sometimes I just get tired of going out all the time.” He feels you holding back again, not being able to voice what was bothering you.
“Is it the ‘going out’ that's really bothering you? Or might it be something else?” It dawns on him that he can just ask. The tension had been disappearing by the minute, you pulled your hand away from him and hid your face.
“I dont want to sound clingy…”
“Hey, you won't. I swear.”
You rub your hand over your face. Yeonjun hopes that the hand he places on your back soothes you at least a bit.
“Sometimes you just feel really dismissive at parties. Like yeah we showed up together and you've introduced me to your friends and they know me and they're so nice, but in the first 10 minutes, you're like gone. I just start to feel abandoned. You don't have to babysit me, it's not what I'm saying you know? It's just like I feel left out, and maybe it's on me, maybe I just have to put myself out there and put in the effort to be friends with your friends, but youre kinda like my way in ya know? I was lucky that Soobin and Chaewon are in some of my classes for the semester, and we got closer that way. But once they leave, it's so hard to get close to you or keep up with you. I'm sorry if this sounds annoying, I know its sou-”
Yeonjun was dumbfounded. How could he have made you feel that way and never noticed?
Right, because being stuck in a corner is fun. How stupid could he have possibly been.
He felt his throat closing in. He cuts off your apologetic rant.
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm so sorry I never noticed I would do that, I can't believe I didn't. You're right. I'm so sorry, y/n. Please forgive me. I hadn't realized that's what you meant. I won't be doing that ever again. I swear. Believe me.” he doesn't know what else to do other than spur out apologies.
“Its okay. Really. I guess I know you get so caught up in having fun..”
“Stop. Please don't justify it. I love you. I'm so sorry.” he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.
“It's okay, thank you for listening. I love you too~” You chuckle a bit, your eyes no longer teary as they are replaced by a look of amusement.
“We're pretty good at this argument and resolution thing, no?” You say after another small moment of silence. Yeonjun laughs. The tension is gone, chests are feeling lighter and the air is no longer still around you as Yeonjun wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back to rest on the cushions. He's already thinking of all the ways he can make up for his mistake.
“Definitely not, but we got time to work on it.” He kisses your head.
“It's a good start, atleast~” You laugh, leaning into his arms.
The heater turns on, and the position you're both in feels so comfortable neither of you want to move. Especially Yeonjun as he catches a glance at the clock, 11:40pm.
“So… Do I have to say ‘goodnight’ tonight?” In his head, he knows the answer. Yet, he still asks, wanting to feel reassured, feeling an invisible new boundary he wants only you to break.
“Dont be dumb.” You respond snuggling further into him and the couch. He can tell from the way you respond, that you're falling asleep, and with that thought his own eyes begin to droop.
“Oh, jun?” Barely above a whisper that Yeonjun barely catches it.
“Yeah?” With his eyes close and heavy he doesn't notice your finger raising to his forehead level before giving it a stinging flick.
“Ouch!”
“Never walk out like that again.”
—--
“Please tell me that was the last of the boxes.” You force out in a big puff of air. Summer had just started, yet the heat felt marinated into the spring and only got worse.
Yeonjun nods as he climbs the last two steps of the stairs. Curse this elevator-less building.
Yeonjun had recently moved out of the dorms into a college-assigned apartment complex. He saved money from his multiple jobs, and pulled out the biggest loan in mankind just to gain what he called the biggest privilege in all of college history: Privacy.
Soobin and Beomgyu had shed some fake tears before vowing to visit everyday, something Yeonjun did not laugh at. You, on the other hand, couldn't keep your laugh in as you watched the frown on Yeonjun’s face grow deeper as the boys pretended to console what they thought was a sad and lonely man.
“At least you guys can finally do it in peace.” Beomgyu announces as he drops the box by the corner of the empty room. He swipes the sweat off his forehead, quirking his eyebrow, earning a smack at the back of the head from Yeonjun.
“Idiot.” Soobin says, fanning himself with a random piece of flimsy paper.
“He's not wrong though…” Yeonjun whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You smack his arm, your cheeks turning red.
After the boys helped move the mattress in, they left, not before complaining about getting kicked out so soon. Yeonjun just wanted to spend time with you, alone, in what is now the space of his own home.
“I feel used.” Beomgyu wiped a fake tear, “thrown away, even. Y/N treat him well, he no longer needs us.”
“This is so sad,” You say, patting his head, looking at Yeonjun.
“If I give you 30 bucks for dinner, will you both leave us alone?”
“Deal.”
Once they were gone, you both moved the mattress towards the center of the living area, the carpet making you both struggle and groan. Yeonjun lands face flat on the queen mattress, heaving.
“Ill order the pizza, can you get my laptop? I brought some drinks and snacks from home so we don't have to buy those.”
Yeonjun watches as you rummage through the bag filled with home goods. You had brought whatever you thought would be useful to him; soap, shampoo, towels, some dishes, canned foods, homemade dishes that were able to be frozen, anything really that could save him time and money. Yeonjun’s heart almost exploded at the sight of you carrying the pink duffle bag, smiling so wide as you excitedly showed him what you were able to snatch.
He could tell the idea of a new apartment excited you too. Earlier in the year, he had imagined himself asking you to move in with him, to maybe take that chance. He had no reason not to. You had been together for a while now, and things were getting serious with each passing day. He couldn't imagine seeing the relationship ending…ever. He had been so serious about you since day one and he could tell you saw him as the sure thing too, and when the opportunity came up, of renting his own space, it was waking up to you that was the first thought in his head. But… he was nervous. He had heard from friends that some relationships don't last the ‘living together’ stage. Those arguments about different ways of living can become bigger ones, ones that question if the pairing ever made sense. It scared him, what if he was too messy? What if you didn't like the way he had late night snacks at night, or the fact that he would stay at the dance studio for long periods of time? Most of these things you knew already, but you didn't have to deal with it really at your own house. He questioned if the fear of losing you was bigger than the want of spending every waking moment he could with you, he knew the answer but was just scared to make the realization.
“Pizza is ordered!” You plop next to Yeonjun, now on his back, on the mattress, “which one?” you hold up two drinks for him to pick, he takes one from your hand and places it nearby before nudging at your hips to lift. He places you on his stomach, your legs straddling his sides.
“You don't have curtains yet.” You whispered, red tint spreading from your face down to your neck.
He laughs, “What are you thinking in that head of yours? I just wanted to be near you.”
“Whatever! I was just reminding you!” You squeak, covering your face with your hands. He laughs again, rubbing his hands up and down from your thighs to your waist, thinking about it again. It could be like this everyday, not having to worry about roommates or parents barging in, no moments of awkwardness, no disruptions, just the look in your eyes as you stare at him in the comfortable silence that settles between the two of you.
“What do you think about a coffee table? I know you said your furnishing budget was short and I was at the thrift store the other day and they had this really nice antique…”
If you do say yes, what would it mean? Was it too soon for him to think about the next year with you? The next five? Ten? He can imagine it all. He wanted it all.
“Will you move in with me?” He says, catching you off guard.
“Huh?”
“...Moving in… would you move in with, um, with me? You don't have to, it was just like a thought-”
“You want to live with me?” Your eyes, that were practically popped out in shock as you looked down at him, softened.
“I want to do everything with you.” Yeonjun knows your face mirrors his in redness.
Your eyes water, and you try to stop yourself from smiling. “You're so cheesy…”
“I would love to.” You whisper. you're now leaning in closer, and Yeonjun, with a heart so heavy and ready to spill, feels impatient that he must meet you halfway, folding his elbows behind him to lean on. He connects your lips immediately, and his heart sighs and yours must too the way he feels you relax above him, bringing your hands to his hair, your nails raking through his scalp. He would never say this to you, in fear of maybe scaring you off, but he saw your future in this specific kiss, where you both experience moments of success, of happiness, of sadness and tragedy, but you were experiencing it together, and he couldn't imagine it with anybody else.
That night as the movie played, with no actual audience, Yeonjun felt relieved that his parting days were over. He wouldn't have to say goodnight to you, wouldn't have to detach himself from your lips, your arms, leaving him cold and wanting more. You could be the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he would see at night, and to him, that was all he could ever really want.
A/N: You made it! Thank you so much for giving it a chance! Its not my strongest but she my first finished baby in a long time... Please tell me your thoughts!! tell me you hate it, tell me you love it, anything im open to suggestions, tips, im a crier tho fair warning, but I won't tell you I cried (A win for you!)
Summary: ((Request)) “Can I please request a Fred Weasley x muggle!fem!reader where she is Harry’s older sister or neighbor but she’s a squib. Fred had met Y/n all the way back when he, George, and Ron had rescued Harry from the Dursleys to get him back to Hogwarts and very quickly started dating ever since then and she ofc made frequent visits to the Burrow and spent a lot of time with the Weasley’s (both during the school year when the kids were gone and during Holidays when they were back) and Molly and Arthur honestly see her as their own daughter”
Authors note: This is only part one to a larger request! Hehe it shall develop over several chapters. You’ll have to wait and see how it ends <3
Much love, Saige
//Requests open//
[masterlist]
————
Listen, you’d never reveal that it was hard being Harry Potter's older sister. Especially since you had no powers, annnnd the wizarding world didn’t know about you. Your existence was kept under lock and key ever since Harry was given his scar. It was a better selling point to the ministry that a young only son was the lone survivor of the acts of wicked dark arts. You were only three when you and Harry became orphans, spending the rest of your growing childhood with your Aunt and Uncle.
There was always a sense of superiority they gave you over Harry. Your lack of powers made you more approachable and “normal”, but that didn’t stop you from always standing up for your brother against them. You often chalked it up to being older, or that you were a girl and they had some desire to raise a daughter. Often you ignored the disgusting actions of Dudley and tried to stay strong alongside Harry. It wasn’t until his 11th birthday that it was revealed to both of you that he had a gift. One that you did not share. From that moment on, a slight tinge of jealousy ran through you. Over the years you came to realize that his future was going to be much harder than yours, but it hurt you deeply that you didn’t have this family trait that he could share with your late parents. Claiming the title of a squib, you did your best to stay under the radar, soon being introduced to many magical creatures and figures as they entered Harry's life. It was hard when Harry first left for Hogwarts, leaving you alone with the Dursleys for an entire academic year. The emptiness inside you as you were separated from your only ties of blood relation.
Once he came back from his first year, you felt complete again. Over the summer you read and reread all of his old textbooks and tried to take in as much wizarding World information as you could. He loved having to explain and rehash stories of his days at Hogwarts. As the summer went on, mysterious and unexplainable magical events happened around the house. It always ended up with Harry being grounded or shunned entirely from the Dursleys. The summer was miserable for him and all he could do was count down the days before he would go back to Hogwarts.
One fateful night, the Dursleys had company over. They put you and Harry to work on many dishes and chores while they buttoned and straightened their ties. You thought about spitting in the food but you held back knowing that somehow it would be blamed on Harry. As the night commenced, you and Harry were shut up in separate bedrooms to avoid any noise between the two. You sat alone fiddling with your shirt trying to listen to the conversation downstairs when you heard banging and rustling next door. Eyes wide you realized something was going on. You heard two sets of footsteps and hushed whispers as they passed your doors and down the stairs. You crept to the door and opened it only a crack to see the top of Harry’s head vanish out of view. You slumped your shoulders and tip toed out attempting to follow after and get his attention.This was not a good idea.
Walking to the top of the stairs you realized it was too late. A small figure crouched near the kitchen island and with long floppy ears and gray skin was maneuvering a cake towards the Dursleys and company in the living room. Harry was walking behind the cake, hands outstretched in an effort to grab a stop altogether. The small figure snapped its fingers and the cake dropped dramatically on top of the older woman sitting on the sofa. Shrieks from everyone overtook your senses as the gravity of the situation developed. The dessert sopping down the sides of the woman’s face and over her clothes. Harry ran towards you up the stairs as Mr.Dursley followed suit quickly on his heel. You let Harry pass jumping in between him and Mr.Dursley holding him off for just a moment.
”Move girl!” He pushed you aside, gaining on your brother. You knew everything would change from here on out.
——
Locked away like a prisoner, Harry was kept in the spare bedroom. Bars were drilled into the window not even allowing his owl Hedwig freedom from the house. It was depressing and often you heard sobs coming from his room. It broke your heart how they treated him, but luckily for you, Harry made incredible friends the year prior.
You were awoken by the sound of a car outside the window. It sounded almost like it was on the second level, growling and humming with every press of the gas. Clanking and the sounds of thrown chains shook you out of bed as you rushed to look outside your window. You were right. It was a car! And it was hovering over twenty feet in the air! You rushed out of your bedroom and to Harry's room jumping to reach the spare key above the door frame. You opened it quickly and shut it behind you with ease.
”Who the hell is that?” A young boy whispered towards Harry. Just behind him were twins, each had the same firey hair as the first.
“No time! We have to go! NOW!” One of the twins shouted. You could hear the Dursleys door open down the hall, heavy footsteps following.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING!” Mr.Dursley shouted, you could hear him get closer with every step. Harry outstretched your hand initiating you to get in the car.
“You can’t be serious.” You whispered, grabbing it. You’d do anything to get out of this god forsaken house but this was not your first idea. You were stepping on the window sill hand reaching out for one of the twins absolutely horrified at how high you were up.
“I won't let you fall, but you need to jump. Quickly.” Twin one urged. He had to be around your age, freckles covering almost all of his features. You took a literal leap of faith and landed in the front seat on top of the boy. Quickly you got out of the way as Harry's bedroom door slammed open, Mr.Dursleys eyes wide, his face red with anger. Harry yelped as he jumped out of the window pushing his trunk in front of him. For only a moment Mr. Dursley got hold of Harry’s foot, the fight between the strength of the car and his grip. With a little help from you and the boys, Harry was released from Mr.Dursleys grip and all of you flew away haphazardly up into the clouds.
The first twin looked back at you with curiosity.
“Are you okay?” His eyes were concerned, but his face was ecstatic. “That was kinda fun right.” He laughed without breaking eye contact. All you could do was smile, not believing what was going on.
“It’ll be a’right.” He spoke again. He reached his hand out towards you. “I’m Fred, this is my brother George, and Ronald is right next to you.” He introduced all the red headed boys as they smiled back at you. “And you are?” Fred inquired. You took his hand, shaking it firmly.
“Y/n” you said simply.
“Just y/n?” Fred asked not releasing your hand. You kept shaking it as you spoke.
“Y/n Potter.”
And with that. The car went silent in disbelief.
——
Over the car ride Harry explained as best he could to the boys. They couldn't believe it. He had an older sister? Who didn’t have magic? All you could do was look out the window enjoying the breeze on your face trying to let Harry have control over the conversation. Every few minutes you kept looking over at the twins, lingering on Fred and noticing the small differences between them. His hair stood higher up on the right side. His ears were slightly smaller but the bridge of his nose was more prominent. They were twins for sure, but easily you could differentiate the two.
As the car turned the corner around a small mountain, a large towering house appeared in the middle of prairie land. It felt like it was built by hand, several wood planks holding it up precariously but in a whimsical way.
“You guys live here?” You gasped amazed as the horizon beamed with sunlight, illuminating the house like a painting.
“Yeah it's a little strange but-“ George started.
“No, it's perfect.” Harry intercepted. You both were transfixed by this cozy castle, only knowing the small house of the Dursleys your whole life. Smiles across all the Weasley boys' faces slowly grew as they descended down to the house.
They landed in a sloppy manner, bouncing the car against the grass a few times before coming to a full halt. Fred got out and opened your door and bowed dramatically.
”m’lady.” His head lowered as you exited the car.
“Why thank you m’lord,” you bowed back and laughed together. It was all peace until a large woman came rushing out.
”Where HAVE. YOU. BEEN.” She shouted pointing fingers at everyone, stopping for a moment and taking you and Harry in her arms.
”Oh dear, it’s wonderful to see you both.” Her body was warm as you both held her tightly. How did she know of you? The same looks crossed the boys faces before they were back to being scolded. You and Harry were ushered inside as the rest of the boys were reprimanded by their mother.
——
Over the next few weeks, life changed dramatically for you. Being immediately immersed in typical wizarding living, you learned quickly how Harry was so happy at school. The Weasley family took you in like their own, sharing hand me down clothes and explaining everything they could about daily life and what it was like. They told stories of your parents and how wonderful they were to be around. It felt like a dream.
You and the twins spent a lot of time together. It was nice having company of your age, and more mischievous and entertaining at that. While you liked the twins both, you and Fred often found yourself together alone. He liked to show you his knick knacks and ask you about your life with Harry. He continuously told you that he couldn't believe you were hidden from the wizarding general public, but he liked the mystery of you. Like typical teenage fashion, you developed a strong crush on him. The way he would take time to greet you in the morning, pulling your chair out for breakfast jokingly yet sweetly. Always getting up and retrieving anything he thought you would need. His brother would make fun of him for his quick change of demeanor but he chalked it up to ‘just being an honorable host’.
Just before the end of the summer you and Fred secretly became a couple. You only held hands at night and away from everyone. Giggling and hiding under blankets and running through the fields together. It was something special. The idea of him going back to school broke your heart, but he promised to write every day. You worried that they would send you back to the Dursleys once the rest of the boys would go to Hogwarts; and reluctantly you prepared yourself for the worst as the days got closer.
”It’ll be a little nicer with all the boys gone don't you think.” Ginny inquired, your head stuck in a book.
“Yeah it’ll definitely be quieter.” You mumble, trying not to think of it.
“Maybe me and you could start a garden. Or we could take up knitting like muggles. By hand!” She jumped to her feet in excitement. You could see the wheels turning in her head. You loved her enthusiasm and watched her rush away.
“Let me ask mum!” Her ginger locks flicked in the wind as she turned the corner. You looked around the living room, enveloped in the candle light antique items. It was beautiful. Ginny came back quickly and out of breath.
”Mum said it was up to you.” Her hands on her knees, dramatically heaving.
“I get to stay?” You ask, closing the book on your lap.
”Of course you get to stay dear!” Mrs.Weasley shouted from the other room. She peaked her head around the corner looking at you both.
”I could never in good conscience send you back to that house. They put bars on the window for heaven's sake!” Your entire body relaxed into the couch. A sense of euphoria that you were welcomed in their home.
summary: you and fred share a cozy evening at the burrow on new year’s eve, surrounded by the weasley family’s warmth and chaos.
notes: established relationship, pre-war, insinuated fem!reader, no use of y/n, fred loves pet names, fluff
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The time was creeping closer and closer to midnight, and the evening air was filling the Burrow, the scent of smoked wood and Mrs Weasley’s famous treacle tart.
Fred was sat beside you on the patchwork sofa in the living room, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The pair of you were half-buried under a hand-knitted blanket, sharing a butterbeer.
“Go on, admit it,” Fred said, leaning closer as his freckled face glowed in the firelight. “You’re only dating me for my charm.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the sofa. “Oh, absolutely. It’s definitely not for your constant, irritating smugness or the way you ruin a perfectly good evening by stealing all the treacle tart before I can even get a bite.”
Fred gasped dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Darling, you wound me! You know my heart belongs only to you.”
George, his brother, who perched on the arm of the couch like a smug cat, chimed in. “That and his stomach. Mum’s cooking ranks a close second.”
Fred ignored him. “You’re not denying it, though,” he said, his grin widening as he looked back at you. “See? Can’t even argue because you love me.”
“Love might be a strong word,” you said, lifting the mug to your lips, hiding your smirk behind the rim.
“Oi!” Fred started, his finger gripping the blanket in attempt to pull it. George gave him a sharp jab in the side. “Off you go, Freddie. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”
You yank at the blanket, pulling it fully over you as Fred bickered with his twin. “Speaking of embarrassing yourself,” you said, raising an eyebrow at Fred. “Are you going to ask what my New Year’s resolution is, or are you too scared to know?”
He perked up at that, his golden-brown eyes gleaming with curiosity. “All right. Let’s hear it. Let me guess—it’s to learn to tolerate my unparalleled wit?”
You leaned closer, the corner of your mouth quirking into a grin. “It’s to beat you at Exploding Snap this year. Every. Single. Time.”
Fred blinked once. Then twice. Then he threw his head back in a loud, delighted laugh before leaning forward. “Blimey, darling. That’s ambitious, even for you.”
“You’ll see,” you replied smugly, leaning in.
“Five minutes to midnight!” Mrs Weasley’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Everyone grab your drinks and get outside for the fireworks! And George, if you light a single one before we’re ready, so help me—”
The whole family shuffled outside, you included, the cold winter air hitting you like a sudden shock after the warmth of the house. Snow crunched underfoot, white, soft and glittering under the light of the stars. The garden was a chaos of footprints and hastily trampled paths, leading to a makeshift firework display that George was already fussing over.
A stack of colourful rockets stood ready, haphazardly tied together in what could only be described as a precarious masterpiece.
As your head tilted to stare up at the stars overhead, Fred slipped his hand into yours, his fingers warm and rough against your own. He guided you towards the edge, his arm curling around your waist, pulling you to his side as the first firework shot into the air with a loud crack—it exploded in a burst of crimson and gold, lighting up the sky.
Fred leaned down, his voice soft in your ear. “You know, it doesn’t matter what resolutions you make this year.” His tone was so different from his usual teasing—gentle and sincere. “As long as you’re with me, that’s all I’ll ever need.”
The weight of his words settled in the air around you, and for a moment, you forgot about the cold or the impending war that loomed on the horizon. You turned to him, standing on your toes to press your lips to his. He tasted like butterbeer and laughter, his lips warm against yours despite the chill in the air.
Around you, the fireworks continued to burst in brilliant waves of colour—and when you finally pulled away, Fred was grinning again, his lopsided smile even more dazzling in the firework-lit night. “Next year,” he said, his tone edging back into a familiar playfulness, “I resolve to make you laugh at least twice as much. Shouldn’t be too hard—I’m brilliant, you know.”
“You’re something, alright,” you replied, shaking your head at him fondly. The words were laced with affection, and Fred clearly heard it, because he squeezed your hand tighter.
“Happy New Year, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.
“Happy New Year, Fred,” you replied, leaning into his warmth as another firework burst overhead, painting the night sky in silver and blue. For this one perfect moment, the world felt safe and whole, and the future could wait until tomorrow.
synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.
genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly
word count. 26.6k
a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house
There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.
Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.
You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.
Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied.
Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.
There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.
You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade.
“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face.
You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around.
“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”
The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”
One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”
“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson.
You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.
Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.
You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.
“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”
As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.
And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.
“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.
Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.
But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.
You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.
“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.
Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.
For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice.
You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.
But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot.
You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.
“And that’s your business, because…?”
You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”
You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”
He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.”
This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”
You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?
“I’m sorry?”
He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”
You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”
“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves.
Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue.
Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.
Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.
Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”
So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”
“I don’t-”
“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”
“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”
“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.
“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”
“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”
“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”
“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.
“What are you-”
“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”
The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”
“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”
You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?
“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”
“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.
Then you see it.
Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.
The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.
Your heart sinks to your stomach.
You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice.
Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone.
“Y/N-”
Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone.
The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.
Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic.
Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.
You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.
But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked.
You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”
Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”
When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.
You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.
--
For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.
Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers.
The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe.
The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.
It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.
A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.
You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.
Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there?
You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.
Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right?
You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist.
The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie.
Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”
Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.
It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”
Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.
“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”
Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey.
“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?
“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”
He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.
When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.
You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other.
Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.
You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”
He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”
The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”
You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.”
So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder.
“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.
Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.
Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.
“This is so good,” you mumble.
Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”
You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.
“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”
You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?
But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”
Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else.
“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.
He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.
But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.
As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.
“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.
“Hm?”
He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”
“No. I have… things on my mind.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”
You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you.
You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie.
A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.
“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.
It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.
“Yeah.”
He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.
“...Jong?” you try.
“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.
You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.
“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.
“Will you be here in the morning?”
“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”
“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”
You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”
You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“I love you, Y/N.”
“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.
--
Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.
They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.
“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.
“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”
“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.
Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”
“Exactly!”
“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”
Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”
You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”
Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.
“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”
“Nowhere. Go on.”
“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”
“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.
“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”
Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.
“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”
“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”
“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.
“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.
“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.
“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.
“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”
You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”
“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.
“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”
Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”
“None taken.”
“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.
“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”
Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”
“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.
You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair.
“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.
“She had a dream that she m—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.
Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.
“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.
“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.
For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.
“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.
“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class.
The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.
--
It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.
Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.
There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.
Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.
Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.
But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.
Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.
It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.
He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.
He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”
And your friends wondered why you hated him?
“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”
When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile.
“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.
You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”
He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”
“No. Stop.”
“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”
This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.
Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up.
If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.
At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.
Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding.
“Jong, your textbook.”
He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.
“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.
“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.
He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”
Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.
Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?
You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.
He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.
You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.
--
As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.
Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life.
“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”
You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.
“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom.
“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.
And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.
You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.
“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”
He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you.
So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together.
Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.
He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.
For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”
--
you guys
how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined
kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start
you so what… be nice to him?
how do i do that
sunoo oh my god
y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being
you he’s not just another person!
sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings
you i hate u
kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore
and don’t start arguments for no reason
you he’s the one who starts them…
but okay i’ll try
--
“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”
The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”
“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.
“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.
Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”
You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”
He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.
You frown. “I don’t hate you.”
“Oh? That’s a recent development.”
“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.
His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”
“Back to hating.”
“Let’s start the assignment.”
You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.
Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”
“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble.
He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”
“That’s not—”
“Let’s just focus on this.”
His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.
He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”
“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.
“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.
“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.
“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”
“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?”
He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”
“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”
“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.
So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.
--
But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.
Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.
You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.
He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology.
Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.
“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”
“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”
“Love? I know.”
“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.
“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.
“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.
“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.
“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.
“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.
“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.
“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.
“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.
“I never—When?!”
She shrugs. “The other day.”
You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.
“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.
“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.
In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”
Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”
“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.
You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”
They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.
“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.
You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”
Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”
You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.
No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”
“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.
“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.
“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.
“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.
“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.
“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.
“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”
“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”
You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”
He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.
You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”
“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.
“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
--
sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier
kazuha WHAAAAT
you KIM SUNOO.
kazuha WHEN?????
sunoo right before class after the lunch break
y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol
you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass
kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml
you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING
NOTHING HAPPENED
sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart
you were*
and no we weren’t
sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect
i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his
kazuha sunoo…?
sunoo what
can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness
if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him
you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting
sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it
you …
sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other
and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee
it was so obvi what you both were thinking of
kazuha cuuuute
you i resent these accusations.
sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will
kazuha ???
you SUNOO?
sunoo WHAT
--
Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.
Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.
You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.
Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you.
Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”
Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”
Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”
That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.
The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that.
Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.
He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”
“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.
You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.
“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.
He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight.
Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple.
It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them.
He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”
But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”
Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”
You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.
He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”
Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”
“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.
“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”
“Y/N…”
“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.
The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.
--
jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension
you you idiot
what did your parents say?
jong they’re not happy
i have to do all the household chores for a month
you boo-hoo
jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…
you …
are you feeling better?
jong a little bit
the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers
but
i’m okay
because
there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)
you oh
did you ask chaewon to do that?
jong um
no
i was talking about you
..if that’s okay
you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up
jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon
you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!
jong :)
see you tomorrow pretty
--
The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.
You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.
His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.
Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.
In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily.
In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?
A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.
College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.
May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.”
Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.
In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.
But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”
Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”
You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.
As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.
You smile. “Never.”
So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.”
It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.
It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.
But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.
You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.
I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting.
But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.
You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?
“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.
“Give me five minutes!” you call back.
You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.
--
A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.
He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says.
He’s still Jong.
You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside.
It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.
When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.
Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.
He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.
So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.
When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.
In any case, he’s hiding something.
The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.
Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is.
Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely.
It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile.
Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?
Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.
--
From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.
With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year.
Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.
But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.
He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.
But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.
I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.
Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.
But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.
Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really.
But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.
Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness?
And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you.
Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.
I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on…
I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.
(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)
Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now?
Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.
Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?
Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.
He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.
You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.
The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.
You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement.
In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.
You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.
On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does.
Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.
All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.
Until you didn’t.
It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.
He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.
So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.
Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.
And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley.
Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence.
He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.
You said so yourself.
He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.
Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.
And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.
When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.
But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?
You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore.
So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you.
He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?
--
It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.
Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.
Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles.
You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.
When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.
“Did you guys sit next to each other?”
You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”
He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”
You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.
When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.
Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”
You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”
“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”
“Now?”
He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”
And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.
“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.
“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.
His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”
He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this?
“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes.
But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”
The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”
“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”
“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.
“Really.”
Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.
Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”
Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming.
“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks.
“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.
“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”
“I think I did, too.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”
Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.
He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”
Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.
Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now.
“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”
“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”
You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”
You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”
“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.
“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”
“Fifty years, huh?”
He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”
There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.
--
The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls.
The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.
You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?
It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway.
Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.
You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.
“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.
⇢ word count: 37.8k total (22.7k & 15.1k)
⇢ genre & warnings: sci-fi/science fantasy au, soulmate au, alien!jungwoo, human!reader, slow burn, fluff and angst; blood/injury mentions (but like, alien blood, if that makes a difference?), a couple needle/injection mentions, if u get secondhand embarrassment this one might hurt in places, a couple crude jokes about alien stuff iykwim (reader’s friends r kind of the worst), this fic is just a rlly sweet soulmate au i swear idk why these tags look horrendous 😭
⇢ extra info: released in two parts bc of tumblr’s 1000-block limit that was put in place to hurt me personally :)) BUT both parts are out RIGHT NOW
⇢ author’s note: rahhh this one has ALSO been a wip for like over a year and is finally finished!!! this is technically my first sci-fi piece bc i started it before frankenstein complex, but i finished fc wayyy before this one. anyway i loveee my alien!woo and i hope y’all do too
⇢ part two
“What? Did you imprint on me like a baby duck or something?” You joked, stretching and yawning.
“I don’t know what ducks are nor the imprinting habits of their young, but yes.”
“You don’t really need to know what ducks are, but baby ducks—Wait, what?!” Your brain finally processed the rest of Jungwoo’s words, and you stared at him wide-eyed.
“Here, Y/N,” Johnny grinned at you as he pushed another seltzer into your hand. “You’re a bit too sober, kid.”
“Thanks, dude,” you beamed back, popping open the tab one-handed and taking your first swig.
All of your friends were gathered around a firepit on the beach, relaxing and celebrating another friend’s birthday—Taeyong. Said birthday boy, a notorious lightweight, was already pink-cheeked and giggly as he chatted with some of the others. Someone had apparently given Doyoung access to the Spotify playlist for the night, as a ballad suddenly came over the Bluetooth speakers that had previously been playing upbeat tunes. A chorus of groans and jeers rose up around the fire from the other eight of you, while Doyoung loudly and passionately tried to defend himself.
“Give me the phone,” Johnny waved for Doyoung to hand over Jaehyun’s phone—the one connected to the speaker.
Doyoung clutched it protectively to his chest. “No! You guys haven’t let me play any of my songs tonight!”
“Because they either make us cry or put us to sleep,” Yuta scoffed, lunging for the device, but the other man jerked it out of his reach.
“If you two break my fucking phone, you’re buying me a new one and splitting the cost,” Jaehyun warned from where he was sat on the sand next to your feet, lazily leaning his head against your knee.
“Seriously, Doyoung, give him the phone,” Mark insisted.
Doyoung reluctantly handed the phone to Yuta, who passed it along to you, who firmly planted it in Johnny’s waiting palm. “None of you have any taste—”
“I thought it was nice, D—” Taeyong was cut off by a hiccup as he went to pat your friend’s head reassuringly. “It was a nice song, Doyoung…”
“Thanks, Yonggie,” Doyoung rolled his eyes, but didn’t shove him off as Taeyong drunkenly wrapped his limbs around him in what you were sure was supposed to be a comforting hug.
As Johnny went to put on more party-appropriate music and you took another sip of your seltzer, you looked up to the sky over the water. There weren’t as many stars as you would’ve liked, and it was a new moon, so there was no silvery light to come from there either. But it was still a nice night, the air was cool, the fire warm, you were the only ones on this stretch of beach this late at night and had enough alcohol to feed a medium-sized frat.
Then, one star started glowing even brighter than the others, and you realized it was moving across the sky. “Look, guys! A shooting star.”
“Ooh, everybody make a wish!” Donghyuck chirped.
Feeling a bit silly, you closed your eyes and made your wish in your mind, then opened them again to see the shooting star getting bigger, as if it was heading towards you all.
“Hey, are shooting stars supposed to do that?” You asked no one in particular.
“I… don’t think so,” Yuta squinted at it suspiciously.
“Should we like… move?” Mark suggested hesitantly.
“They’re just meteors being burned up in the atmosphere,” Jaehyun shrugged. “Most don’t ever reach Earth.”
Except it was very much getting closer and closer, hurtling even faster through the air than before.
“But some do!” Jaehyun added, rushing to his feet. “I think we should go.”
As everybody started scrambling to pack their things, the meteor was making its final approach, and you could hear the sound of it splitting the air as it took a sudden nosedive towards shore. It finally struck with a cacophony of snapping palm trees and thunderous boom of its impact with the ground. It had thankfully missed all of you, but you could see smoke start rising out of the thick foliage where it did land. You all looked around at each other, mirrored faces of shock.
“We survived,” Donghyuck breathed out, patting his front as if he didn’t believe it. His blanket was sloppily thrown over one of his shoulders as he had one hand on the cooler.
“Dude, you thought we were all going to die, and your first instinct was to save the drinks?” Mark pointed out in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Mr. ‘Where’s my phone?’” Your other friend retorted back. “Going to lecture me on the sanctity of human life when you were about to lose it all for your iPhone?”
As they kept squabbling, you tentatively stepped over the back of your log, towards the trees.
“Y/N?” Johnny said your name questioningly.
“Don’t you guys want to go see it?” You knocked back the rest of your seltzer. “A real-life meteor. Come on, we can all get a piece. It’ll be like, the coolest birthday party souvenir ever.”
Doyoung and Taeyong exchanged uneasy glances. Doyoung spoke up, “I don’t know, that thing was huge…”
“What? You think it was a spaceship or something?” You snickered at the idea, pulling out your phone to turn the flashlight on. “Come on, anybody who’s not a wimp. We’ll bring back enough pieces for the wimps.”
Yuta, Johnny, Jaehyun, and Donghyuck turned out to be the only ones who agreed to come with you. You led the way into the trees, following the slowly thinning smoke trail and path of destroyed palms. The impact site wasn’t very far, and when you first caught a glimpse of the hulking size of its silhouette, you were so glad it had missed. A hundred meters or so over, and all of you would have been crushed by a giant space rock, which is certainly one thing to put on your headstone. Except, as all of your individual flashlight beams shone over it, and you got to see it piece by piece, you realized it was not a meteor. It was all smooth metal, matte chrome in varying colors. A vessel of some kind. From space. A spaceship.
“Holy shit…” You breathed out.
“Oh, we should get the fuck out of here,” Jaehyun said lowly.
“Yeah, no way should first contact be made with our stupid, drunk asses,” Yuta agreed, starting to back up.
“Y/N,” Johnny grabbed your arm to try to pull you back as well, but you stood rooted to the ground. “Y/N, seriously, this is not the rabbit hole to jump down.”
“Maybe she’s figured we’ve gotten plenty of practice with aliens with Mark,” Donghyuck snickered.
You kept staring at the ship, listening to the metal creak and groan. Except those groans weren’t all metallic.
“I think someone’s in there!” You exclaimed, taking off towards it.
Johnny swore as your arm slipped from his grip, and you heard two pairs of footfalls chasing after you. You’d just managed to get a hand and a foot on the ship before a strong pair of arms grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off of it.
“Yuta, grab her hands before she claws me!” Johnny yelled from behind you.
As Yuta went to do that, you haphazardly threw out your feet that were now fully off the ground as Johnny lifted you up. You impacted with something on Yuta, who let out a long line of expletives, his hands dropping to grab something low on his own body. You blindly reached back for Johnny, grabbing a fistful of his hair with one hand and yanking hard, while the other reached under his arm to pinch a pressure point.
“Fuck!” He dropped you. “Yuta! You were supposed to—”
“She kicked me in the balls, man!” Yuta groaned back.
Knowing that you didn’t have long, you raced up the side of the ship. Banging on every panel that you passed by, you yelled out, “Hello? Somebody in there? Are you okay? Hello?”
You finally got to the top-ish of the ship, and one of the panels there felt different than the others. Almost like glass. Pounding your fist against the side of that, hoping it was the cockpit or something, you shouted into it, “Are you okay in there?”
There was another groan that echoed from inside, and it definitely sounded like a person this time. Searching for some kind of emergency release from the outside, you felt around the edge of the whole glass panel. There was no release, but you found a part of the panel that it connected to on the outer hull that had a sizeable dent, big enough for you to get your hand under. Biting your phone in between your teeth to point the flashlight at the dent, you saw that it had exposed an inner latch of some kind.
The sounds of another body climbing up the ship came to your ears, and you whipped around to look at Johnny, already holding your hands up in a defensive fighting position. You took your phone from your mouth just to threaten, “I will bite.”
“I know. Let’s just get this over with before this thing explodes or something, okay?” He held his own hands up in surrender. When you’d relaxed from your fighting stance, he came over to squat down next to you. “So, what are you thinking, kid? We need to bust that?”
“I think?”
“Alright, give me a second.” He hopped back down.
There was another low sound of pain from inside, and you bent closer to the gap as you addressed them, “Just hang in there! My friends and I are going to get you out, okay? Really soon!”
Johnny clambered back up, a large rock now in his hand. You moved out of the way for him to swing the more angled edge of the rock against the latching mechanism. After several swings, you heard a crack of metal, then he was tossing the stone aside. “Jae!” Johnny called out, your other friend joining you two a few seconds later. They each grabbed a side of the glass panel, pushing and pulling it away from the hull.
“Guys?” Donghyuck’s voice suddenly floated up to you, but from the rear of the ship. “I think you should hurry up!”
“No fucking shit!” Jaehyun yelled back, straining as him and Johnny continued battling with the ship.
“I mean, I’m not a spaceship engineer or anything, but I don’t think any of this should be on fire!”
“God dammit!” Johnny groaned. “Yuta!”
“Yep! Recovered! Coming up!” Yuta joined the fray as well, and finally, you heard the last bit of metal holding the panel down snap and give way.
They all fell down as the glass dome now rose on its own, along with a hiss of air pressure. There were dozens of lights and screens inside, all flashing red, lighting up the figure of a man on one of the two seats there. His head was lolled back, arms hanging by his sides.
“Christ, there is someone in there,” Johnny exhaled in shock.
“A fuckin’ alien,” Yuta mimicked the sign of the cross over himself.
“Wrong way, dumbass,” you scoffed, moving along the rim to get closer to the man inside. “You’re not supposed to start on your shoulders.”
“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realize I was in the presence of the Pope herself.”
You shot him another glare as you kneeled down to hook your elbows under the stranger’s arms. “Anybody going to help me?”
“The fire’s getting bigger!” Donghyuck yelled, fear pitching up his voice.
The other guys grabbed the man’s arms as well, helping you yank him up and out. He was all long, lanky limbs and dead weight, which your friends complained about to varying degrees of intensity. With a final tug, you pulled him out to the hull with you, his body flopping back onto you.
“Seriously! I can’t read alien, but I think it’s spreading to the fuel tank or something!” Your friend on the ground shouted in a panic, running around to the side where you were. “Get off there!”
Just then, the spaceman’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with concern, his lips parting for a moment.
“Sorry, introductions later, your ship’s about to explode!” You said, jerking him over the side with you.
Donghyuck half-caught the two of you as you slid down the smooth exterior. Really, he just broke your landing a bit, the two of you still crashing into him at far too high of a speed to be painless, all your limbs smacking each other. The man from the ship made another groan of pain, as you and Donghyuck swore up a storm at your bitten tongues, clocked elbows, and cracked heads. The other three jumped down after you, Johnny and Jaehyun taking the stranger from your arms like they were carrying their drunk friend home from the bar. His feet dragged on the ground between them as the six of you hurried away from the ship. As you came crashing through the foliage again back to your campsite, your other friends all got to their feet to greet you.
“Took long enough!” Mark complained. “Alright, where’s our—Holy shit!”
“You found some guy?” Doyoung asked, pointing to the stranger. “Why does nothing ever go normal and fine when we let Yuta, Y/N, and Donghyuck go off together?”
Before any of you could explain, there was a loud boom from behind you, and you whipped around to see bright, glowing, molten sludge being shot into the air where you just had been. Fire lit up the trees, the night no longer feeling so cold suddenly.
“What was that?!” Taeyong rushed to your side, clinging onto you tightly.
“Spaceship,” Yuta pointed at the fireball. He then pointed at the stranger, “Alien.”
“Seriously?!” Mark’s eyes were bugging out of his head. “Like, a real UFO? What did it look like?”
“I was too busy fearing for our lives to take pictures, sorry, Mark.” Donghyuck leaned his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
Doyoung spoke up then, concerned look focused on the man from the ship. “Uh, I think your alien’s dead.”
The spaceman was entirely slack in Johnny and Jaehyun’s grip, head hanging forward as dark droplets fell from his mouth onto the sand. You rushed over, instinctually putting two fingers to the side of his neck, where you guessed a jugular would be if he had one. Please, please, please let him have a heart, and let it be beating. He felt warm, at least, and while you couldn’t find a pulse, you didn’t know if that really meant anything. Instead, you held your fingers under his nose, relieved when you could feel a slight, repetitive exhale of breath.
“He’s breathing!” You announced with relief. A drop of his blood fell onto your hand then, and as you jerked the limb back, not entirely sure what alien blood would do to you. The fleck caught the light of the bonfire and shone blue. A dark navy blue, so dark it almost appeared black at first.
“Definitely an alien…” Yuta crossed himself again.
“Stop that!” You hissed, grabbing a half-drank bottle of water to pour the contents over your hand, washing off the alien blood. “You’d burn up if you stepped foot in a church.”
“Should we take him to a hospital?” Doyoung asked.
“No!” You cried out immediately. “They’d dissect him or something.”
“Y/N, you’re not suggesting we keep him!” Johnny regarded with you wide, incredulous eyes.
“Like a pet alien?” Donghyuck added very helpfully.
“You’re a doctor!” You argued with Johnny.
“A vet! An animal doctor! I’m not even licensed to practice medicine on humans, I wouldn’t know where to start on an alien!”
“Exactly, you don’t need a license to practice on him, he’s not human!”
“Johnny, we all know you’re going to say yes,” Jaehyun grunted, readjusting his hold on the passed-out spaceman. “Come on man, he’s getting heavy.”
“Fine! Fine! I have my kit in my car,” Johnny relented with a big sigh.
“We can take him to my place,” you immediately offered.
The distant sounds of sirens caught your attention, and you all immediately rushed to shut down the campsite. Someone doused the firepit while the speaker was shut off, and the drinks, towels, and blankets were hastily packed up. You all made a run for the cars parked up on the side of the road, as the sirens got even louder. You climbed into Johnny’s backseat before he and Jaehyun pushed the stranger back there with you, then got into the front. The others loaded up into Doyoung’s van, and the two vehicles took off with roars of engines and squeals of tires. You pulled the man’s head up into your lap, wincing as you appraised the damage. His blue blood dripped from his mouth and a significant rip in his jacket on his side. He groaned in pain but didn’t stir otherwise. Aside from the blue blood, he looked human… hopefully Johnny would be able to do something.
At your building, Johnny and Jaehyun helped you drag the spaceman up to your apartment on the third floor, and you had them deposit him on your bed. Johnny brought his travel vet kit up from the car, and together, you managed to get the shiny silver jacket off of him. Underneath, he had a fairly plain white top, which was also torn and blood-soaked. Johnny snapped on a pair of gloves before he pushed the hem up to appraise the stranger’s side, where there was a huge gash in his flesh.
“Oh, Christ, okay,” Johnny sighed, inspecting the wound. “I guess I’ll disinfect and suture it up?”
“Just do it,” you mumbled, pressing a towel to the man’s sweat-sheened forehead.
“Jaehyun, mind assisting?”
“You do know the ‘Dr.’ I put in front of my name is just decorative, right? It’s in Poetry—”
“And now you can brag to all your colleagues that you’ve done real medicine like a real doctor,” Johnny snapped back. “Disinfectant, get it.”
With Jaehyun assisting him, Johnny made quick work of patching him up. Pressing the bandages down over the site so the adhesive would stick, Johnny then disposed of his navy-splattered gloves. He grabbed a stethoscope, putting the end up against the spaceman’s chest.
“I think he’s alive?” Johnny announced. “I don’t know. If he is, he doesn’t have a heart because I’m not getting anything.”
He shifted the placement, presumably to listen to his breathing, and an even more bewildered look overtook his features. Sliding the stethoscope over to the right side of the man’s chest, he sat there for a moment, just listening.
“It’s on the other side,” he breathed out. “His heart’s on the right side.”
“But he has a heartbeat?” You clarified.
“Yeah, he does. Faint, but it’s there. He’s breathing, too. A bit shallow, but otherwise normal. I think.”
You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
“I don’t think there’s anything else I can do until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”
“Right, thank you Johnny,” you smiled wearily your friend. “I’ll call you when he wakes.”
Jaehyun and Johnny looked at each other skeptically. Jaehyun spoke up, “You’re going to stay here alone with some rando we literally pulled out of a burning hunk of metal?”
“My couch only fits one person. So unless you two are offering to sleep on the floor to protect me or whatever?”
“Call us if anything happens,” Johnny sighed, packing up all of his supplies.
“Of course,” you nodded. “Thanks, guys.”
You heard the sound of your front door clicking shut as you stayed sitting on the edge of your mattress, wiping the spaceman’s face. He really did look human, two eyes that were now shut, lashes resting on his cheeks, a nose practically just like yours, with an elegant slope to the bridge, and a pair of plush, pouty lips. He let out a soft sigh, his head rolling over towards you. But then he went silent and still again. You finished cleaning up his face as best you could, then pulled the covers up over him. Readjusting his bangs that had been stuck together by the damp washcloth you’d used, you gave a final determined nod to nobody in particular before standing up. Grabbing a change of pajamas from your dresser, you got everything you’d need from in here for the night, then went to leave.
“Alright…” You stopped at the threshold of your bedroom, looking over the spaceman’s sleeping figure one last time. “Goodnight, I suppose.”
And with that, you turned the lights out, and quietly closed the door behind you. You were sure to leave it slightly ajar, though, just in case. After taking a much-needed shower and getting ready for bed in your bathroom, you headed out to the living room. You set up a few pillows and blankets into a comfy-enough makeshift bed, then tucked yourself in. Despite the exhaustion in your muscles, the excitement of the night hadn’t worn off yet, and you laid awake for another hour just staring at your bedroom door.
Waking up in the morning to sunlight streaming in through your living room windows, you covered your eyes with a groan and rolled over to bury your face in the back cushions. The sound of your phone buzzing incessantly from the coffee table came, however, and with a guttural groan, you flopped back over to pick it up.
“Yeah?” You mumbled, not even checking the caller ID.
“Y/N?” It was Yuta on the other end.
“Who the fuck else would it be? You called me at whenever-the-fuck-in-the-morning.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Couch,” you corrected him, swinging your feet over as you sat up properly. “I slept on the couch.”
“Gave E.T. your bed? Such a kind hostess.”
The mention of your guest woke you up more. You got to your feet, shuffling towards the bedroom with a yawn. “Yeah, you know me, I’m a fuckin’ peach.”
“So how’s the…” Yuta dropped his voice to whisper into the phone, “Alien?”
The door hadn’t moved since last night, and you cautiously pushed it open to peer inside. You could see the stranger exactly where you had left him, laying on his back under your blankets, chest shallowly rising up and down. Pushing further into the room, you hesitated on whether to try to find a pulse again. You settled for trying once around his wrist, and if it didn’t work, then you’d just have to assume he was fine. Surprisingly, you found his pulse in one go, and it felt steady.
“Fine, I think,” you answered Yuta quietly, walking back over towards your door. “He’s breathing, he has a heartbeat. He’s just not… ambulatory.”
“Still passed out cold?”
“Yeah.”
“Imagine if he was in one of those comas that you don’t wake up from, and we just had to deal with this comatose alien.”
“Stop, you’re going to manifest that or something!” You hissed.
“Not manifesting, just joking.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Anyway, some of us went back to the beach this morning, because Mark really wanted to see the UFO—”
“Don’t touch anything!”
“We couldn’t. The whole place is locked down. Couldn’t even park on the shoulder, it was swarming with cops. They were still putting out the fire.”
“Do you think any of the ship survived?”
“I have no clue. Doyoung said he’d ask his dad about it.” Doyoung’s dad was the fire chief, making your participation in the conflagration last night even more dicey.
“Tell him to call me as soon as he finds out anything.”
“I think he was already planning on that, but I’ll make sure he knows.”
“Good. Also, I’m sorry for kicking you in…” You trailed off as you turned around to see two big brown eyes staring at you from your bed. “I’ve got to go, Yuta. I’ll call you back.”
“What’s hap—” You hung up.
The spaceman was looking around the room warily, regarding you with clear suspicion.
“Hey…” You offered him a smile as you kept your tone of voice soothing and calm. “You’re alright. I’m not going to do anything to you. My name’s Y/N.”
He kept staring blankly at you, and you were starting to fear that he wouldn’t be able to understand you at all.
“You got injured, last night. On your side.”
He pulled up the hem of his shirt, looking at it himself. He tentatively touched the bandages, but didn’t rip them off. There was a small dot of dark blue that had soaked through.
“I’m going to call my friend, to look at it, okay?”
He nodded.
Quickly dialing Johnny’s number, you chewed on your thumbnail anxiously at how long it was taking him to pick up. Finally, the ringing stopped, and a confused groan came from the other end.
“Hey, Johnny,” you greeted him, relieved. Johnny made another inquisitive sound. “Yeah, he’s awake.”
You could heard Johnny make a few more noises of exertion, presumably sitting up in bed. After a yawn, sniffle, and cough (which he thankfully pointed his mic away from), he said real words. “Has he… said anything?” Your friend questioned. “Can you even understand each other?”
“No, he’s not exactly talking… Just sort of nodding. So I think he can understand me at least.”
“Alright—good Lord—I’ll be over in like, thirty.”
“That long?!”
“You woke me up! I need to brush my teeth and shit. Make that forty-five, I still reek of alcohol.”
“Fine. Hey, can you bring some clothes for him, too?”
“What?!”
“I don’t have anything that’ll fit him. You guys are about the same size. Or steal some of Jae’s, I don’t care.”
“Yeah, I’m taking Jaehyun’s. I think they’re a bit closer in size.”
“You don’t want an alien to wear your clothes.”
“Excuse me for feeling weird about that! What if he bleeds on them? I’d have to burn them!”
“So you’re volunteering your roommate’s clothes instead.”
“Well—”
“Just get over here, John.”
“Will do. See you, kid.”
“See you.” You hung up. Turning back to the alien, you announced, “My friend will be here soon. He’s just going to look you over. Are you okay? Like, does anything hurt?”
He stared at you.
“Right, those were two different questions.” You shook your head at yourself. “Do you feel any pain? Anywhere?”
He indicated to the wound on his side.
“Makes sense, you got sliced open by something there. Anything else?”
He held his hands out, and you saw that his left wrist was slightly puffier and swollen than the other.
“Oh, looks like you… sprained your wrist?” You said tentatively. You had no clue how his joints worked or if they could even get sprained like yours, but that’s definitely what it looked like.
He nodded.
“Johnny should have something for that,” you assured him. After a few beats of silence, you tried introductions again. “I’m Y/N. I know I already said that, but uh, it’d be nice to know your name, too? I’m pretty sure you can understand me, since you’ve been answering my questions, mostly. So—”
“Did you capture me, then?” He finally spoke, his voice clear but uncertain.
“What? No,” you laughed, completely caught off-guard by the question. “You’re free to go anytime you want. Your ship crashed, and my friends and I found you. I just want to help, but if you want to go right now, I won’t stop you.”
“This is… not a human hospital?”
“No, it’s not,” you chuckled again. “It’s my bedroom. We uh, we weren’t sure if we should take you to a hospital or not. Didn’t want them taking x-rays of you and finding out you had two hearts or something.”
“Just the one.”
“Yes, and it’s on the right side of your chest, right?”
He stared at you with mild alarm.
“Johnny was listening to your heart last night. Had a difficult time finding it.” You tapped the left side of your chest, right above your own heart. “Ours is usually over here.”
He licked his lips, eyes flitting around before they landed on you again, and he finally said, “My name’s Jungwoo.”
“Jungwoo?” You echoed slowly, making sure you were pronouncing it correctly.
“Yes.”
“If you’re from space, why is your name… Korean?”
“It’s not. It can’t be pronounced by humans. You’re missing a flap.” He gestured to his throat. “I suppose that’s the closest approximation that it could get.”
“It?”
“My transcoder.” He picked up the pendant hanging around his neck, a simple rhombus of flat gold metal. “It’s a translation device. That’s why we can understand each other right now. Thankfully, it didn’t get busted in the crash. I don’t speak human.”
“We don’t all speak one language, you know? We have thousands.”
“Wait, really?”
“Does your whole planet speak one language? Speaking of, where are you from?”
“I’m from far outside this galaxy. I’m not sure telling you the name of my planet would be any help.”
“It’d be interesting.”
“Galaria.”
“So you’re… Galarian?”
“Galarii.”
“Ah, I was close. Never was good at conjugation in grammar class.”
“All Galarii speak the same language, to answer your question. We have some regional dialects, but all of us can understand each other. How does your planet hold conversations, come to agreements about policy or run the government at all?”
“We don’t have one government system for the whole planet, so usually we don’t need to. Everybody who lives near each other tend to speak the same language.”
His brow furrowed and his lips pulled down into a slight frown. “Then you must all be so… separated.”
You sat down on the corner of your bed in front of him, hoping this was still a polite, conversational distance for Galarii. “I don’t think it’s so bad. People can always learn more than one language if they want, learn about other cultures.”
“How do people from those different cultures even understand each other, though? You seemed confused about my transcoder, I’m guessing you don’t have anything similar here.”
“Translators. People who learn more than one language and interpret between people who don’t speak the same language. Not to mention computer programs will usually get you the gist of something if you’re in a hurry or don’t have access to a more authentic source.”
“How many governments do you have, then? Two? Three?”
You burst into laughter at the idea. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… well, to spare you from any degree of human politics, let’s say there’s a debate about how many countries we even have, but people usually say about 200.”
“Two hundred?! How do you get anything done?”
“Very slowly,” you snickered, hiking a leg up onto the side of the bed to get comfier. “So, how does your transcoder work, exactly? Like, how is it getting in my brain? Because watching you talk, it looks like you’re saying the words I’m hearing, but you can’t be.”
“Low-level, short-range telepathic wave.”
“Telepathic?!”
“I’m not sure what word it’s picking to translate, but you seem very shocked.”
“For us, telepathy is magic. It’s a superpower, it’s not real.”
“I can assure you, this all has very sound science behind it. Though I’m more of a pilot than a neuroscientist, so I can’t really explain it...”
“Really good pilot, too. Spectacular landing,” you joked, crossing your fingers that Galarii understood sarcasm.
He seemed to, as he let out a cynical chuckle. “Not my finest work.”
“So what happened that made you crash in the first place?”
“Political assassination.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Attempted murder?” Jungwoo tried another phrase, looking down at his transcoder as if inspecting it for damage.
“Am I harboring a space fugitive right now?”
“No, I’m not on the run from anywhere. I was taking a joyride when suddenly the engines began failing. I presume it was meant to look like an accident. I’ll know more after I can inspect my ship.”
“Ooh, about that,” you winced.
“What?”
“Well, it exploded, for one.”
“Yes, that’s what I figured when you told me ‘your ship is about to explode’ and then I heard an explosion.”
“So you remember some of last night!” You pointed victoriously.
“Some,” he agreed mildly. “In a couple brief bouts of consciousness I had.”
“So, yeah, it exploded, and the explosion and resulting fire drew in a lot of attention. A couple of my friends drove by this morning and the whole place is swarmed with firemen and cops still.”
“I’ll just tell them it’s my ship.”
“No.”
“They should release it to the proper owner, what would the problem be?”
“You crashed here from space in a certifiable UFO. If you walked up and say that it’s yours, if they believe you, they’d probably ship you off for dissection, shoot you on the spot, or kill you then ship you off for dissection.”
“That’s not very polite.”
“Sorry, we don’t really get a lot of alien visitors. Or any, that I’m aware of.”
“Very well,” Jungwoo sighed, looking down at his lap dejectedly.
“So we’ll have to sneak in at night.”
“What?”
“If you want to inspect your ship, we’ll have to sneak in after everybody leaves for the night. And, after they’ve put out the fires.”
“You’re suggesting breaking the law?”
“Do you have a problem with that? It’s just light trespassing, and onto a ship that’s yours anyway.”
“No, I don’t have a problem with that.” Jungwoo’s face finally cracked into a smile. “Just clarifying.”
“So… who are you?”
“I’ve told you my name and species.”
“I meant, who are you on your planet? To have somebody trying to assassinate you. Here, usually people that get assassinated are like, politicians, rulers, activists, sometimes celebrities. Ooh, I’ve got it! You’re a pop star or something!”
“No, I’m not a… musician.” The way he said the word made you think the transcoder must have had a hard time finding an equivalent word in his language.
“Actor?”
“I’m not a celebrity. Well, not how you’re suggesting, I believe.”
“Okay, because you’ve got the look.”
“Look? How am I looking at you?”
“No, I mean you’re really pretty.” You gestured vaguely to his face. “You’d fit right in on a red carpet here.”
“I think I will interpret that as a compliment.”
“Maybe,” you grinned and shrugged. “So? What are you? If you’re not a celebrity, why did someone try to kill you?”
“They weren’t trying to kill me.”
“Who were they trying to kill?”
“My brother, presumably,” he said as if this were the most obvious, natural thing in the world.
You raised an eyebrow. “You sound unperturbed by this.”
“Really, this is what I get for stealing his ship.”
“So you are a thief.”
“With permission.”
“Then it’s not stealing.”
“Just like you didn’t want to bore me with Earth politics, I won’t bore you with mine, but let’s say my brother’s very powerful and very controversial,” Jungwoo explained. “He asked that I take his ship and publicly leave the planet on it.”
“So everybody would think he left.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So he could get some paperwork done.”
“What exactly makes him so controversial?”
“None of his policies, really. But people don’t like some choices he’s made in his personal life.”
“Sounds familiar,” you mused, thinking of a few figures on Earth like that as well. “How long was your joyride supposed to take?”
“A few days.”
“Are Galaria days similar to Earth days?”
“I… am not sure.”
“Cool. So what’s going to happen if you don’t come back on time?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run away,” he admitted. “Though he will be pissed that I diverted from the plan.”
“Well, hopefully we can get you back without getting in too much trouble with him,” you offered him a reassuring smile.
“We?”
“I’m not an engineer or anything, but I’ll help you however I can. Even if it’s just holding the flashlight.”
Jungwoo regarded you not with suspicion, but more-so fascination, like he wanted to put you under a microscope. “I take it not all humans are this helpful.”
“I like to think we all want to do good, but it might look different for different people. And some of us haven’t practiced doing good since we were taught to share as kids.”
“Well, thank you, Y/N. I suppose if we’re going to be sneaking in at night, I will need somebody to hold the flashlight.”
“I’m your girl,” you beamed, right as your doorbell rang, accompanied by a solid knock. “That’ll be Johnny. Wait here.”
“Johnny!” You opened your door, head tilting curiously at the extra figures that accompanied him. “And Mark and Donghyuck. What are you guys doing here?”
“Well—” Mark started.
“We want to see the alien, duh,” Donghyuck pushed past you.
You crossed your arms over your chest. “He’s not a freakshow here for your entertainment.”
“Alright, Ms. High-and-Mighty, excuse us for having natural human curiosity,” Donghyuck scoffed, looked around your living room as if you were hiding him somewhere.
“Let Johnny look him over first, then I will ask Jungwoo if he wants to meet you.”
“Sweet!” “Yes!” They high-fived each other.
“Jungwoo?” Johnny repeated with a suspicious eyebrow raised. “His name’s not like ‘Gorgluk’ or something?”
“It could be, for all I know,” you admitted with a shrug. “According to him, we—humans—don’t have the right… throat flaps to say his actual name. That’s the closest approximation his translating device could make, apparently.”
“Right. Cool. Alien named Jungwoo. We going to meet his brother Steve next?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m coping.”
Leading Johnny back down the hall, you gently knocked on your bedroom door as you pushed it open. “Hey, Jungwoo, I’m back.”
Jungwoo was right where you’d left him, sitting up in your bed, hands folded over his lap patiently. You saw him stiffen slightly when his eyes moved from you to Johnny as the taller man followed you into the room.
“Jungwoo, this is my friend Johnny. Johnny, this is Jungwoo,” you quietly introduced them.
“Hey,” Johnny nodded to him casually.
“I told you Johnny was going to check you out, remember?”
Jungwoo nodded.
“Does he talk?” Your friend looked at you with a skeptical eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, he’s just shy, or something,” you muttered, walking over to the bedside with Johnny.
Johnny pulled out his stethoscope first, awkwardly listening to the right side of Jungwoo’s chest, then motioned for him to lean forward to listen to his lungs from the back. Once he’d taken the stethoscope out of his ears, Jungwoo spoke.
“You’re a doctor?” The spaceman asked, watching as Johnny opened his kit again to put the tool away.
“Vet.” Johnny answered bluntly, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
“Vet?”
“Veterinarian. I am a doctor, but my patients are usually on four legs.”
Jungwoo looked up at you in bewilderment. “There are four-legged humans?”
“Animals. I treat animals.”
“Johnny’s really good,” you assured him. “He’s the one that stitched you up.”
“Speaking of—” Johnny gestured to his side. “You mind?”
Jungwoo wordlessly pulled his shirt up to allow Johnny to inspect the wound.
“I’m going to change the dressings,” the vet declared, beginning to peel the bandage off.
To your disbelief, the wound was half the size as before, and looked almost healed up. The amount of blood on the gauze indicated much more damage than you were seeing.
“What the shit?” Johnny swore under his breath.
“Jungwoo, how’s your wrist?” You asked with wide eyes.
He lifted his left hand up, bending and flexing it with no visible reaction. It was a typical size again. “From your reactions, I take it humans heal at much slower rates?”
“Uh, yeah,” you gulped, still staring at the wound on his side in awe. “It would take us days to heal as much as you have.”
“I-I don’t think I need to change the dressing,” Johnny said, his face completely betraying how weirded out he was by what he was looking at. “There’s no blood or any other… fluids coming out of it. It’s entirely scabbed over, nothing should be getting in there. I can put a band-aid on it so the scab doesn’t catch on any clothes, I guess?”
“Do you have any morphine?” Jungwoo requested.
“It can’t hurt that much, it just looks like you bumped a countertop too hard.”
“I think my rib is broken.”
“What?!”
You looked at him incredulously. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“My skin heals quicker than internal parts. It should be fine in a few days, but it does hurt quite a bit now.”
Johnny looked to you for any sort of cue, at the same time that you looked at him for the same. He presumably thought you knew more about aliens than him, and you were seeking his medical opinion.
“Can you have morphine?” Johnny asked him slowly. “Like, is it compatible with your biology, or whatever?”
“Very much. My body naturally produces some, but I’m afraid the concentration of hydrogen in your atmosphere is inadequate for this level of injury.” Jungwoo looked the two of you over with confusion. “Why are you so hesitant to give me it?”
“Well, it’s sort of… addictive,” you tried to explain. “Doctors tend to try other stuff before jumping for the opioids.”
“My body must process it differently. We’ve never seen opioid addiction on my planet.”
You and Johnny met eyes again before Johnny reached back into his kit. He pulled out a small bottle and syringe. As soon as he took the cap off the needle, Jungwoo’s eyes went wide. “And what are you going to do with that?”
“Inject you?” Johnny replied, bewildered. “Unless you were planning on drinking it?”
“You don’t?”
“No! And I’m not going to let you!” Johnny was clearly at his wits end. “Either I stick you, or you don’t get any.”
“Okay, guys,” you jumped in, uncomfortable with the rising tension. Able to realize when Johnny was at his limit, you turned to Jungwoo. “Will it harm you if you get injected with it instead of drinking it?”
“No, but I would prefer not to,” Jungwoo admitted.
“Alien with trypanophobia?” Johnny scoffed.
At the returned stiffness in Jungwoo’s muscles, you looked at him sympathetically. “Is that it, Jungwoo? You’re afraid of needles?”
“I’m not afraid of them, he has one and I’m not running from the room—”
“But you don’t like them being used on you.”
“Y/N, I have a job,” Johnny sighed, checking his watch. “I can’t do this song and dance with him all day.”
“Jungwoo, are you going to let him inject you? Like I said, doctors avoid giving opiates out, we’re not going to be able to get you any from anywhere else.”
“Y/N will hold your hand, will that help?” Your human friend offered tersely.
“Johnny, don’t patronize him.”
“Very well,” Jungwoo cut Johnny off right as he had opened his mouth to respond to you. “That… is an agreeable compromise.”
Johnny gestured at him while staring you down very pointedly. Not having the energy in you to go back and forth with either of them anymore, you sat down at the head of the bed by Jungwoo and offered your hand out to him. His skin was surprisingly warm as he laid his hand atop yours, and you curled your hand around it, then put your other one on top, giving him a gentle pat and small smile that you hoped looked reassuring.
Jungwoo didn’t look at Johnny as he went back to preparing the injection, instead keeping his eyes trained on you. “I… didn’t realize that humans are so cold.”
“Just me,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “Cold hands. You’re about as warm as other humans I’ve met. My friend Jae is like a human space heater. Hates when I put my cold toes on him during movie night.”
Jungwoo opened his mouth to reply, but his face suddenly scrunched up. Johnny must have put the needle in. The alien squinted one eye open as he continued whatever he had been going to say in the first place. “I don’t mind how cold you are.”
“Done,” Johnny declared, quite literally slapping a band-aid over where he had just injected. “And I’m going to work.”
“Taking the other two with you?” You asked hopefully.
“You promised them an alien.”
“I promised I would ask. They’re not entitled to see him.”
“Whatever, I’ve got to go.” Johnny packed everything up quickly. He gave your hair a quick ruffle. “Bye, kid.”
“Bye, Johnny.” You watched him head for the bedroom door.
“Thank you,” Jungwoo called out to him.
The vet gave a final nod to both of you before slipping back out. You heard a sudden swell of noise as the two younger boys accosted him.
“Who else is here?” Jungwoo asked you.
You bit your lip ruefully as you heard the front door open and close, but the voices of Mark and Donghyuck were still very much audible. “Two more of our friends, Donghyuck and Mark. They were at the beach last night, too, when we found you. They want to meet you, if that’s okay with you. I totally get it if you say no. I’ll be more than happy to kick them out.”
“No, that’s alright. I would like to meet them. They’re your friends, right?”
“I guess I did say that,” you sighed, letting go of his hand and standing up. “Okay, be back.”
Out in your living room, the two younger boys practically assaulted you in their excited states, clinging onto your arms desperately.
“Don’t throw us out! We’ll be so good!” Donghyuck pleaded.
“Johnny told us he talks and stuff?!” Mark was buzzing.
“Cool it,” you chastised them. “He said he wants to meet you. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Fuck yeah!” They fistbumped.
“You two are so lame. Come on.” You stalked back over to your room. Jungwoo perked up when you came back in, regarding the two newcomers studiously.
“Jungwoo, this is Mark and Donghyuck,” you gestured to each in turn. “Guys, this is Jungwoo.”
“It’s nice to meet—” Mark’s polite greeting was cut off by Donghyuck.
“So are you from Mars? Jupiter?”
You slapped a hand over your face with a low groan. Jungwoo almost looked amused, thankfully. “No, I’m not from this Solar System. Or galaxy, for that matter.”
“How can you breathe our air?” Mark asked curiously.
“We have a similar composition on my home planet. Though there’s not as much free hydrogen here…”
“Oh!” You suddenly had an epiphany. “The hydrogen. Will water work? Uhm, dihydrogen monoxide?”
“Yes, that will be an apt replacement.”
“I’ll go get you a glass,” you patted his shoulder before hurrying from the room. The others were still talking as you filled up a cup of water, then walked back in with it. You held it out to Jungwoo. “Here.”
“Thank you, Y/N.”
“So what do you eat?” Donghyuck questioned. “Can you eat our food?”
“I quite like uhm, confections. Desserts.”
“Alien with a sweet tooth…”
“You all keep calling me that. You do realize that to me, you are the aliens?”
“Woah…” Mark breathed out. “You’re right.”
Jungwoo quickly chugged down the glass of water, and you took it back. “I’ll get you another,” you smiled down at him.
Donghyuck perked up, “Oh, Y/N, can I have a—”
“You know where the kitchen is,” you snorted, heading for the door. “I’m not your mom.”
When you returned and handed the cup to Jungwoo again, Mark eyed you with a pout and arms crossed over his chest. “You’re never this nice to us when we get hurt.”
“Yeah, you laughed in Yuta’s face when he broke his leg last year,” Donghyuck narrowed his eyes.
“Because he broke his leg trying to grind an ollie at the skate park at his big age,” you scoffed. “And then had to go into his grown-up job the next day. Tell me how that isn’t funny.”
They exchanged a glance before breaking out into snickers.
“Okay, that is pretty funny,” Donghyuck admitted.
“Exactly.” You glanced at the time on your phone. “Alright, I’m tired of human interaction, you two need to go.”
“But—” Mark gestured wildly to Jungwoo, who was calmly sipping his water.
“My apartment, my rules,” you clicked your tongue, shooing them towards the front door.
“Johnny brought us here, how are we going to get home?” Donghyuck tried to plead with you as you shoved them through your apartment.
“You have bus passes, don’t you?”
“Well yeah—”
“Then, bye!” You opened your door and pushed them out, slamming the door shut behind them. Turning back around, you noticed a stack of clothes on the arm of your couch, and recognized them as some of Jaehyun’s. You grabbed them and took them back with you into your bedroom.
“Ugh, finally,” you sighed, rolling out your neck. “Sorry about them.”
“They were… funny,” Jungwoo settled on an adjective.
You offered out the clothes to your guest. “Here, Johnny brought these for you. My shower is through there, too.” You gestured to your bathroom door. “And I can make something to eat while you freshen up. If you’re hungry. What do you eat? Other than sweet stuff? I don’t have any meat, but I can go get some if you need it—”
“We don’t eat meat, either,” he smiled up at you. “Galarii don’t.”
“Vegetarians?”
“Yes.”
“Well, easy for me, then.” You watched him as he swung his legs around. “You got it? You need any help?”
Jungwoo slowly got to his feet, and you winced as you watched him clutch at his side. Nevertheless, he stayed upright, and took a couple steps forward. “I’ll be alright.”
“Great. Uhm, let me just show you how the shower works and stuff, then I’ll leave you be.” You walked him into the bathroom, pushed back the shower curtain, pointing out the knobs and bottles to Jungwoo. “This one’s for cold water, this one’s for hot water. You have to turn them left to turn them on. Pull this thing up to turn the shower part on instead of the bath. This blue bottle is for shampoo, you do that one first, just on the roots of your hair. Purple one is conditioner, on your ends. Face wash, body wash. Yeah, I think that’s it.”
As you turned back to look at Jungwoo, you realized how close he was as he had leaned in to listen intently to you point out everything. Squinting, you looked closer at a faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose that you hadn’t noticed before. “Hey, I never realized you have freckles,” you commented, blinking a couple times to make sure you were seeing this right. “Or that they were… rainbow? No, just pink? And purple?”
“They’re not freckles.” He touched them as if he were wiping them away, but they didn’t budge. “They’re iridophores, patches of cells that reflect light differently. I believe the fluorescents in here are making them more visible than the dim lighting in the other room.”
“They’re so pretty!” You exclaimed, shifting in another direction so that they were even flashier at this angle, revealing some blue and green as well.
Jungwoo’s hand hovered uncertainly over his face. “You think so?”
“Yeah, of course! What? You don’t?”
“They’re… I don’t know, they’re nothing special on Galaria,” he admitted, dropping his hand to give you a full view of the iridophores. He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side to show some of the top of his shoulder, where there were even more, then let it go. “I have them here too. Everyone does.”
“Well, we don’t have stuff like that here,” you informed him with an awestruck grin. “Anyway, I’ll let you shower, sorry. You’re not some specimen for me to gawk at.”
“No, it’s alright. I don’t mind you being curious about me.”
You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you gave him a nod and another smile before leaving the bathroom and heading into the kitchen.
By the time Jungwoo was done with his shower, you had made a couple hefty stacks of pancakes, cut up some fruit, and grabbed a jar of Nutella for good measure, remembering his comment about preferring sweets. You filled up two tall glasses of ice water before also making a cup of tea for yourself. You briefly contemplated running to the boba place around the corner, but it was exactly then that you heard the shower turn off, and thought better of it. Jungwoo emerged in a pair of Jaehyun’s jeans and a slouchy, grey crewneck sweater, looking startlingly human, except for the occasional glint of iridophores on his cheeks and nose. His hair was still a bit damp as he came over to curiously inspect the two plates you had placed on your kitchen counter.
“Pancakes and fruit. Grab a plate and sit wherever, I don’t have a table. I usually eat at the couch.” You gestured. Jungwoo followed your lead and sat in the corner of your couch as you plopped down in your armchair. You cracked open your jar of Nutella, offering it out to him.
“What is that?” He questioned, sniffing the air tentatively.
“Chocolate hazelnut spread,” you stuck a spoon in it. “It’s sweet. You’ll probably like it. Most people do.”
He put some on a small part of a pancake, and tried a bite, then immediately dove back in to slather the rest of his pancakes in it.
“Alien with a sweet tooth,” you chuckled to yourself, digging into your own breakfast.
“You don’t have to… stay with me,” Jungwoo told you between bites. “I remember you telling your friends that you were tired of human interaction. I believe that it’s a common human social nicety to entertain house guests, but you won’t offend me if you wish to be alone.”
“That’s… considerate,” you chuckled. “But the operative word there is human. You’re an alien, so I’m not tired of you yet, Jungwoo.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” you grinned at him, popping a piece of fruit in your mouth.
“May I ask… Why am I staying with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“From what Mark and Donghyuck were saying, it sounds like there were many of your friends there last night when my ship crashed. How did it happen that I ended up here with you?”
“Finders keepers, I guess,” you laughed. Jungwoo gave you a funny sort of look at that, which prompted you to further explain. “I’m the one who found your ship in the first place and wanted to look inside at all. I don’t know how much you remember, but I’m kind of the one who pulled you out. Some of the other guys helped me, don’t get me wrong, but if they had their way, you would’ve been left in there. So, I found you, you’re my responsibility. Finders keepers.”
“Ah, I see.”
Your phone buzzed then, and you saw that it was Doyoung calling. “Oh, that’s Doyoung, I’ve got to take this. Sorry, hold on.” Standing up, you didn’t go very far as you walked over to the living room window to look out over the city as you answered. “Hi, Doie, what’s up?”
“Y/N, hey. How’s your alien?” Your friend asked.
“Fine, all things considering.”
“He alive?”
“Alive, awake, eating, talking, the whole shebang.”
“Shit, really?!”
“Uh-huh,” you confirmed, holding your phone mic-out towards Jungwoo, “Jungwoo, say hi to Doyoung?”
Jungwoo covered his mouth as he quickly chewed and swallowed, then called out, “Hello, Doyoung!”
You brought your phone back up to your ear just in time to hear your friend react. “Holy shit!”
“So what’d you find out from your dad? How much of the ship survived?”
“A lot,” he told you. “They’re calling it a hoax, and they’re not letting news reporters get footage. Apparently they don’t want to encourage any copycats. After putting out the fire, they haven’t let anybody on board. They’re just keeping it cordoned off until the police chief and my dad decide what to do with it. Right now it’s a crime scene while they investigate it as an arson case.”
“But the fire’s been put out, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know anything about how it’s being watched?”
“A couple cops at night, I think.” Doyoung’s voice was guarded. “You’re going to sneak the alien back there, aren’t you?”
“He has to get home somehow, Doyoung,” you insisted. “Unless you think we should steal a spaceship from somewhere else that’s fit for intergalactic travel?”
“Hey, I’m not disagreeing with the whole ‘get the alien back home’ idea,” he said defensively. “Just don’t get arrested while you’re at it, alright? Johnny would have a stroke.”
“Yeah, I know, he nearly had one last night and this morning playing alien doctor,” you sighed. “I don’t think he’d bail me and Jungwoo out of jail if it came to it.”
“Call Yuta for your one phone call if you need. He’s good for it.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Or Taeyong, he probably wouldn’t hold it over my head.”
“Good point. Or, even better—don’t get arrested in the first place.”
“Plan A: Don’t get arrested. Plan B: Taeyong. Plan C: Yuta. Plan D: You. Plan E: Jaehyun, who would definitely bring Johnny with him.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Doyoung chuckled. “I’ll leave you and Spock to it then.”
“He has a name, you know.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have all the right flaps, right?”
“Who told you? Donghyuck? Mark?”
“Johnny. He called on the way to work to ask if I knew anything about the ship.”
“Huh…”
“Anyway, I’ll leave you and Stitch be. Holler if you need something.”
“You’re hilarious. You’re fucking hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, hanging up. Plopping back down in your armchair, you relayed the pertinent parts of your conversation to Jungwoo. “According to Doyoung, a lot of your ship survived the explosion. They’ve put the fire out, but there will probably be a couple cops patrolling it at night, so we’ll have to be careful when we go check it out tonight. Until then, I guess we’ll just hang out. Sound good? How are you feeling? How’s your side? Do you need more bandages after showering? I can call Johnny up, probably swing by his office and get some more or see if he can come by on his lunch and take a look at you? Maybe bring some more morphine?”
“I don’t need any more bandages,” Jungwoo shook his hand, lifting the sweatshirt to allow you to see how he’s healed so far. There was still a considerable amount of bruising, but the skin had entirely mended itself, no evidence of a scab, only a dark, puffy scar.
“Does it still hurt?” You asked with a sympathetic grimace. “I know you said you take longer to heal internally than on the outside. I can probably convince him to bring some more morphine for you. I don’t know what your metabolism is like compared to ours, or even how much he gave you last time. I mean, are you in pain?”
“It is painful,” he admitted, dropping his shirt again. “But I don’t—I’ll be fine.”
“Jungwoo, if it hurts—”
“Not that bad.”
You felt a bit mean for this, but you reached out to poke his side, and he immediately let out a yelp, covering his wound and ducking away from you.
“What did you do that for?” He asked you, jaw dropped.
“You liar,” you scoffed, bringing your phone out. “I’m texting Johnny.”
“He will administer it the same way as last time, won’t he?” Jungwoo questioned quietly, stopping your typing.
You put your phone down. “Probably, yeah. He’s not… used to letting people drink that stuff.”
“Then I will be fine without it.”
“Even if I hold your hand again? You can’t do another one?” You asked. “I’ll talk to you, you can squeeze my hand like a stress ball—or we’ll get you a real stress ball, whatever you want.”
He was silent, and you let out a sigh.
“Jungwoo, I don’t like seeing you hurt, you know,” you shook your head, cutting off a piece of your pancakes with the side of your fork, lifting it to your mouth. “But it’s up to you, I’m not going to hold you down and make him stick you or anything.”
With a flash of iridophores, Jungwoo’s head turned, and his eyes were focused back on you, his hands wringing together. “I’ll do it.”
Your jaw stopped mid-bite. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yes. If Johnny agrees. I get the impression he doesn’t like me very much…”
“No, no, he likes you just fine, I promise!” You reassured him, reaching forward to pat his knee. “I just stress him out, that’s all. I’ll text him right now, okay? We’ll get you feeling better in no time!”
“Can’t believe he’s making us come to him,” you grumbled, pushing your way through the sidewalks with Jungwoo’s arm around your shoulders. “You literally have bruised ribs and fell from the fucking sky last night.”
“I don’t mind,” Jungwoo tried to be diplomatic, even as he held his side with his free hand. “He’s doing me a favor.”
“He’s being an asshole.” You tried to match Jungwoo’s slow, hobbling pace. “Making you come all the way across the city in pain. Risking you being out in public. Goddamn asshole.”
“I don’t mind,” your companion repeated, looking up past the visor of the baseball cap you’d put on him to conceal his glinting iridophore flecks as best as possible. “I haven’t seen much of Earth. Your sky is beautiful. Is it always blue?”
“During the day, yeah, usually. What color is Galaria’s?”
“A bright violet.” He was leaning more of his weight on you, and you stepped into the alcove of a shop door to rest for a moment. The crowd continued hurrying by you as you leaned against the wall and Jungwoo leaned against you.
“Purple sky?” You repeated, staring up at the crystalline blue expanse above you and trying to picture it.
“Yes, most of the time.”
“That sounds really gorgeous.”
“I suppose it is.”
You looked over at him curiously. “You don’t think so?”
“Well, I suppose I’m just so used to it… I don’t know,” he shrugged, looking back to the clear aqua sky above you. “I quite like your blue sky.”
“I think I’d like to see your purple sky someday,” you hummed thoughtfully.
“Really?”
“Yeah, as long as you could bring me back,” you shrugged. “Always wanted to travel.”
Jungwoo blinked down at you, and you shook your head with a chuckle.
“Sorry, that probably sounded like I was asking to run away with you or something. And you’re like, in a bunch of pain,” you laughed at yourself. “I should stop blabbing and get you to the man with the morphine. You ready to keep going?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
At Johnny’s animal clinic, you had to stay in the waiting room while he finished up with a patient. After he handed the dog back to its owner, and dismissed the front desk attendee for their lunch break, he finally gestured the two of you back. You helped Jungwoo up from his seat, wrapping his arm back around you so you could slowly follow your friend into the back. Johnny held the door open for you all as he led the way into the exam room. You could tell the morphine had been wearing off faster and faster, even though Jungwoo hadn’t said anything. He had been favoring his side more and more, and vocalizing noises of pain more frequently as the day wore on.
“How is it?” Johnny was nice enough to ask as you helped Jungwoo half-sit and half-lean on the exam table. You’d seen some pretty big animals on this thing, you were pretty sure it could handle him.
“Fine,” Jungwoo hissed.
“He’s not bleeding on the outside anymore, but everything’s still pretty banged up internally,” you answered honestly, shooting Jungwoo a pointed look. “Do you think you could like x-ray him while we’re here? See if anything’s broken?”
Johnny stopped where he had been getting supplies from some drawers. “Would x-rays kill him?”
“I mean, you traveled through space, right? Isn’t there a bunch of radiation there?” You asked Jungwoo hopefully. “Johnny can take some pictures of you with x-rays, right?”
“Yes, that will be fine,” Jungwoo nodded minutely.
And so Johnny moved around his portable x-ray machine to take a few images of Jungwoo’s side where the pain was most concentrated. You had to stand outside the room while it was being done, but as soon as Johnny gave you the thumbs-up, you rushed back in, helping Jungwoo sit back up. Johnny took the lead vest back off, leaving him in his white coat again as he went back over to the imaging machine.
“Okay, here we go,” Johnny muttered, clicking a few things on the computer to pull up the images. “Remember, I’m not a human doctor, and definitely not an alien doctor.”
“We know, Johnny,” you retorted.
The first image came up, and you yourself weren’t any kind of doctor, but that definitely didn’t look right. A dark line going right down what you assumed to be a rib, splitting it all the way through. “Yep, your rib’s broken,” Johnny declared, pointing to the severance.
Jungwoo’s brow furrowed with concern. “It shouldn’t—”
“Yeah, no shit. Remember, dude, you fell out of the sky twelve hours ago, I’m surprised you’re alive.”
“No, I should be more healed than that.”
“You said that the lack of hydrogen in the atmosphere was making it so your body couldn’t produce as much natural painkillers, remember? Maybe something is making you heal a bit slower, too,” you suggested reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, it’ll just be a little longer.”
“That’s probably it,” Johnny agreed. “Are you eating enough? I know Y/N only has that vegan crap at her house, you probably need a real meal—”
“His whole planet is vegetarian, you dick.” You flipped him off. “You’d probably kill him if you gave him a steak.”
“Alright, damn,” he held his hands up with a laugh. “Let me just shoot him up with morphine and you two can get out of here, huh? I’ll do a double dose from last time.”
“I need to be able to get him home, John,” you said frankly.
“I’ll drive you.”
“Alright,” you nodded, then looked to the alien. “Sound good Jungwoo? Twice as much as last time? So hopefully it’ll last a bit longer?”
He nodded, his eyes fixated on Johnny as the human had gone back to getting the supplies for the injection. You grabbed his hand without prompting, flashing him a bright smile as you tried to come up with something to talk about to distract him. “So, how else are Earth and Galaria different?” You asked him. “The skies are different colors, we know that. What about the oceans? Do you guys have oceans?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Ours are blue, for the most part. Or, a blue-green.”
“We have—oh,” he wrinkled his nose, but didn’t look away from you. “Pink seas.”
“I think we have a pink sea too, somewhere!” You perked up. “I’d have to look it up, but I’m pretty sure somewhere has pink water. It might be a lake, actually, not a proper sea. Don’t quote me on it…”
Jungwoo smiled at that. “I won’t hold you to it, then.”
“What about like, glaciers? Do you have those? Really big floating chunks of ice in the ocean?”
“Galaria is mostly frozen tundra…”
“Damn, really?! How cold is it there? Wait, there’s like, no way we use anywhere near the same units of measurement for temperature. Your transcoder probably couldn’t help with that, huh?”
“No, we presumably don’t use the temperature scale.”
“All done,” Johnny announced, scooting his chair back and disposing of his needle and gloves. “I’ll take you two home now.”
“Thanks, Johnny.” You smiled up at him, helping Jungwoo up. “How are you feeling, Jungwoo?”
The Galarii took a couple slow blinks. “Mm… starting to feel better…”
“You said morphine doesn’t make you high, does it make you tired?” You questioned, following Johnny out towards the back where his car was parked in the alley.
“Not usually… but my body hasn’t been doing what it’s supposed to be doing the whole time I’ve been here…” he said slowly, narrowly missing hitting his head on the roof as you helped him into the backseat. You scooted in after him, encouraging him to lean against you after you’d buckled him up.
Johnny took off quickly through the streets, occasionally watching the two of you in the rearview mirror. Outside your apartment building, he helped you unload a half-awake Jungwoo, the alien rousing himself just enough to climb the stairs. Giving your friend a final thank-you and goodbye at the entrance to your apartment, you tugged Jungwoo back into your home, guiding him once again back to your bed.
“Come on, time for a nap,” you sighed, encouraging him to lay down. “You need to rest up, dude.”
“Y/N?” He murmured, grabbing your forearm as you went to walk away to leave him in peace.
“Yes?” You stopped, looking down at him attentively. “Do you need something, Jungwoo? Water? Food?”
“Will you just… sit with me? And talk to me? Until I go to sleep?” He requested. “I… find your company soothing.”
“Oh.” You shifted your weight uncertainly between your feet, but acquiesced nevertheless, scooting onto the corner of the mattress near his head. “Sure, Jungwoo. Here, I’ll look up those pink oceans I was talking about, see if I was right.”
And so you read some Wikipedia articles to Jungwoo about various pink lakes and beaches until his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evened out, and you were more than certain that he was asleep. But even after you were sure he was fast asleep, and you stopped reading the article aloud, you stayed right there, silently scrolling on your phone and occasionally looking from your screen over to his face. Because for some reason that you couldn’t put your finger on, you sort of found his presence calming, too.
When it seemed as though Jungwoo was stirring, you quickly got up from your spot and scurried from the room, feeling a bit weird about sitting and watching him sleep the whole time. You had a feeling that he wouldn’t have minded, but you didn’t want it to be a fact known to anybody but you that you had done that. Truly, you didn’t even want to really admit it to yourself, either. And so, when Jungwoo finally wandered out of your bedroom some hours later, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he found you tucked into the corner of your couch, in the middle of an episode of a TV show, as if you had been doing that the whole time.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” you greeted him nonchalantly, pausing the episode. “How’d you sleep?”
“Mm, well,” his reply was punctuated by a yawn.
“And how are you feeling?”
“I’m still feeling the painkiller effect, but I am no longer tired.”
“So, do you think you’ll be up for checking out your ship tonight?” You checked the time on your phone. “We can probably eat dinner then head out after.”
“Yes, I would very much like to see it.”
“Cool, let’s do it.”
After eating another modest meal prepared by you, you and Jungwoo headed out. The streets weren’t as busy at night, and with Jungwoo moving fully of his own power again, the two of you were able to make your way through them much quicker. The intel you got from Doyoung was good, the entire expanse of beach was roped off with police tape, and one officer was stationed on either side of the shoreline. Because of how far the fire had spread through the trees, the officers were pretty far from where you remembered the ship being. Getting in and out would be the tricky part, but once you were in, you were certain they would be none the wiser that somebody was there.
Jungwoo followed you silently, and you finally found what you were looking for. The old public access to the beach. When you were little, everyone used to have to take a steep staircase that started right off the highway. After a particular heavy rainy season that brought rockslides from the mountain up above, it was deemed entirely unusable by the city, all markers for it taken away, left in disrepair, and a new, much safer one was made further down the road. There was a ‘CAUTION: ROCKSLIDES’ sign nearby, which is how you knew you were in the right place. The best part was that it was right in the middle of the thicket of trees, meaning that as long as you were quick, you should be able to drop right in undetected.
All boardwalks and rope that had been spared by rockslides and Mother Nature over the years were left untouched by the city government, and you were able to start the steep descent like normal. It was about a third of the way down that things started getting dicey, broken pieces of wood, large gaps that you had to step over, and several areas where you had to test the steadiness of rocks before putting your weight on it because there was no manmade material for you to step on at all. When you and Jungwoo got to the place where the path would’ve diverted to the beach instead of dropping you right into the trees, you bit your bottom lip and resisted cursing aloud. It was a steep drop from where you were. It was too dark for you to see where the ground was, but instinct and memory told you it was too steep for you to just jump down. Looking around desperately, you realized there was a much shallower incline further down the trail, but it was close to where one of the officers was patrolling. You were already too near him for your liking.
A distant voice humming got closer and closer, and you held your breath and held your position, keeping your eyes peeled in the direction of the noise for any sign of movement through the trees. You never did see the police officer, but eventually the humming got further away again, until you stopped hearing it, and you made a break for the shallow area, sliding down the mostly sandy, occasionally rocky hill on your butt. You heard the sounds of Jungwoo hurrying after you, but didn’t look behind you until you were sure you two were well concealed in the trees again. Glancing up at him, you saw his chest heaving, and motioned for him to keep quiet as you listened to the officer run back over towards the road end of his side.
The crackle of a walkie-talkie, then a distant voice. “Hey, I think I heard something. You hear anything?”
After a second, his buddy responded, his voice slightly garbled through the walkie-talkie speaker. “Yeah, you heard a rock fall down the mountain. Rockslide area. Been hearing them all night.”
“Damn, you’re right. Thanks.” And he was gone again.
You took off through the brush at a brisk pace, knowing that Jungwoo would be right behind you. The ship was easy to find, with the concentration of charred and blackened foliage getting greater and greater the closer you got to it. When you finally found it, the spaceship was mostly intact, which the size of the explosion from last night did not lead you to believe. Jungwoo let out a sigh of relief, and did a quick walk-around first. It was when you got to the tail that you saw why there had been such a huge fireball. Four huge canisters that must have housed something flammable were nothing more than metallic flowers now, the material burst open and curling over on itself from the force of the explosion.
“The reactors…” Jungwoo breathed out.
You chewed on your bottom lip, asking quietly, “Is it fixable?”
“I don’t want to say anything until I see the inside.”
You followed him around to the side, where he pressed a button that you had missed last night on account of it being entirely smooth and looking like nothing more than a random dot. A set of hand and foot rails emerged seamlessly from the surface of the hull for you to climb up with. Once the two of you were up at the cockpit, Jungwoo pressed another button up there, and the ladder seemed to melt back into the metal of the ship once again. The glass was still propped open, making it very easy for you to hop down into the ship. Whatever red flashing warning lights that were going off before had deactivated, leaving it in pitch black, and you immediately brought out your phone to turn the flashlight on.
“Ah, thank you,” Jungwoo said as you pointed it at wherever he looked.
“I told you, I’m your flashlight girl,” you grinned.
As he looked over many different panels and controls in the cockpit, you drank in every detail with fascination. While the button on the outside of the ship had functioned seemingly almost like a touchscreen, the ones in here looked analog at least, though you couldn’t figure out for the life of you what a single one was for. You kept your hands to yourself. Jungwoo finally pressed a button, and a screen lit up, one that quaintly reminded you of computers from the nineties in its size and resolution. As he navigated through the program, you watched with interest. He sat down in one of the two chairs, and indicated to the other one for you. You eagerly sat. It was remarkably comfy.
“You seem to be very close to Johnny,” he commented abruptly, spamming one button in particular with a bit of frustration.
“We’re all really close.” You nodded, and the program finally loaded the next screen. “But yeah, I guess John and I are a bit different. Our parents are all friends, so we’ve been friends since we were little. He’s had to deal with my bullshit for our whole lives. We even call each other’s parents Aunt and Uncle, that kind of thing.”
“He is… similar to your cousin?”
“Sort of? I don’t know, he was kind of like a built-in older brother.” A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you reminisced in childhood memories. “People in our neighborhood and at school did actually think we were cousins. He’s a few years older than me, and I was a bit of a troublemaker. I remember he’d pull me away from getting into fights with kids way bigger than me, or when I’d talk back to teachers, the head teacher always brought the both of us in for a scolding. Something about how he should be keeping his younger cousin in check, too. Poor guy. He took it like a champ. We came to an agreement that he wouldn’t tell my parents if I stopped getting in trouble so much.”
“You’re not so unruly anymore.”
“Oh, I’ve still got a bit of a rebellious streak,” you chuckled. “Johnny always says I’m going to make him go grey. I mean, you and I are literally on a crime scene right now. And I pulled an alien out of a spaceship that was about to explode last night.”
“I suppose that’s true…” Jungwoo trailed off, brow furrowing as what looked like a schematic of some sort came up on the screen. “Hm.”
“Something wrong?”
“Mixed results.”
“What?”
“There are some bad things and some good things.”
“Tell me the bad stuff first.”
“What?”
“When somebody says ‘I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news,’ they’re supposed to let you pick if you want to hear the good news or the bad news first,” you explained the small colloquialism. “I want the bad news first, so we can end on the good stuff.”
“I see…” he hummed, clicking a few more things. “The bad news is… I will need to reconstruct the reactors and make other minor repairs.”
“And how long will that take?”
“I do not know Earth measurements of time.”
“You’ve been on Earth for one day now. How many of those do you think it’ll take?”
He took a moment to think about this, then eventually answered, “Twenty to thirty? Maybe more, maybe less, I’m unsure, I was asleep for much of the ‘day’ that I experienced.”
You nodded. “Okay. And the good news?”
“There was no serious structural damage to the hull or critical systems of the ship. Once I reconstruct the reactors and make those repairs, I will be able to leave.”
“That’s great news, Jungwoo!” You beamed, holding up a hand for him. He uncertainly put his palm against yours and laced your fingers together, eyes flicking around the ship nervously. You burst into laughter. “I wasn’t trying to hold your hand again, sorry. It’s a high-five. It’s celebratory, friendly.”
“Ah. My apologies. How do you do that, then?” He took his hand back from yours.
“I put my hand up for you, and you hit your palm to mine pretty hard. You’re trying to make a—” you clapped your own two hands together “—sound.”
“I think I understand.”
“Okay, take two.” You held your hand up, and he gingerly tapped his hand to yours. Once again, you couldn’t help but giggle fondly. “Yeah, pretty much. A for effort,” you declared. “So, anything else you need to do right now? Or is that it for tonight?”
“I wish I could begin working right now, however I will need lots of materials for the reactors.”
“Let’s get out of here, we can talk about what kind of stuff you need and where to get it on the way home.”
“So is your brother older or younger?” You asked as you and Jungwoo took a more leisurely pace back to your apartment.
“I’m sorry?” Jungwoo tilted his head, as if he hadn’t heard you, which was weird, considering he was already looking at you when you turned to ask him that.
“Your brother whose ship you took. Is he older than you or younger?”
“I… don’t know.” He frowned thoughtfully.
You balked. “You don’t know?”
“No. It’s not something we’re told on Galaria.”
“But—” You laughed out of habit as your brain tried to process this information. “What? Why?”
“It’s not important.”
“I mean, I guess not. But like, it is!”
“Why?”
“I mean, some cultures here have entire systems of honorifics that you call people based on your age relative to theirs. But just—” You were still staring at him. “Don’t you know how old your brother is?”
“I know his birthday.”
“But not how old he is?”
“I… suppose not.” He shrugged. “That’s all kept somewhere.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just difficult for me to wrap my head around. You’re not allowed to know your brother’s age—”
“I’m allowed to know,” he corrected you. “If we were to learn somehow now, it would be fine. There’s no punishment for it. But it’s just not something that we grow up knowing. Nobody is referred to as the older or younger.”
“Do you remember your brother being born?”
“No.”
“Was he in a higher grade than you in school?”
“School is based on ability, not age.” It was his turn to look at you with bewilderment. “You move up in levels as your learning progresses, not your physical body. Is that how it works here?”
“We keep kids who are the same age together, yeah.”
“Fascinating.”
“What about siblings that have big age gaps? Where you can totally tell who’s older and who’s younger?” You asked. “Or step-siblings? Like, you already knew their age and then your parents got together?”
“Again, it’s not forbidden to know a sibling’s age,” Jungwoo reiterated. “It’s just not… important.”
“So if your brother is a controversial politician… What are you?” It felt like you could ask him questions forever and never run out. “You never did tell me that earlier.”
“My profession?”
“Yeah. What do you for work?”
“Specialized cargo transport.”
“Uh…” You blinked up at him. “You know that sounds really shady, right?”
“When people need things transported across galaxies, typically under time constraints, or with specific instructions, they come to me.” He tried to explain it further.
“What kind of stuff have you transported, then?”
“Anything from fuel, to an engagement comb, to produce from someone’s home planet that they were missing after moving elsewhere,” he shrugged.
“So you’re like an intergalactic DHL driver,” you laughed. “Sounds fun, I guess. You’ve been to a lot of places, then?”
“Yes, many different planets and cities and galaxies.”
“And this is your first time on Earth?”
“I haven’t had a reason to come to this solar system before. Your planet isn’t exactly involved in intergalactic trade. So, I might not have another chance to visit.”
“Nobody’s requesting any black market Earth commodities?”
“I guess… we don’t really know what’s here. Nobody’s ever put in the effort to find out, I suppose.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again. “We’re just not interesting enough, huh? Can’t even make it on the niche alien knickknack market.”
Jungwoo smiled a little. “That tends to be a good thing, in my experience.”
The two of you were walking through a night market at that point, and you perked up as you saw a particular stall. Your dinner earlier hadn’t included a dessert for Jungwoo. You stopped him, pointing to the ice cream stand. “Ooh, hey, you want something sweet?”
“Sweet…?” He peered over the crowd to try to see what they were serving.
“Yeah, dessert. Ice cream. Want some? They’ve got toppings too.” You pulled him into the line as you talked. “You can get sprinkles and candy, or even entire brownies as toppings. And they’ve got some really good flavors.”
“Which flavor do you like?”
“Peanut butter cup and green tea are my two favorites. But you can only get one flavor at a time here,” you sighed wistfully, getting on your tiptoes to look at their options again. “I think I’m going to do green tea today…”
With your own green tea cone and Jungwoo’s peanut butter cup selection in hand, the two of you started back down the streets together. You watched with interest as Jungwoo took his first tentative lick off the scoop, his face lighting up with delight.
“It’s good!” He declared happily. “We have something similar... on Galaria.”
“If your planet is mostly frozen tundra...” you paused to eat some of your own ice cream. “Is most of your food hot or cold?”
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “I don’t know...”
“It’s okay, Jungwoo,” you laughed at how hard he seemed to be thinking about it. “I wouldn’t be able to answer that about Earth food. It wasn’t a very fair question, I think.”
“Still, I feel bad that I can’t answer your question.”
“It’s fine, really,” you promised, squeezing his arm. “It’s not going to keep me up at night.”
The next day, after another injection from Johnny on the vet’s way into work, you took Jungwoo to Yuta’s garage. There was no way you would be of any serious help when it came to furnishing him with parts for his ship, nor did you really want him just walking into your local hardware store asking for alien spaceship parts. Today seemed to be a slow day, as only one of Yuta’s coworkers was there, firmly wedged under a car on the other side of the garage, loudly playing music from a speaker, so you weren’t worried about him eavesdropping on your conversation so long as you kept your voices low. Jungwoo and Yuta had a slightly rocky start, obviously using different terminology, but eventually got on the same page, leaving you in the dust as they started going over various specifications and parts. You zoned out, taking over Yuta's chair and kicking up your feet on his workbench as you let their words go in one ear and out the other.
“Hey,” Yuta’s hand came down on your head, catching your attention again.
You craned your neck back to look up at him. “Yeah?”
“I’ve given him everything I had in stock, there’s a few things you guys will have to pick up at a shop,” he explained, and you turned around to see Jungwoo loaded up with a duffel bag that he hadn’t walked in with. “I wrote everything out so you know how to ask for it in human.”
“Thanks, Yuta.” You stood up and got out your wallet. “How much do I owe you for the parts?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What? But—”
“Hey, we all want to help him get home.” He held his hands up, backing away from your money. “Just doing my part.”
You narrowed your eyes at him knowingly. “Uh-huh... very charitable... What’s the catch?”
“Well, I’m going on this date tomorrow, and—”
“Pass.”
“You didn’t even hear me out!”
“I’m assuming the girl wants to bring a friend, you’re trying to turn it into a double date,” you snorted. “The last time I went on a double date with you—”
“No, not you,” Yuta waved you off. “Jungwoo!”
“Excuse me?”
Your friend had already sidled up to the alien, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “What do you think? Date with an Earth girl? You’re only going to be here for so long...”
You rubbed your face in exasperation. “Yuta, you do remember that we don’t want people to find out that we have an alien here, right?”
“We can say he’s from out of town.”
“What is wrong with you?” You stared at him incredulously. “Just bring Johnny, or Jae, or any of your other ten million single human loser friends.”
“You’re not Jungwoo’s mom,” Yuta snorted.
“Well, no—”
“There we go, Jungwoo, do you want to go?” Yuta focused his question on Jungwoo instead.
Jungwoo’s eyes shifted nervously between you and Yuta. “Uhm, well...”
“Okay, I hate to be crude here, but keeping in mind how your successful dates usually look, Yuta,” you cut in again pointedly, “We can’t risk exposing what Jungwoo is. Doesn’t matter if we say he’s from out of town.”
Yuta raised an eyebrow at you. “Wow, Y/N, didn’t think you’d bring up the alien dick angle first.”
You groaned as your face burned. “You’re the worst. Why’d you have to say it?”
“Pretty sure you said it—”
“Will you drop it?!”
“I don’t want to go!” Jungwoo interjected loudly, stopping yours and Yuta’s bickering. “I don’t want to go. Uhm, thank you for the invitation, Yuta, really. But I’d rather not...”
Yuta shrugged. “Alright. I’m pretty sure Doyoung’s free.”
Your skin was still on fire as you left Yuta’s garage. He didn’t end up making you pay, despite neither of you fulfilling his need for a double-date partner. You were pretty sure the embarrassment of that conversation was payment enough in his mind. As you and Jungwoo headed for the nearest hardware store, you swallowed down some of your discomfort, unable to imagine how Jungwoo was feeling in that moment.
“I’m sorry about him, Jungwoo,” you sighed. “He shouldn’t have dragged you into all that.”
He looked down at you curiously. “Do you frequently feel the need to apologize for others’ behavior?”
You blinked at him, caught off-guard. “Uhm... What?”
“You apologized for Donghyuck and Mark being excited and a bit overzealous—in your opinion—when they met me. Now you’re apologizing for Yuta asking for a favor that was inappropriate—again, in your opinion. Do you do that a lot? Feel responsible for what your friends do or say to other people?”
“Well... I mean, no,” you stared down at the shopping list in your hand hard as you thought. “I guess... I’m embarrassed that they’re not behaving better around you.”
“You’re embarrassed of your friends?”
“No, I like them. I like my friends, or I wouldn’t be their friend.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I mean... they’re not treating you like someone they just met. They’re treating you like they’ve known you for as long as they’ve known the rest of us. You’re supposed to ease into that stuff so you don’t scare people off.”
“That makes me happy,” Jungwoo declared, a soft smile on his face as he looked down at you.
“What? Why?”
“Both that your friends would want to be familiar with me and not treat me like an outsider, and that you’re afraid of their behavior making me uncomfortable,” he explained. “You don’t want me to leave. Of course that makes me happy.”
You felt your eyes widen as you looked up at him. “Well, I mean, I do want you to leave, eventually. Obviously, I want you to go home. But I mean, yeah, I want your time here to be nice, you know? I don’t want you to be back home on Galaria thinking about your time on Earth being bad.”
A strange look flickered across the spaceman’s face then, you could’ve almost sworn it was pained, before the same serene smile came back. “I think I’ll remember my time on Earth very fondly. Really.”
You looped your arm with his, trying to shake the memory of the odd look on his face from your mind, playfully bumping your shoulder into him. “Well then let’s get you off Earth so you can start looking back on it, hm?”
After getting your last few things at the hardware store, you had to wait for the sun to go down before heading back to the beach. The path down to the ship was even more treacherous now that the two of you were loaded up with supplies, but you finally made it there in one piece. Jungwoo didn’t stop in the cockpit this time, leading the way towards the back of the ship, through the narrow hallway. He pressed a button outside a doorway, then when nothing happened, pressed it again. Nothing. He banged his fist against it a couple of times, cursing under his breath.
“What’s in there?” You asked.
“It’s the crew quarters,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There’s a desk in there. We’ll be a lot more cramped working in the cockpit, but apparently this circuitry got affected too.”
“But we can still do it, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”
You turned around to head back to the front of the ship. “Then let’s get started.”
Jungwoo seemed to be able to do much of the repairs on his own. You shone the flashlight on the work area, handed him tools and parts when requested, or held small pieces so they didn’t roll away from him. It was a bit cramped sitting on the floor of the cockpit behind the seats, it obviously wasn’t designed with this purpose in mind, and Jungwoo’s long limbs only made the space feel even smaller.
“Can you move the light here?” He requested, pointing to the side of the device that was facing him.
You scooted closer, trying to maneuver your phone around without blocking his vision with it. “How’s that?”
He shook his head. “I still can’t—”
“Hold on.” You scooted around behind him instead, pointing the flashlight from over his shoulder. “What about this?”
Jungwoo was quiet for a beat, and you peered around to try to look him in the eye.
“Jungwoo?”
“That’s perfect,” he answered, eyes focused down at object in his hands. “Is your arm getting tired?”
That was the first time you really noticed the ache in your limb from holding up your phone for so long. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”
“You can rest it on my shoulder, if you want.”
“Oh, thanks.” You lowered your arm until it was propped up by his shoulder, making sure you adjusted your grip on your phone to keep your light on the same place. “Light still good?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As he kept working, you quietly watched his deft fingers move over the pieces. “So how do you know how to do all this?”
“I fly a lot,” he answered, his attention held by the parts in his hands as he was trying to precisely line up two of them.
“Yeah, but I mean, I have a driver’s license and I couldn’t change a flat tire, gun to my head, much less fix up the whole car if I crashed it off the side of a mountain,” you scoffed.
“You’re allowed to pilot a vehicle that you’re unable to repair yourself?”
“We have mechanics and stuff for that. Are you saying you’re not allowed to get your spaceship pilot’s license or whatever on Galaria without knowing how to build one from scratch?”
“You’re required to have a certain engineering proficiency to get your solo pilot’s license, yes.”
“Ah, you have a specialty license, then.”
“Yes, I do. It’s a requirement in case you ever find yourself in circumstances like this.”
“Crash landed on an alien planet and stranded with a busted ship?”
“Yes.”
You noticed that he had paused his machinations as you were talking. “Sorry, am I distracting you?”
“No, this is all I can do tonight. The adhesive needs to cure for some time before I can continue working.” He carefully set the part down. “I should be able to resume tomorrow night, I believe.”
“Sounds good to me.” You yawned and stretched your arms over your head. “I’ve got work tomorrow anyway.”
“And what job do you do?” Jungwoo asked with intrigue as the two of you stood up.
“Reception at a law firm.” You could feel your nose habitually wrinkle with disdain.
“You don’t like it?” He immediately surmised.
Thankfully, the two of you were climbing out of the ship then, and had to stay silent through your trek up from the beach. You had time to think about how to answer his question as you climbed back up to the main roadway.
Finally, as the two of you started the walk down the shoulder of the highway, you let out a huff and said, “The work is fine, I guess. Except I hate being talked down to and belittled by people on the phone who think I’m stupid just because they’re attorneys and I’m not, or because I’m a woman, or I’m young, or because I’m just a receptionist or whatever. And I hate when they start yelling at me for no fucking reason, and I hate when people are in the office and start being fucking rude to me and I’m supposed to just sit there and take it. And I hate that in between all of that, it’s fucking boring. It constantly fluctuates between being so stressful and so goddamn boring I want to bang my head against a wall either way.”
“So... you don’t like it?” he asked again, head tilted with clear confusion on his features.
“It’s a job,” you replied flatly. “I need to eat. Do you like your job?”
“Yes, quite,” he replied quietly. After a pause, he questioned, “What sort of work do you want to do, then?”
“I wish I didn’t have to.” You let out a cynical chuckle, looking up at the sparse dotting of stars above you as the hum of the city streets started up around you again. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to see more of the world, just do more, learn more. And now that I know that aliens are real—” You looked over at Jungwoo wistfully. “I don’t think I’ll ever be happy behind a desk again. You know?”
Jungwoo met your eyes, his lips parted as he couldn’t seem to respond for a moment.
You shook your head at yourself, looking back down at your feet and the concrete below them. Forcing humor back into your tone, you apologized, “Sorry, sorry. Of course you don’t know, you’re criss-crossing galaxies all the time, huh? You’ve got enough problems of your own right now anyway, you don’t need mine too.”
A large hand grabbed yours, cool to the touch and surprisingly firm as it squeezed yours. You could feel the callouses on Jungwoo’s hand where his skin pressed against yours. Shifting your gaze from your shoes back up to the alien, you furrowed your brow curiously, but made no move to pull away.
“Please, give them to me,” he said. “And when I leave, you can imagine that I’m taking all your problems with me, to somewhere very far away from here.”
It was your turn to be speechless for a moment, and the only thing that kept you from skidding to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk was the sea of other pedestrians keeping your momentum moving forward. Your skin got hotter, and you wondered if Jungwoo could feel it where he was holding your hand.
In an instinctive bid to diffuse the tension that was currently squeezing all the air from your lungs, you gave his shoulder a friendly bump as you teased, “Alright, well here’s a new problem: That’s quite possibly the most romantic thing anybody’s ever said to me, and I’m 100% sure you didn’t even do that on purpose.”
“I—”
“And our next problem—” You plowed right past whatever Jungwoo was about to say, still fighting the prickle along your skin where you knew his eyes were. “Unfortunately, it’s not Bring Your Alien to Work Day tomorrow, so do you think you’ll be okay at my apartment by yourself all day? Or do you want me to see if some of the guys can keep you company?”
“While I don’t want to inconvenience anybody, if somebody has time, I wouldn’t mind seeing more of the city.”
“Sure, I’ll find someone.” You immediately took your phone out to text your top choice.
[you: are you busy tomorrow? i need someone to hang out with jungwoo while im at work]
[yonggie: i have a few errands to run and a few of us were talking abt seeing a movie in the afternoon. he’s welcome to tag along!]
[yonggie: unless the grocery store and stuff is going too be too boring?? i can do it another day and we can do something else!]
[you: i just feel bad keeping him cooped up in my apartment by himself all day. im sure he’ll have plenty of fun going grocery shopping with you. he’s never seen a human grocery store, after all]
[yonggie: sounds like a plan! let him know i’ll be by around 10ish!]
[you: thanks yonggie, i owe you]
“Taeyong is free tomorrow,” you announced to Jungwoo. “You haven’t really met him yet, but he was there when we found you. You don’t mind tagging along with him while he runs a few errands, do you? He’ll be going all around the city, I’m sure. Oh, and it sounded like some of the guys might be doing a movie later, too.”
“Thank you, Y/N,” Jungwoo smiled down at you. “For everything.”
You smiled and lightly elbowed him again. “Like I said, I want you to have good memories of Earth.”
A few more days passed by like that, with you finding various friends to leave Jungwoo with during the day while you went to your dreadfully boring job, then the two of you would eat dinner together before heading off to the beach to work on his spaceship until late. Tonight in particular, you didn’t have much to help with, as he was able to prop up a spare flashlight you’d gotten from the hardware store for illumination as he worked.
“When do you think we’ll be done tonight?” You asked, spinning the cockpit seat around as you unfocused your eyes, letting the colorful lights become hazy blurs and streaks in your vision.
“Soon,” he answered shortly as he usually did when he was focused. “Do you have something you need to do?”
“The guys are going out.” You read the texts on your phone as they streamed in. “They invited me and you, by the way.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, Jaehyun just got promoted to assistant professor, so we’re celebrating.” You stopped your spinning to watch him work again, but found that he had stalled his ministrations. “It’ll be at least two or three nightclubs; if you’re not up for that, that’s fine.”
“They invited me?” He repeated, brow furrowed as he had clearly not been expecting that.
You couldn’t help but laugh and pat the back of his head fondly. “Yeah, Jungwoo, they like you. It’s also definitely a bit of novelty, you know—‘Hey let’s see if we can get the alien shitfaced’—but I won’t let them mess with you.”
“Yes, I’d like to go with you.” He smiled, looking back down at the contraption in his hands. “It won’t be much longer.”
Knocking on the front door of a very familiar apartment, you bounced on your toes as you waited for one of the occupants to answer. It was Johnny who opened the door, eyes lingering on Jungwoo behind you before he went to give you a hug. “Hey, kid. How are you?”
“Good, good. How are you, John?” You patted his back them dropped back down onto flat feet.
“Same old, you know?” He grinned and shrugged, then finally addressed Jungwoo. “Hey, man. How’s your side?”
“Jae!” You called into the apartment, latching onto Jungwoo’s wrist and dragging him over to Jaehyun’s closed bedroom door. You banged on the door. “Jaehyun! Come on, it’s me, your favorite!”
The door opened a second later, Jaehyun looking at you stone-faced as he buttoned up his shirt. “You claim you’re everyone’s favorite.”
“I am! Aren’t I?” You grinned.
“Can’t a guy get dressed in his own apartment in peace? Bother Johnny.” He was about to close the door in your face when you stuck your foot in the way.
“Can Jungwoo borrow some clothes?” You requested sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.
Jaehyun looked the alien up and down skeptically. “He’s already wearing my clothes.”
“He can’t go to the club in a sweatshirt and jeans!”
Your friend sighed and opened the door wider, jerking his head in a gesture for you two to come in.
“Thank you!” You squealed, pulling Jungwoo in with you.
Jaehyun sat on his bed as you started rifling through his closet for something for Jungwoo to wear. Pulling a couple shirts down first, you held them up to the spaceman, humming to yourself as you compared how they looked on them. You clicked your tongue and shook your head, putting one back and looking for another. With two new shirts, you held them up again, nodding in satisfaction. “Yeah, I like that a lot better.”
“He’s not a doll, Y/N,” Jaehyun snorted. “Go ahead, Jungwoo, you can tell her not to play dress-up with you.”
Jungwoo rubbed the back of his neck, the iridophores on his cheeks flashing as he shifted awkwardly in place. “I don’t mind it, really…”
“And that’s how I ended up as the first and only victim of Y/N’s Barber Shop when I was eight.” Johnny had joined the three of you, leaning in the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.
“You say that like your hair didn’t grow back,” you scoffed. “I didn’t take your ear off or anything.”
“Just my dignity.”
“And who gave me the scissors?”
Johnny held his hands up in surrender, making his roommate laugh.
“Johnny’s always been a pushover when it comes to Y/N,” Jaehyun explained to Jungwoo, still chuckling. “Ever since they were kids.”
“Alright guys, listen up!” You called for their focus loudly. “This is going to be one of the most important questions I ask you in our entire lives.”
Johnny and Jaehyun gave you two very similar amused but attentive looks, while Jungwoo beheld you with absolutely rapt attention.
You held up the two shirts that you had narrowed your selection to for Jungwoo. “White lace or black silk?”
“He’s not wearing those jeans, is he?” Johnny cocked his head.
“God no,” you shook your head. “Or the sneakers. I’m thinking simple black pants and boots. His necklace will go good with both, right?” You pointed to the gold transcoder that rested below his collarbones.
“White.” Jaehyun pointed.
“Black.” Johnny shrugged.
“Helpful.” You glared at them. Turning to Jungwoo, you held up the tops. “What do you think? Do you even like them at all? These are just my favorites, you can pick something else if you want.”
“I like them,” Jungwoo reassured you, fingertips gently running over the front of one shirt, then the other. “Which is your favorite?”
“I think the black silk?” You appraised it again. “Yeah, I like the neckline, and I think the material will move really nice for a night out, you know?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
You handed him that hanger and put the other back in the closet where you found it. Looking at the owner of the room, you prompted, “Jae, you’ll get him the right pants and stuff, right?”
“Sure,” he nodded and stood up, teasing glint in his eye. “It’s not like we’re meant to be celebrating my accomplishments tonight or anything. I’m just a butler, really.”
“Great, thanks!” You grinned back, traipsing out of the room with Johnny.
A few minutes later, Jaehyun joined the two of you in the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling his shoes on. “So, anything new, Y/N?” He asked innocently.
“You mean, other than the alien living in my apartment?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Not really, work’s the same.”
“You’re still at that shit place?” Johnny didn’t hide his distaste of your workplace.
“Yup.” You replied flatly.
“I thought you said you were looking for new jobs.”
“One, you said that. I didn’t agree to anything. Two, I am, the job market sucks right now, John.”
“Have you even interviewed anywhere? Submitted your résumé?”
“God, not this again…” Jaehyun groaned from his spot between you two on the couch.
“Not everybody can inherit a veterinary practice once their mentor retires and have their life made,” you snapped, turning to glare at Johnny pointedly.
“My life’s made? I’m still paying off my student loans, you know that, right?” He scoffed. “Not to mention how much free morphine I’ve been giving your buddy in there just the past few days.”
“I told you I’ll pay you back once he’s better, you said not to worry about it, and now you’re holding it over my head!” You said in disbelief. “God, this is just like you!”
“‘Just like me?’”
“Yes, you always nag me about shit like you think I can’t do anything, and insist on handling things for me instead of letting me do it, then just turn right around to use that as further proof that I can’t do anything on my own!” You were about to launch to your feet when Jaehyun caught your arm and urged you back into your seat.
“Woah, woah,” Jaehyun looked back and forth between you two. “Time out. You’re both right and you’re both wrong. Johnny, we get that you’re coming from a good place, but obviously Y/N feels patronized with the way you treat her. Y/N, Johnny has a lot going on too that you’re ignoring on purpose to make him seem like the bad guy, which also isn’t fair.”
Johnny pushed some of his hair out of his face as he stared ahead at the TV across the room, obviously refusing to meet your eyes now. You crossed your arms over your chest and flopped back against the cushions, not looking at either of them. You’ve never been great at apologizing first.
“You two aren’t making up before we go out, are you?” Jaehyun rubbed his face.
“No.” “Nope.”
Jaehyun’s bedroom door opened then, Jungwoo hesitantly stepping out, still fussing with the shirt. When he looked up, the searching look fell from his face as he obviously could sense the tension in the room, turning cautious instead.
“Is everything alright?” While his question was general, his eyes were focused on you when he asked.
“Yeah, Jungwoo!” You forced a cheery smile again, jumping to your feet as you appraised his outfit. “I love being right. It looks so handsome on you!”
“Ah, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck again as you walked around him, brushing off a spare piece of fluff from his back. “Thank you.”
“What do you guys think?” You asked the other two proudly, looping your arm with Jungwoo’s.
“Yeah, he looks—”
“Fine. Can we go now?” Johnny cut his roommate off, grabbing his keys and walking over to the door.
“Rude,” you muttered under your breath, but followed the other two with a roll of your eyes nevertheless.
“Congrats!” Everybody cheered in unison, clinking their glasses together.
“Thanks, guys,” Jaehyun beamed at you all, bringing his drink to his lips.
“So are you like tenure track now, or what?” Doyoung prompted him eagerly.
“Yes, I am,” he announced proudly. “I’m no longer instructional, I’m academic.”
All your friends let out a chorus of jesting but supportive ‘ooh’s at that, and you squeezed his arm from beside him. “Look at you, a real academic now. Knew that big head was good for something.”
“You little—” He went to tousle your hair. You let out an ‘eep!’ and jerked away from his hand, back into Jungwoo on your other side.
“Sorry!” You laughed through your apology to the alien, patting his arm as he hadn’t been knocked very far back at least. “You alright, Jungwoo?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” he reassured you with a fond smile.
“Now, are you absolutely sure you can have that?” You pointed to the drink that you had helped him order. After realizing that for some reason he immediately knew what morphine was, but his transcoder was failing on what alcohol was, you’d explained the drink—with some assistance from your friends and Google—to him to make sure it wasn’t going to kill him, but you noticed that he hadn’t yet actually taken a sip yet.
“Yes, yes.” He lifted the glass again.
“If morphine doesn’t get you high, I wonder if alcohol is even going to do anything to do you,” Johnny mused, slowly nursing his liquor.
“Take it slow, drink water, and even though we ate before we came, keep eating while we’re here, okay?” You told Jungwoo, shooting Johnny a glare over the spaceman’s shoulder.
He nodded, and with that, you grabbed your own drink, clinked it to his one more time, and drained half of it in one go. You watched his face carefully, both for any sign that he was in imminent danger, and in the vent that he was fine, if he liked the drink you’d picked. You’d chosen a cocktail on the sweeter side for him, a fruity, bubbly, unnaturally bright colored one that a couple of the guys had snickered at, which he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about. Jungwoo didn’t immediately go into anaphylactic shock, which you pocketed as a win. Just like when he tried Nutella for the first time, his eyes widened with delight before he went back in for more.
You couldn’t help but laugh and pat his head fondly. “Pace yourself,” you reminded him.
He set it down and smiled sheepishly. “Right. Thanks.”
Hyuck and Yuta had disappeared at some point, as they were now returning to your table with a round of shots for everybody. You shook your head, but picked yours up and knocked it back with everyone else. Jungwoo watched you, taking your lead. While the rest of you had various hisses and negative reactions to the tequila you were now realizing they had gotten you, Jungwoo seemed unaffected by the burn as he calmly set the shot glass down.
“Ugh, did you guys get motor oil or something?” Johnny pushed his glass away from him with distaste.
“Cheapest shit they had,” Yuta informed him smugly. “Afraid real motor oil tastes better than that.”
“I’m going to get us some waters,” you told Jungwoo before slipping off into the crowd.
You watched the bartender quickly fill up your two glasses with ice, then water. Right as he had pushed them over to you, you became aware of someone sidling up to you at the bar and grabbing your hip. You whipped around and jerked away to put distance between yourself and the newcomer, a complete stranger to you.
He chuckled at how he had startled you, stepping closer to you once again. “Woah, sorry, baby.”
“It’s fine,” you replied flatly, reaching for your waters to turn to leave.
“Hey, I did want to talk to you.”
“No thanks.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t want to.” You didn’t like that he had started shifting in front of you, putting himself between you and the rest of the club, blocking you against the bar.
“Y/N!” A familiar voice called your name as a taller figure pushed past the stranger, securing your arm in his hand. Johnny fixed the man with a hard stare before looking at you again, “There you are. Come on, we’re toasting Jaehyun again.”
“Right,” you smiled up at your friend, letting him half-pull you away from the bar. The other man didn’t say a word, letting you go as he disappeared into the crowd as well.
Halfway back to your table, you reluctantly mumbled a sharp ‘thanks’ to Johnny’s back. He must’ve heard you somehow over the thumping music, as he looked back over his shoulder at you, his eyes softening for just a moment as he nodded once, before continuing to clear a path for the two of you back to your other friends.
You wormed your way back into your spot between Jungwoo and Jaehyun, pushing Jungwoo’s glass against his arm. “Here.”
“Thank you.” His eyes didn’t leave you, seemingly scanning you over with worry. “Are you alright?”
“Huh? Yeah, fine.” You shook your head to clear away the memory.
“I’m sorry, I realized that man was making you uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure what to do. Johnny told me to stay here while he went over.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Jungwoo.” You assured him. “We can't have you getting punched defending me and bleed blue all over the place. Thanks for keeping an eye on me and telling Johnny, though.”
“But—”
“Hey, you know what?” You flashed him a smile, already starting to feel warm and airy from the alcohol. “I want to dance. How about you come with? Creepy guys should stay away if I’m already with someone.”
“Sure,” he nodded for you to lead the way.
You grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the table and into the outer edge of the dance floor. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you tilted your head, “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, should I…?”
You took his hands that were uncertainly hovering in the air and put them on your hips before returning your own to his shoulders. “There. Also, sorry.”
“For what?”
As soon as his question was out of his mouth, you inadvertently stepped on his foot, a sheepish smile flashing across your face. “I’m not a very good dancer,” you admitted. “Sorry.”
He chuckled. “That’s okay.”
“Hey, you’re pretty good,” you laughed as he kept up with the rhythm and also kept you from being a general hazard.
“Thank you.”
“Do you have places like this where you’re from?” You were careful not to say anything out of the ordinary to hint that ‘where he was from’ was actually outer space.
“Residents from elsewhere have brought similar nightclubs to our larger cities,” he informed you. “I’ve visited a few.”
“You a party boy?” You grinned.
“I’m not sure about that,” he was smiling as well. “But I’m enjoying myself with you, Y/N. Thank you.”
“I’m having fun too, Jungwoo,” you replied sincerely. Your toe caught on his shoe then, and you squeaked as you stumbled forward towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck to catch yourself from completely face-planting into his collarbone. His hands on your waist steadied you, and you smiled up at him sheepishly. “Sorry. Thanks.”
“You’re not usually this clumsy.”
“I’m a bit tipsy,” you whispered loudly. “Alcohol and motor function… not good.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Can I stay right here?” You requested sweetly, watching his patches of iridescent freckles flash and sparkle in the lights that pulsed across the dance floor. “You’re surprisingly sturdy, and your irido-irido—you know—are so pretty…”
“Of course,” Jungwoo readjusted to hold you more securely. “Do you want to sit down?”
“No.” You shook your head, starting to sway in his arms to the music. “I like this song.”
A warm puff of air washed over your ear as he chuckled. “I like it too.”
Sometime later in the night, you were sat in a booth at a different nightclub, slowly draining a water that Doyoung had pushed in front of you. Your other friends were somewhere in the club, only Jungwoo next to you. His cheeks were a little pink, but that could easily be from the body heat, as you were pretty sure you hadn’t seen him drink anything but water since your first stop of the night.
“Hey, Jungwoo?” You looked over at him with your cheek in your palm, supported by your elbow on the table.
“Yes?” He met your gaze without hesitation.
“Do—” You were cut off by a hiccup. “Do you think you’ll remember me? After you leave, once it’s been a while?”
“What?” He blinked at you, face turning oddly stern as he placed his hand over yours on the table. “Yes, Y/N. I don’t think I could ever forget you.”
“Oh. Do Galarii have photographic memory or something?”
“No.”
“But…” Another hiccup. “Don’t you go to all these places and meet so many people and do all sorts of stuff all the time? Like, of course I’m gonna remember the one alien I ever met, but why would you—”
Jungwoo turned to hold your hand with both of his. “Do you really think that you’re so insignificant? Or that I’m so… indifferent?”
“No, Jungwoo, I just—” You took your hand back to brush your fingertips over his iridophores under one eye. “I guess it’s kinda like how you don’t think these are anything special.”
“Y/N, if you remember only one thing from meeting me, please…” He shifted forward slightly, nothing but sincerity on his features. “No matter where I’ve gone, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t special. Including you.”
You felt your bottom lip quiver, and regretted that last shot you let Yuta and Donghyuck talk you into. As soon as you blinked, the tears fell, rolling quickly down your cheeks. You buried your face in Jungwoo’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of the silk material of his shirt.
“I’m… sorry?” He said quietly, gingerly patting your back.
“She crying?” Johnny’s voice came from behind you.
“Yes, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, she’s an emotional drunk after she’s partied herself out,” Johnny reassured the alien. A gentle hand landed on your head. “Hey, Y/N, time to go home.”
“That’s my shirt!” Jaehyun said indignantly, having also returned to your booth.
“I’ll clean it before I return it,” Jungwoo promised.
“Y/N,” Johnny called for you again in a sing-songy tone. “Come on, let’s go home.”
You lifted your head enough to sloppily wipe at your face, Jungwoo helping to push some hair back. Squinting at Johnny, you asked, “You’re taking me home?”
“Yeah, I’m taking you home,” he confirmed.
“But I thought you were mad at me?”
“I’m never that mad, kid, promise.”
“Do you need help, Johnny?” Jaehyun offered, then looked at Jungwoo. “Or are you going now too?”
“I’m going back with her,” Jungwoo immediately replied.
Johnny helped you scoot out of the booth, and on uneasy feet, you threw your arms around Jaehyun to give him one final congrats. Johnny took you back from your professor friend to half-guide, half-carry you out of the nightclub, Jungwoo following behind. Out front, Johnny cursed under his breath as he looked around.
“Jungwoo.” He waved the alien over. “Stay with her while I bring the car around, will you?”
“Of course.” Jungwoo immediately took your arm from Johnny’s grasp, steadying you as you swayed in place. Johnny gave the two of you one last uncertain look before taking off around the corner. You stepped closer to Jungwoo, leaning your weight against him as you let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry about him…” You said. “He should be nicer to you.”
“It’s okay,” Jungwoo responded, shifting to support you with an arm around your waist as your knees buckled for a moment. “He’s concerned for you, which I’m glad for.”
“I wish he’d stop treating me like a kid, though,” you huffed. “He literally calls me ‘kid.’”
“Is this why you were so curious that I didn’t know if my brother was older or younger?”
“Does he treat you like a grown-up?”
“He had some concerns with my career path at first,” he informed you, some amusement in his tone. “But I also worry for his safety.”
“I worry about Johnny,” you insisted. “I just… don’t make him feel stupid for it when I do.”
Johnny’s car stopped in front of you two then, and Jungwoo helped you into the backseat. He gently brushed your hands away so he could do your seatbelt for you—which took a few attempts, admittedly—and let you rest your head on his shoulder for the entire ride back to your apartment.
After a lot of insisting, you finally got Johnny to leave your home. You were tucked into bed in your pajamas with a glass of water, and heard Jungwoo eventually close the front door behind Johnny.
“Jungwoo!” You called for the alien loudly, not really caring about the time or your neighbors.
“Yes?” His head immediately poked into your room, eyes focused on you attentively.
“C’mere.” You patted the empty space next to you. He walked over to sit down, but as soon as he had, you shooed him away, “Wait, no! You should get into your pajamas too.”
“Alright. One moment.” He nodded and smiled softly. A few minutes later, Jungwoo emerged from the bathroom no longer in Jaehyun’s nice clothes but in Jaehyun’s sweatpants and t-shirt. He sat down cross-legged on top of the covers. “Better?”
“I’m tired,” you rolled over onto your side towards him.
“I’ll let you rest, then.” He moved to get off the bed, but you grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“Wait.” You yawned. “Can you stay for a bit?”
“As long as you wish.” He acquiesced easily.
“Can you…” Another yawn. “Can you tell me some more about Galaria?”
He shifted the arm that you had grasped to hold your hand instead. “Sure. If you’ll close your eyes.”
“You’re trying to make me go to sleep.”
“Hmm, maybe,” he hummed.
You snickered, but let your eyelids flutter shut anyway. “Hey, Jungwoo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really gonna miss you once you go.” You squeezed his hand as you shifted around to get comfortable under your covers.
There was a stretch of silence so long that you were almost tempted to open your eyes again, but before you could, he squeezed your hand back and spoke again, voice sounding slightly strained, “I’ll miss you too, Y/N. A lot.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “So, Galaria…”
In the morning, you groaned before you even had a single human thought. You instinctually rolled away from your window, where the faintest halo of light was coming in from around your curtains, burying your face into your pillow. And then your stomach lurched. Heaving yourself to your feet with some speed, you hurried into your bathroom, not even bothering with the light before kneeling at the toilet. Thankfully, nothing came back up, and after a few minutes, you got back to steady-ish feet. Looking back at your dim bedroom, you saw it devoid of anybody else, which you were mildly surprised about. You faintly remembered going to sleep with Jungwoo sitting next to you. He had no clue about human customs, for all you knew, Galarii wouldn’t have thought it strange to share a bed. You knocked back something for your stomach and the pounding in your head before treading out towards the living room. You were going to feel a little uneasy until you put eyes on your alien houseguest.
He was sitting upright on the couch, and stood up as soon as he saw you walking out, a relieved smile on his features. “Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling? Johnny said I should make you breakfast—”
“That’s alright, Jungwoo, I’m not very hungry right now,” you admitted. “Maybe later. How are you? Anything from the alcohol?”
“I’m fine.” He frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly, I’m not feeling well, Jungwoo.” You touched your forehead, giving him an apologetic smile. “I think I’m going to lay down for a bit. Will you be good out here?”
He looked at you anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a headache. I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “Do you need anything before I—”
“Can I go with you?”
“…Into my room? That’s right down the hall? While I nap off a hangover?” You arched an eyebrow, pointing at your bedroom next to the living room.
He nodded.
“What? Did you imprint on me like a baby duck or something?” You joked, stretching and yawning.
“I don’t know what ducks are nor the imprinting habits of their young, but yes.”
“You don’t really need to know what ducks are, but baby ducks—Wait, what?!” Your brain finally processed the rest of his words, and you stared at him wide-eyed.
“I’m not sure if the term is used the same, but I imagine it’s a similar concept.”
“You think I’m your mom?!”
It was his turn to look at you with bewilderment. “No, of course not.”
You put a hand over your chest, relieved. “Okay, God, I had a heart attack.”
“You’re my mate,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?!” And your blood pressure was back through the roof.
“Lover? I’m not sure the term…” Jungwoo scratched the back of his neck.
You held your hands out defensively, trying to calm yourself down more than anyone else. “Jungwoo, look, we just met like a few days ago.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“That’s not nearly enough time to say we’re soulmates or anything.”
His face lit up. “Ahh, soulmates? Is that the word?”
“No!” You immediately shot that down. “Don’t start calling me that.”
“Y/N—”
“What even is this imprinting? Like how do you know it’s happened? Do you do it on purpose? Because if you did, you’ve got to ask people’s permission before doing that kind of thing, dude.”
“It’s not something we have control over. So no, I did not do it intentionally.”
“Oh. Okay.” That only calmed you down marginally.
“It’s…” Jungwoo sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he tried to figure out his words. “I didn’t realize it at first. When you dragged me out of my ship and I first saw you, everything was different. I thought it was the new atmosphere, new gravity, that my body was just adjusting.”
“What do you mean, ‘different’? Different how?”
“Colors are brighter around you—”
“That’s just some cheesy pickup line. It was pitch black when I found you.”
“No, really. Our species’ senses are sharpened around our—”
“Don’t.”
“—when we’ve imprinted, around whoever we’ve imprinted on. To better protect them,” he explained cautiously. “Again, I thought I was just getting used to your planet, but I always know where you are—”
“I tell you where I’m going when I leave.”
“I don’t mean like that. It’s stronger the closer you are, but I just always have this feeling, of where you are. I know you left work yesterday afternoon to go down the street, then went back.”
“I went to the convenience store on my lunch break,” you confirmed with a huff. “Assuming you’re telling the truth and aren’t actively stalking me, I’m guessing that would be another… mechanism to protect that person? That you’re… you know.”
“Yes.”
“What’s even the point of imprinting on me? Or anybody that’s not another Galarii?” You crossed your arms. “My eyes work just fine when you’re not around, and the only way I’d know exactly where you were if I couldn’t see you would be chipping you like a dog.”
“I don’t know.”
You shook your head. “So… you all are just, what? Celibate? Until you eventually find someone to imprint on?”
“Casual relationships aren’t unusual, though many don’t see a point in having such a relationship before imprinting.” He immediately became even more serious. “I’m not inexperienced sexually, if that’s a concern.”
“Oh, God, no!” You covered your face with two hands and groaned. “I was just wondering like… How do you know this imprinting thing is for real? Like, you’re actually ending up with someone good for you, if you don’t have any sort of reference to draw from on what sort of person you like, what you want and don’t want in a relationship?”
“We don’t have to know before, because we’re not picking our… lifelong companion, like I understand you humans do.”
You blinked at him. “Marriage. You’re talking about marriage.”
“Yes. You have to have this set of parameters before you prepare for… marriage. We’re not choosing, so we don’t need such standards. We find.”
“Yeah, but why me? What is it about me that activated your imprinting or whatever the hell?” You couldn’t help the shiver that went up your spine when you said it. “Shouldn’t that be something that only other members of your species can do? Like, evolution-wise?”
“That’s something that my species is still investigating.”
“God, okay…” You rubbed your temples. “Well, my head fucking hurts. I’m going to lay down—alone.”
“Of course.” Jungwoo nodded and stepped back, sitting down on the far side of the couch from you.
Your bed smelled like Jungwoo. You couldn’t nap like this, or even rest your eyes. But you didn’t want to go back out there yet, needing time to let your brain turn over what you’d just been told. So you laid in your bed that smelled like Jungwoo and scrolled on your phone, absentmindedly chewing on the skin around your thumbnail.
SYNOPSIS: Growing up, you’ve only had one best friend that you would call your family. Park Sunghoon. He was your partner in crime, your best friend, your ride or die, he was everything. You and him did almost anything and everything together, practically attached to the hip, and that included swimming too. As years passed, you and him both turned out to be outstanding swimmers that had a promising career ahead. All was well until one unforgettable day that broke your lifelong friendship, turning it into anger and hatred instead. With the Olympics coming up, you had unexpected news about Sunghoon joining your team. Worst of all, you had to work alongside him for the mixed medley relay event. One dream, one goal, a childhood wish you and him shared, will that be successfully achieved when you and him could barely bear standing next to each other?
PAIRINGS: pro-swimmer!sunghoon x pro-swimmer!afab!reader
GENRE: childhood friends to enemies to lovers, sports au, angst, romance, slow burn, forced proximity
WARNING(S): mentions of drinking/alcohol, profanities, (lots of) miscommunication
WC: 28k
PLAYLIST: suburban legends by taylor swift, heartburn by wafia
AUTHOR'S NOTE: after 4 months of not posting, i've vomited out 28k for y'all! i hope you guys will like this one and do forgive me for my lack of swimming knowledge helpp, i tried with my years of swimming! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx
Was it possible to wake up from a dream that happened to be your reality?
Standing in the national aquatics training centre, the swimming pool where you've practically resided was glistening under the bright lights. Contrary to them, you were anything but bright, a sudden dread befalling your expressions.
Coming into your first day of the three months long and last training before the Olympics, you were anticipating for it to be a peaceful, fun day that would end with your muscles aching. However, the moment you stepped onto the training ground, being the first to reach, your coach had already decided to break a rather dreadful news.
"Come on, Y/N, it's nothing too bad," Jeon Jungkook, your young coach that retired early from competing and also the reason for your countless success, was trying his best to reassure you. It wasn't working.
"Not 'too bad'? Being in the same national team with him is already a sight for sore eyes to me. Now you're telling me I have to train with him under you? Together?"
Your coach was rubbing the side of his head, the early morning and the shrillness of your voice wasn't a favourable pairing to him. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but if it wasn't for Yeonjun's sudden injury, he wouldn't have to be replaced for the mixed relay,"
"Well, if only he didn't get drunk and fell off his bike," you muttered under your breath, never once taking account that this would be the consequences you were suffering from his actions. That was until this moment.
There came a sigh coming from Jungkook, his arms were crossed and he was resting his weight on one leg. "I know you and him don't get along, but I've discussed this with Coach Kim and we thought that if I replaced Yeonjun with him, it's the best decision. Plus, both of you are Olympic medallists, having two star swimmers in a team isn't all that bad,"
You were silent, stubbornly keeping quiet at the fact that you knew he was right. Of course he was, he's been your coach for years, he has his ways of choosing his words correctly when it comes to you. He knew of your drive to win, the hunger to win gold and nothing else. With a cold, hard fact that Jungkook had slapped onto your face, you had no choice but to consider and forcefully accept.
"You two have history together. Years of history. There's chemistry whether or not you like it. Period," Jungkook waved his arms around, smiling at you as if trying his best to make you feel better. "There's one thing you can't deny. Winning. When there's winners, you mix them together, then what do you get? Medals,
"So, I'm begging you, Y/N. Put up with Park Sunghoon for a few months, another few rounds at the Olympics, then we're done, he'll be back at Coach Kim. Alright?"
"But—"
"End of discussion. Go change up, I'm sure the others will be here soon, including Sunghoon, so you better not throw a tantrum," he pointed his finger at you, wagging it at you accusingly to which you responded with a discreet eye roll.
"Yes, coach."
Even in the locker, you found yourself mulling about at the thought of training with Park Sunghoon again. That name itself has sent you waves of chills countless times.
Park Sunghoon was your childhood friend. Having been your neighbour since birth, your mothers were naturally the reason why you were even friends in the first place. You were barely five when your mother placed you in the local swim club for training, then not long after, Sunghoon joined too.
Your lives mainly revolved around two things. Swimming and each other. Basically, you and him were inseparable. You shared the same coach as him even after entering your teen years. Whether it was the swim club or the youth national team, there was nothing anyone could do to separate you and him in terms of swimming or every aspect in general. Hell, you and him both specialised in the same stroke as well, breaking out into the scene to be the best prospects, earning a reputation for yourselves swiftly. Your friendship itself was known by all too. 'Star swimmers', that was what people called you and Sunghoon.
That was until a particular Wednesday in 2018 that made your nearly sixteen years of friendship with him crumble into ashes.
"I'm switching coaches. I'm switching clubs."
You remembered it clearly. It was just after nine o'clock at night when you were done showering, ready to leave and head home with Sunghoon. Yet, his words echoed in the silence of the training centre then.
"What?"
"I just don't think it's working out,"
"Sunghoon—" you never once called his full name unless it was a serious situation, "the Youth Olympic games is literally in a week. What are you even saying?"
"I don't want to lose anymore, Y/N. Do you know it feels like working my body till the point of breaking just for me to get beaten by someone better. I need to get better," his composure was breaking, you could tell, the clenched fists by his side was turning white.
Your eyes widened at the tone of his voice, but your frown only deepened at his words, nothing was making sense to you. "You're jeopardising the team!"
"I've discussed this with the coaches, I've got permission from the higher ups,"
"You're … you're selfish," you said slowly, unable to speak any longer at the shock of his sudden news. "You never bothered to discuss this with me either,"
"I don't need to,"
"So, you're disregarding our friendship altogether? We promised to tell each other everything!"
"Oh, grow up, Y/N. We were six when we said that, this is different. We're different now,"
In that split second was when a hard realisation hit you. He changed. It was almost as if the person that he once was had died overnight, revealing someone new that shared the same physical traits. Was it the results of the last competition you had days ago that made him turn into this? You never knew him losing would've affected him this badly. That was one thing about Sunghoon, he was never outspoken about his feelings and thoughts.
"You're right. You're no longer the person I know."
That was the last time you ever had a conversation with him face-to-face. The change was drastic. One day he was walking home with you and the next he wasn't even in your life, barely acknowledging each other at competitions. It was legendary, but it was momentary. To say it has taken a toll on you was an understatement. If it wasn't for your mother's consolation, you wouldn't have shown up for training and eventually won at the Youth's game.
Six years. Six, long miserable years of ignoring each other.
The year you were called up to the senior national team was the same year that he did too. It was evident that there was tension between you and him, there was no need for a second look for someone to determine that. You knew rumours were bound to fly, it has been ever since your split with him.
You hate to admit that what he did was right too. Since the day he changed coaches and clubs, he has been improving and climbing higher. Gold was the only colour hanging around his neck at almost every competition he was in. Maybe you were the selfish one after all, secretly wishing he never left in the first place because you were scared of losing him. Well, who knew the fear in that moment turned into your instant reality? Seeing his success only made you bite back on your words of calling him selfish.
The first Olympics you attended in Tokyo was an experience to say the least. Winning two silver and one bronze, your hunger for gold only grew bigger. Everyone in the team had expected either you or Sunghoon to bring back the gold medal, but none of you did, and by then, there was an unspoken rivalry that started from the moment people placed their expectations on you and him.
Three years later in the present day, you couldn't believe he was becoming your teammate and training under the same coach again. Crazy how things could change in a blink of an eye, huh? Your main concern, however, wasn't facing Sunghoon, but whether or not he'd fit into the relay team with only three months of training and no prior experience.
"Well, if it isn't the Y/N L/N being the first to arrive as always," The sound of your teammates' heavy footsteps entered the locker room, Yujin's voice in particular echoed through it, entering your sight at once. "How have you been?"
"Great, been living and sleeping in the pool," you snickered sarcastically, patting Yujin's back in greeting. "I heard you took a long break from your club after the championships,"
"I did, and my muscles are dying to touch the water,"
"She caused a lot of ruckus at the club for that," Yunjin joined into the conversation after setting her bags down, nudging her club and national teammate. "I'm glad we're all back, three months and then Paris, isn't that a dream?"
"It definitely is. I can't wait for the Eiffel tower," Yujin smiled with a dazed look, you and Yunjin only exchanged a silent glance at one another.
"Not the gold medal?"
"That too,"
"I see where your priorities lie,"
"Whatever," she waved her hand at your response, reaching for her swimsuit. "Anyway, did you hear the news from coach?"
"I did," you wrapped your towel tighter around your body, the cold prickling at your skin now that you were in your swimsuit.
"You don't seem very happy," Yunjin pointed out as she changed into her swimwear, it was then when you became aware of the frown on your face. "The guys are excited,"
"I'm trying to be happy," you grumbled. At this point, there was no hiding the previous history you had with him, almost everyone knew about you and him, the star athletes since teen years had suddenly stopped interacting, obviously that would catch people's eyes and turn into gossip.
"Didn't you have some … fallout with him before?"
"You know about it?"
"Y/N, I hate to say it but the whole nation's swimmers are probably aware of it," Yujin walked up to you and passed your goggles to you. "Word spreads fast even during the youth training camps, but I'm sure there's a reason behind your fall out with him, we won't pry,"
"I'm a little curious though," Yunjin added, throwing her towel around her shoulder, unaware of Yujin's pointed glare at her bluntness.
"It's quite petty really, I'm surprised you never heard it from any of my club teammates," you pressed your lips into a thin line, shifting your stance uneasily. "He wanted to leave the club before a big competition, I mean, I get where he's coming from, but I was hurt that he didn't tell me beforehand. I thought it was unfair, we were friends for so long. We said some hurtful things to each other, and things were never the same after," your heart unknowingly tightened at your inner thoughts about the whole fight, telling the story years after made you reflect on it with regret.
"Do you forgive him?"
"If it meant having my best friend back, I would, but I don't know if he feels the same as I do."
Walking out of the locker room took a huge amount of courage and strength for you to not turn around running. The thought of seeing and interacting with Sunghoon pained you to a great level. Not because you hated him, but mainly the awkwardness and tension that was hard to rid.
You saw the rest of your teammates by the pool, Anton and Juyeon were too engaged in their conversations to realise Yunjin running up to them with her arms wide open. "Boys!" She engulfed the three men in her arms, startling them and almost had them falling back into the pool.
"Gosh, you're never going to stop doing that, aren't you?" Anton patted Yunjin's arm, smiling at his senior as she let go.
"Never,"
The two men greeted Yujin first before turning their attention to you, straightening their spines and giving you a salute. "Y/N,"
"Hey guys, doing good?" You gave each of their shoulders a pat in greeting, receiving firm nods from them as a response. They took the chance to immediately bombard you with questions about your practices and competitions, sharing their own stories about what they were up to as well.
"Y/N, I heard someone's going to snatch your spot in the mixed relay," Anton, the backstroke swimmer and your mixed relay teammate, was referring to Sunghoon's addition to the team. Your endless worries about Sunghoon becoming your teammate had you forgetting about the thing you should actually be worrying about: your position.
"Like hell Y/N is going to give up her spot easily," Yujin came to your defence with her arms thrown around your shoulder. "Isn't that right?" She turned her head to look at you, poking your cheek with a finger.
"What I'm saying is, Y/N could potentially fill in for Yeonjun's spot too. She's also a breaststroke specialist and Sunghoon's last win in the championship was him breaking the world record for freestyle. I'm just saying maybe—just maybe—this combo would be something exciting,"
Yujin, the butterfly swimmer in the mixed relay team, frowned slightly at his argument, though debatable, she didn't seem to think the idea as fit. "The second leg is usually swam by men, it'd be a disadvantage to have a woman swim it. Based off the statistics, it'd be a shit show of a strategy,"
"I'm afraid she's right," you shrugged, heaving a deep sigh at the struggle your team was facing before training even started. "There's no way coach would do that,"
"Then is Sunghoon supposed to really swim the second leg?"
"Duh, who else? He got picked specifically, out of many other people, to replace Yeonjun, I'm sure there's a reason behind it," Yujin gave your shoulder a light squeeze. "Not to mention, he's got a reputation for being a good breaststroker too,"
"Right, he got second place in Tokyo, didn't he? Just like you did, Y/N," Anton's gaze landed on your rather sullen face, the memories of Tokyo where you found out you won the same amount of medals in the same categories as Sunghoon came flying back into your mind.
The thought of it was laughable, how were you still telepathically connected with him from then up until this moment. It was your childhood with him to blame at the end of the day. You were the one to influence him and made him fall in love with your two favourite strokes: freestyle and breaststroke. Who knew you would land yourself in a position where you potentially had to fight him for your position?
"Y/N will always be our freestyle master in the last leg, okay? No competitions needed. Our first training together will speak for itself," Yujin glanced at you briefly, checking up on you after your momentary silence. You gave her a smile, reaching for her hand that sat on your shoulder.
Soon after, the distant sound of your coach's voice slowly became louder as he approached closer. He was talking to someone, the second voice obviously belonged to the person everyone was waiting for, the addition of a star swimmer into the team instantly raised your teammates' expectations and hopes. Everyone else in the room were giving each other knowing glances at the anticipation of Sunghoon's arrival—except for you.
You were holding your breath, mentally counting down the seconds while the footsteps of your coach and the person who was once your best friend were nearing. Every one of you instinctively lined up in a row as always, awaiting Coach Jeon's arrival.
You didn't dare to blink. Lo and behold, Park Sunghoon entered the room with your coach by his side, the strong presence of an Olympic medallist and world championship winner filled the room. It was hard to deny that his presence alone was influential.
"Morning, everyone. As you may know, we'll be having a new addition—or replacement—to the team. Everyone please welcome Sunghoon,"
Following his words, there were enthusiastic claps with a sprinkle of shouts from the guys. Sunghoon was trying his best to keep up with the overwhelming atmosphere from his new teammates, most of which were familiar faces considering they were all from the national team, the only difference was the coaches they train under. That was until now.
You were standing to the far left, furthest away from the center where Sunghoon was. Were you a coward for avoiding him? That was partially the truth, but all those years of ignoring one another, brushing past each other at every national and international competitions, you weren't the only one at fault. He was also a coward that claimed he was a lion.
Jungkook patted Sunghoon's back in encouragement, giving the latter a push for him to introduce himself. "Nice to meet everyone, I'm Park Sunghoon. It's my first time training with you all, so I'm apologising in advance if there's any mistakes made on my part. I hope we'll be able to get along well and bring home some gold medals from Paris,"
The team erupted in passionate cheers and applause from Sunghoon's self-introduction. It was clear everyone shared the same goal: a gold medal at the Olympics.
"Alright, so I think everyone already somewhat knows each other, am I correct?" Jungkook looked between Sunghoon and his group of swimmers, both of which nodded and responded with a chorus of 'yes'. "How about a fresh introduction? A friendly way to warm up to one another,"
'Friendly' was one way to put it and he was definitely directing it at you.
Juyeon, who stood on the furthest to the right, started his introduction first. "I'm Lee Juyeon, butterfly swimmer, we met at the youth championship before,"
"Right, we did, nice to see you again, man," Sunghoon and Intak shared a firm handshake before moving onto Anton. The introductions were all brief, but there were also friendly gestures exchanged. Not long after, you were the last and only one left to introduce yourself.
If you could describe the exact moment Sunghoon met your eyes for the first time in nearly six years, it would be suffocating, and it was in the worst way possible. The warmth and familiarity that was once in those brown irises happened to be gone and lost with him when he saw you. You didn't know how to react, just seeing the hostility and coldness from him that you wished wasn't real was enough to beat you down.
"I'm Y/N L/N. I hope we can win a medal together in the mixed relay," you stayed rooted to your spot stubbornly, not bothering to exchange at least a handshake with him unlike your teammates. It seemed he reciprocated your feelings.
His stoic expression never once faltered, but it was his eyes that spoke louder than words needed to. Amongst the coldness of his gaze, there was an unmistakable shock and longing that he hid well enough for you to not fully catch onto. "I hope so too."
Ignoring the weird tension that lingered around the room between you and Sunghoon, you started your usual routine off along with your teammates. Long hours and many laps of endless swimming was about to be your reality again. The worst part of all was the strength training that was yet to start.
The excruciating nine hours of never ending swimming soon ended around the evening and your first day was finally done. Neither you nor Sunghoon crossed paths or interacted, maintaining your bliss and ignorance that would bring you peace.
"Are you just going to ignore him until his last day?" Yunjin was drying her hair, staring at you with an accusatory gaze.
"Yeah, I guess?" You shrugged, packing up your bag that you slung over your shoulder, flashing Yunjin an indifferent smile.
"I don't think that's a great idea, Y/N. We still have the mixed relay to consider, there's no way you could just go radio silence on him when it's a team event," Yujin made her way into the changing room from the shower just in time to listen in on your conversation, seemingly disapproving at you and Sunghoon's behaviour towards one another.
"What am I going to do? He doesn't even want to acknowledge me,"
"How about you try making the first move?"
"Over my dead body," you murmured, hating the fact that you and Sunghoon's past conflicts were stagnating the team, yet your ego was not ready to confront him. Nope, never.
"You're so stubborn," Yujin grumbled, shaking her head in disapproval. "He's equally stubborn. God, I can't believe I have to put up with these hot-headed, stubborn people, give me strength, please,"
"It'll be fine. As long as I keep my distance and he keeps his distance, nothing will go wrong," you slapped Yujin on her back, earning a doubtful look from her that you responded with an earful smile.
"I highly doubt that," Yunjin chimed in, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder, ready to leave as well. Yujin turned to share a knowing look with her.
"Me too."
All you could do was roll your eyes, not daring to respond because you knew, too, that you couldn't fully promise that you'd stick to your words. It was impossible to predict what would happen in the next few days, let alone three months. The non-existent interactions with Sunghoon for six years couldn't prepare you for what he was like currently, and for that reason, you were scared.
That night, alone in your bed, you couldn't take your eyes off the picture frame sitting on your dressing table. It was a picture of you and Sunghoon at the ripe age of thirteen, holding onto your gold medals with the biggest smiles right after a competition. Who would've known in a few years time since then, you wouldn't even be able to stand next to him.
How you wished those childish smiles would make its way back to you and Sunghoon, standing next to each other with a gold medal again.
A week has passed since the day Sunghoon first started his training under your coach.
Safe to say, you kept your distance from him and so did he. Neither of you managed to exchange a single word or a single glance that lasted more than a second. It might've been a natural occurrence for you to have some sort of 'cold war' with Sunghoon, but to the others, they felt a little awkward having to be part of it.
For the second week of training, the part that you enjoyed most became dreadful to you. The mixed relay training was inevitable with Sunghoon's presence as a first timer to the group. More practices were implemented by Coach Jeon in order for Sunghoon to adapt and grow familiar with the general rules around mixed relay medley.
"Doing good?" Anton was the second to arrive after you, standing next to you by the pool. He had probably noticed you staring into the pool, letting your thoughts drift away.
You snapped out of your daze, blinking in surprise at him until you realise who you were talking to. "Wh–yeah, I'm fine,"
"You're not nervous for our first training together as a team, right?" He attempted to lighten the mood, bumping your shoulder with his.
"No," you scoffed. That was a lie. You were nervous, and masking it up wasn't exactly a great way to deal with it. "It's just any other training,"
"Be honest, you were probably mad when you heard about Yeonjun's stupid accident, weren't you?" Anton took a seat on the starting block, staring up at you with a pair of big doe eyes.
"Mad? Not exactly. Maybe annoyed? Concerned? A little bit of everything," you frowned, remembering the message sent in the group chat the week before training started. 'Can't turn up to training, fell down my bike and broke my ankle' it was unforgettable. "Why?"
"I'm just a little disappointed it's not Yeonjun swimming the second leg. He's one of the strongest breaststroke swimmers,"
"Weren't you excited about Sunghoon's arrival?"
"Well, it's a no brainer I'm excited, Sunghoon's a great swimmer, but he's not exactly Yeonjun. Thinking about how sudden everything is, the changes and having to adapt to them, I'm just worried it'll affect the team's performance,"
Your gaze softened at the younger boy's truthful confession. If you had to be completely honest, you were worried about the team's future performances as well. Having so little time to adjust and letting a replacement take up a crucial swimmer's role was bound to cause doubts.
"We'll be fine," your voice was firm with determination. "The future's unpredictable anyway. Who knows what will be the result of this lineup?"
"Do you know how great of a motivational speaker you are?" Anton smiled at your words, the worries that filled his eyes were blinked away. "Also, what's up with you and Sunghoon? Are you guys always like … this?" He proceeded to make some gestures with his hands.
Here it is. That topic.
The real question should be: when were you never like this with Sunghoon?
You shrugged, directly lying to his face a second time. "It's complicated. Let's start our warm up, shall we?"
That was enough to divert Anton's attention away from the question he originally brought up, successfully dodging it until the others arrived and started their warm ups as well. Yujin, in particular, was overwhelmed with excitement to start her part of the relay, hoping to beat her own personal record.
"Were you always this excited for training?" You looked at Yujin with an eyebrow raised, watching as she stretched her limbs carefully, a cheery expression on her face.
"I think my break made me realise how much I missed the water," she kneeled down to touch the surface of the pool water with her finger, a little habit of hers before competitions that she grew to have.
"How's the temperature?"
She stood back up, straightened her spine, a wide grin spreading onto her lips. "Absolutely perfect."
Once the warm ups were officially concluded, Yunjin and Intak were sent to other lanes in the pool to start their individual training, whereas you and your remaining teammates were listening intently to the coach's every word.
"So, we start our first practice today. Together, as a team, a new team. Let's see what's the time recorded for each leg, improve the handoffs and perfect your individual time. Anton, you'll go first,"
Anton fixed his swim cap right after that, walking towards the starting block while the team dispersed to wait for their turn. You stood beside Yujin, Sunghoon only inches before you. It was hard concentrating on Anton and his start, barely registering the sound of the whistle blowing. He was so magnetic it was almost obnoxious.
"Hey, new guy! Got the rules down?" Yujin directed her words at Sunghoon, catching him off guard. He turned around, an impassive expression was his first response to Yujin. His eyes flickered to you for a split second, quick enough for you to barely catch onto it.
"I have," he answered shortly, seemingly frozen from Yujin putting him into a spot out of the blue.
Before returning his focus back onto the pool ahead of him, he stole a haste glance at you for the second time. It was barely a second's worth of his eyes on you, not even an acknowledgement. You couldn't explain it. Why were you ticked off by him?
"Sunghoon, get ready!" Coach Jeon shouted from the other side of the room, glancing between his stopwatch and the pool. Sunghoon stood on the starting block, fixing his goggles in place. "Now!"
The moment Anton's fingers grazed the pool's wall, Sunghoon dived into the pool perfectly, all eyes were fixed on him now. The swimmer that created history, broken records, set a standard for new generations of swimmers, was proving why he was labelled a national treasure.
He was quick. How was that even possible? Breaststroke was one of the slowest strokes in swimming and yet he made it seem as though it was the easiest to swim. Yujin was next, her excitement was apparent in her swim and aggression. The butterfly stroke and her perfect posture had her resembling a mermaid.
It was your turn to stand on the starting block, preparing for the exact second Yujin finished her lap. Your heart was beating against your chest, adrenaline was suddenly coursing through your veins. The time was ticking, Yujin was coming closer, and with one touch to the wall, off you went into the pool, the cold water engulfing you whole.
The first inhale of air filled your lungs to its maximum capacity. You could feel a sense of buzzing on the tip of your fingers, the muscles of your legs were working to its limits. You felt great.
Your flip turn was quick and perfect. Everything was going right for you. The way your legs and arms were working in sync, your breathing technique had improved, all of these being factors to your best swim yet. The stopwatch was halted once your tips touched the wall, finally getting the chance to get your head out of the water and breathe deeply.
"54 seconds!" Coach Jeon called out, a satisfactory grin plastered on his face. "Good job," he clapped his hands, throwing up a thumbs up at both you and your teammates. “Get a short rest, I’ll be with the others then we’ll resume our training together,”
A chorus of ‘yes, coach’ travelled through you and your teammates, all of you watched as he walked to the other side of the pool where the others were training, then breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yujin came forward to help you out of the pool, wrapping a towel around you while patting your back.
"Good swim,"
You smiled at her, placing your hand on her waist. "You had a good swim too,"
"What a swim, L/N!" Anton, who stood next to Sunghoon, yelled at you as you and Yujin approached. You snorted at his enthusiasm, giving him a thumbs up in response. The man to his left, however, remained impassive just as his face displayed almost to no emotions regarding your performance. Not that you needed his validation anyway. You met his eyes, his unwavering stare bore into you, it was as if everyone was awaiting for his comments.
"You didn’t swim at your best,"
His words were as cold as his voice, piercing into your heart without a space for you to recover or register what he meant. What did he mean? There was a sudden edge to the atmosphere around the group, a thick air of tension surrounded you and him in particular. “What?” There was no need for him to repeat what he just said, but it was almost unbelievable as an alien invasion to you.
“You weren’t swimming at your best,” Sunghoon repeated firmly, his stoicness never once faltering. Your dignity, on the other hand, was withering.
“Who are you to determine whether or not I’m swimming at my best?” You took a step forward, your footstep heavy on the ground. He stayed rooted to his spot, chin held high while your narrowing gaze pierced through his skull.
There was a pause where a momentary silence filled the air. Neither you nor the rest of your teammates dared to speak. The man before you was expressionless, it was nearly hard to read him or his thoughts, only seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest, whereas yours was in a frenzy.“I know you,”
He might as well have just shot you in the face. Those three words were as hard as bullets were, causing you to almost lose your footing and tumble over, but somehow, you managed to stand your ground. Out of the many things he could’ve said, this was the least you expected. You had wished he would’ve lied and insulted you rather than speaking the inevitable truth. Frankly, it was the same for you.
“You know nothing about me,” you seethed out, nostrils flaring out of indignation.
Sunghoon scoffed, turning his head to a side for a second before looking back at you, a fire lighting up in those cold eyes of his, melting into a fiery pit of rage. “You can cuss me out or insult me all you want, but the biggest insult you could ever throw at me is disregarding our past. I know you, it’s simple as that, and I can tell you’re not swimming to your fullest,”
You couldn’t form an immediate response, because you were stunned and stuck in an endless cycle of thoughts, thinking if what he said was actually true. What if … you truly weren’t swimming at your best? Were you holding back? The only thing you could bear to thank Sunghoon now was for feeding into your self doubts.
“You…you—”
“Okay, cut it out guys,” Anton came to stand between you and Sunghoon, shielding your line of sight and you felt an odd sense of relief that Sunghoon couldn’t see your crumbling state. There was no way in hell you were turning vulnerable right in front of him, nor were you going to lose the fight to him. Knowing how stubborn either of you were, if Anton hadn’t cut into it, you might’ve been there for longer. “Quit fighting, I swear. I know there’s tension—hell, I can feel it—but can you two at least act like you can tolerate each other? If you two act like this even in Paris, what will the press write?”
Anton was right, he was always right. You hated how you’ve allowed your emotions and past consumed you when it came to Sunghoon. The person who was once your strength had turned into your weakness, your flaw. Everything had been fine until it came to him, it has been so ever since six years back. Now, you were reliving it all over again.
“I’m going to get some air,” Sunghoon announced, sparing one last glance at you before turning his heel to leave, the water from his body left wet footprints on the floor.
Yujin and Anton turned to look at you, the unmistakable look of shock on their faces. They were seemingly as helpless as you were, but they were more likely experiencing much worse being stuck in the middle of you and Sunghoon. “I’m sorry … for that. I’ll go for a dip in the pool.”
They watched as you made your way back to the starting block and in the next second, you had already jumped into the pool, starting another lap again. Yujin and Anton stared at one another, matching frowns etched onto their worried faces. There was a wordless exchange as if something had clicked in their minds from just one knowing look.
“We need to find a way to get them to reconcile.”
One month into training and there was nothing that could be done to make the two star swimmers return to a civil relationship. In fact, the space between you and Sunghoon had only grown bigger ever since the small rift that made everything go from bad to worse.
It had gone to a point where Coach Jeon had to give both of you a lecture, almost begging you and Sunghoon to work together for those few short months. To him, it might’ve truly been a ‘few short months’, but to you? It was a hellish period of time to be reckoned with.
You could tell everyone was trying to push you and him together, but you and him were just like magnets with the same poles, repelling each other no matter how much effort was put into getting you and him close. There was once when your teammates had strategized to purposefully have you and Sunghoon sitting side-by-side, yet to their surprise, your hatred for one another gave you ways to make any efforts fail. For that dinner, each of your chairs were pulled far enough to create an obvious distance, not one glance was even spared between you and him.
Then came a Saturday, a weekend off for the team and an opportunity for everyone to go out for drinks. It was the perfect time to let go and relax for a short moment, but to your teammates, it just so happened to be a perfect setting for their plan: get Sunghoon and Y/N to diffuse their hatred.
“Why is everyone always at my place when we get ready to go out?” you grumbled, picking up your dirty clothes that were scattered on the floor to make way for Yunjin and Yujin, their hands full with clothes and makeup.
“It’s a tradition now,” Yujin pressed a kiss on your cheek, laughing at your unimpressed frown. “It’s a once in a blue moon type of thing! We should make the most out of tonight, we don’t know when we’ll have another day off after this,”
“That’s right,” Yunjin said, placing her dress onto your bed, next to yours that was laid carefully to avoid wrinkles. “It’s time to drink till we break.”
That wasn’t exactly how you wished your night to go. You and the girls met up with the guys at the entrance to the club, having to squeeze your way in and hold onto each other tightly to not lose your way. It reminded you why you never had an active nightlife apart from the routine you had as an athlete. The club reeked of alcohol, sweat, smoke and many other things, none of them were good.
The moment you got to settle into the booth, you finally got a clear view of everyone. You, Yunjin and Yujin were dressed in almost matching tight dresses, the only difference was the colour, the length and the existence of shoulder straps. Anton and Juyeon were sporting collared shirts, while Sunghoon wore a black button down shirt, his hair gelled up to reveal his forehead.
There was no mistaking his straying eyes, but he wasn’t the only one, you were equally guilty. You tried to reason it with the excuse of pure curiosity, yet you found yourself stealing more than one glance. By then, you knew it wasn’t something you could easily deny.
Juyeon leaned his body against the table with a serious expression that he had whenever he set the rules for the night every time you had a night out. “Okay, so the rules for tonight, no leaving on your own, unless you send a text. No going overboard until you do crazy shit that will get your name on the headline,” he paused, scanning the group. “Lastly, no becoming Yeonjun and break your bones,”
There was a chorus of snorts and laughter at the slight dig at Yeonjun. It was a joke, but the chances of it happening wasn’t entirely zero. “Got it!”
The group soon dispersed, some were headed straight to the bar, some were off to the dance floor and some had stayed in the booth. You and Yujin had stuck together, sitting on the high stool at the bar, heads propped onto your hand as you stared at each other. There was a wordless breath of a sigh between you and her, it seemed that neither of you needed to verbally communicate to know what the other was thinking. You held your shot glass up to clink against hers, and at the same time, you downed the shot down with Yujin.
The feeling of the alcohol burning your throat was something you didn’t miss, yet it was what you needed at that moment. “That was good,” you muttered, hearing Yujin’s laugh as a response to your comment. “If I wasn’t an athlete whose health gets scrutinised, I would be drinking at every minor inconvenience,”
“You’d be an alcoholic at that point,” Yujin shook her head, a faint smile adoring her sharp features. “Why? Is the pressure getting to you?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think about those things, I never do,” you watched as the bartender filled your and Yujin’s shot glasses once more. “I’m thinking about Sunghoon,”
Yujin straightened up at that, her body leaned close to yours, an inquisitive raise of her eyebrow met your eyes. “Sunghoon? You? Thinking about Sunghoon?”
“Not about him per se, but you know—us—our past, it’s affecting the team and I hate it. I hate that I can’t do anything about it,”
“You can? You can just make things even with him,”
“Easier said than done. We can’t see eye to eye. I mean, do you think it’s easy to befriend your ex best friend that you had beef with?”
“Well…no,”
“Exactly,” you said, followed by downing another shot out of your glass. “It’s hard to even speak to him without him glaring at me, how am I supposed to go: ‘hey, let’s be BFFs again’,”
“But don’t you want to try and mend things? At least end the bad blood,”
You stared at your shot glass, your fingers grazing against the mouth of the cup, a sad smile making its way to your lips. “I wish I could, but I’m afraid the damage is worse than I had imagined.”
Drowning your sadness in shots after shots was an equation for disaster, and that was exactly what you had done. Excuse the liver damage, your current concern was your emotions that were bound to spill out of its seams. An emotional drunk, that was what you were as depressing as it sounds. The thought of Sunghoon and your ruined friendship was the cherry on top to it all.
“He hates me!” you slurred, your face buried in your hands after four shots of tequila. “I don’t even know how it turned out like this … how it turned into this,”
“Y/N, you’re drunk,” Yujin moved your shot glass further from your reaching hands, causing you to frown deeper at that. “No more, okay? You’ll regret it in the morning,”
“I’m used to regretting things, just leave me be,” you pouted at Yujin, but she was firm and final in her decision in cutting you off alcohol for the night. “Sunghoon…” you murmured before the alcohol fully set in and your head collapsed onto the table, absolutely blacking out.
“Oh God.”
Yujin returned to the booth with you slumped against her. She thought the amount of weight training she had endured was finally worth it for having to put up with your drunk self. The rest of your teammates had returned to the booth, empty cups were littered around the table, the only sober ones there were Yunjin and Sunghoon, who was trying to peel Anton away from his body. He glanced up in time to see Yujin approaching with you being supported by her.
Yunjin stood up and rushed to Yujin’s side to help her with you. “Is she okay? I’ve never seen her this drunk,”
“I should be asking the same about Anton and Juyeon,” Yunjin nodded at the two who were slumped against each other, eyes closed and probably drifting to some dreamland where a head splitting morning would soon await them in the morning.
“They’re also a lost cause,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s get going,”
It was a miracle that Yunjin, Yujin and Sunghoon had successfully carried you and the other two out of the club. The process, however, didn’t matter and was forbidden to speak about, what mattered most was the success of getting the three of you.
“I’ll call a cab for us four, we live in the same apartment complex,” Yunjin looked over at a struggling Yujin trying her best to prevent Anton and Juyeon from falling over while they leaned against each other. You were basically the calmest out of them, sleeping soundly. “Will it be okay for you to bring Y/N home? I know it’s too much to ask—”
“I’ll bring her home. It’s not too much, don’t worry,” Sunghoon reassured, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “W–what’s her address?” it never occurred to Sunghoon that, one day, he would not know where you lived, that you were no longer the girl that lived next to his house. The girl that had once taken over his life was no longer a part of it. That, to him, was a tough pill to swallow.
“I’ll send it to you in a second, I’m almost done booking the cab,” Yunjin was feverishly tapping her screen, her eyebrows knitted together. “You drove here, right?”
“I did,”
“Smart decision,” she muttered, finalising her booking with one last tap. “The cab’s arriving in ten minutes and I just sent her address to you. Don’t worry about us, it isn’t our first time, we know how to deal with them. Get her home safe, and you, get home safe too,”
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Sunghoon asked once more, casting a worried glance over at the two men who couldn’t even keep their balance sitting up.
“Better than okay. Now, go get her home, we’ll be fine.”
Sunghoon drove his car to the front of the club, and with the help of your two friends, you were loaded into the passenger seat with ease. By then, you were half awake from your sleep, the unfamiliar settings causing you to become much alert. You sat up from the seat a little too quick, an honest mistake which brought a throb to your head.
“Just sleep, it’ll hurt less,”
That voice. How and why was it so close to you? Whose car were you in? Could it be …?
“Sunghoon?”
You blinked hard, trying to get rid of the haziness and the blur in your vision. It didn’t need a second thought for you to know it’s Sunghoon. From his voice to his outline, even the midst of it all, you could always recognize the boy you knew your whole life.
“Don’t act so surprised. I’m just trying to help,” he replied flatly, keeping his eyes ahead.
“I thought you’d rather die than help me,”
“Well, that’s what you think. You’re not always right,”
You didn’t say anything after, letting a curtain of silence fall over, it was better for you and him. You could barely keep your eyes open, the heaviness of your head only made you feel much nauseous than before. It was more ironic how the reason you drown yourself in alcohol was sitting next to you, driving you home with no single trace of alcohol in his blood unlike you. Maybe you were the pathetic one here.
The drive back to your place was quiet, the faint music from his radio was playing to fill the awkwardness between you two. How did it even get to this point in the first place? You wished you knew. Sunghoon’s car eventually came to a stop right by the entrance of your apartment complex, the silence somehow only grew thicker now that the car has stopped moving.
“We’re here,” Sunghoon announced the obvious, attempting to cut through the silence with something rather than nothing. “Do you need me to walk you up?”
“I’ll be fine on my own,”
“You don’t really look fine,”
“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine, and thanks for the ride home. I’ll see you at training,” you reached for the handle, pulling it and opening the door, one foot already out, but the other lost its footing and you stumbled, a hand gripping onto your forearm was what prevented you from falling face first into the hard road. Sunghoon yanked you back into the passenger seat, and you were too surprised to utter another word. Damn it.
“You’re clearly not fine on your own. Let me walk you up,” he said with a finality in his voice. You knew there was no way for you to reject his offer now that you had embarrassed yourself while you tried proving your point. “You’re still not good at walking in heels after all these years, huh?”
“What—”
He had slammed his side of the door into your face and your unfinished response. You didn’t have the time to process everything when Sunghoon appeared by you in a split second, your door was opened and he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. It was irritating and extremely annoying to you how he was practically almost impossible to read around you. You knew him too well, and that was probably the reason why he increased his guard when it came to you.
“Hold onto me,” he extended his arm, and you couldn’t explain why, but your heart rate was increasing with every passing second. His head tilted slightly at your hesitance, a minor frown decorated his features at your reaction. “What is it?”
“Oh—nothing,” you shook your nerves off. Since when were you ever scared of Sunghoon? Let alone be nervous around him. You might’ve not been friends but it doesn’t make him any scarier. In that light, in that moment, you got a glimpse of the Sunghoon you knew years ago. That was what made you freeze up.
You placed your hand on his forearm, using him for support as you got out of his car, the piercing pain in your foot caused you to wince. You’re still not good at walking in heels after all these years, huh? Why must he always be right about you? “What is it?” he noticed your discomfort, worry flashing across his face for a moment.
“It’s nothing, just my heels—”
“Sit back,” he placed a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back into the passenger seat. He took one glance at you, there was an unmistakable mix of emotions in his eyes, but then he was out of your sight, opening the door of his backseat to get something.
Once he was back, he knelt on one knee in front of you, not a single word was exchanged, but you followed his every movement. He had a pair of shoes in his hand, it was only a beat later when he stared up at you, meeting your curious eyes. “When are you going to stop pushing me away and pretend it’s nothing when you need help?”
Sunghoon reached for your leg, unbuckling your heels in a swift motion, his touch was soft and he was gentle with you in every way. The shock from earlier till now had only caused you to sober up quicker, but the haziness in your head made you wonder if this was just a dream. He was right in front of you, swapping your heels for a comfortable pair of shoes, helping you into them as you watched wordlessly.
“There. Feel better now?” Sunghoon stood up, holding onto your heels in one hand. Truthfully, you didn't know what to say to him, merely nodding in response. He breathed out a rather loud sigh, extending his arm out to you once more, and you immediately got the cue to hold onto him just like before.
Your first step out onto the ground was heaven in those comfortable shoes. They were large and awkward for you, but they were miles better than your heels. “Just hold onto me. I know you probably can't walk straight now,”
You bit back a remark to that, wanting to prove him wrong but you figured it'd be another stupid idea of yours. Holding onto his forearm just like before, you walked quietly with him by your side. You were unconsciously leaning your side onto him, the realisation might’ve not hit you, but it did for him. This was the closest you’ve been since six years ago, physically and emotionally.
The silence was painful leading up to the moment you opened your front door, hoping to bid him a hasty goodbye, just for you to almost stumble over your own two feet once more, proving his point was right all over again. Sunghoon didn’t complain when he helped you out of his shoes, he didn’t say anything even when he guided you into your bedroom where you crashed out once your head hit the pillow. How was that possible? That was what Sunghoon thought upon seeing your sleeping figure.
“Sunghoon,” he nearly jumped at the sound of your voice that was muffled by your face being pressed into your bedsheets. Your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed with a slight frown as if there were many thoughts swarming your drunken mind. He didn’t dare to speak or make another move, waiting for what you would say next with an unsteady breath. You shifted in your sleep, your hand seemingly balling into a fist. “I’m sorry,” the words were hardly audible, yet in the silence of the night and the heat of it all, it was the loudest and clearest to Sunghoon, they were the only thing buzzing in his ears along with the sound of his heartbeat.
A faint smile that he hasn’t worn around you in ages made its way to his face. Although Sunghoon knew you would most likely have forgotten about this and have zero recollection of uttering the words ‘I’m sorry’ when morning comes, there was still a sense of assurance that the chances of reconciling weren’t completely zero. He breathed out a small sigh, realising he had to go back to pretending he hadn’t heard your confession, having to act cold to one another as if it wasn’t killing him internally. Were you feeling the same as he did?
Sunghoon tucked you into your blanket, casting one last glance at you sleeping soundly before turning his back to you, taking big steps to your bedroom door just for him to stop in his tracks at the glint of your photo frames. He knew he shouldn’t pry, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance. It was his first mistake, his curiosity had led him to the childhood pictures of you and him. You still had them after everything you went through with him. There was a lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes became much more prominent, a cluster of emotions were weighing down on him.
“I’m sorry too.”
“Is it me … or is the mutual hating tension becoming awkward now?”
All of your teammates were huddled in a group, observing you and Sunghoon being forced to listen to your coach’s lecture for the hundredth time. It was the first training after your short weekend break, and that night alone has changed everything. Neither you nor him were at each other's throats anymore, there was no malice in the air or animosity, but there was still a striking tension that made everyone around you and him feel uncomfortable.
“What even happened that night?” Juyeon crossed his arms, frowning a little at the zero to none recollection of what happened that night all thanks to his reckless drinking.
“Nothing much,” Yunjin said, her eyebrows raising at the sight of you and Sunghoon, choosing to keep your worries about him a secret.
Yujin coughed, displaying a deadpan expression. “What Juyeon probably meant was, what happened after? He sent her home, didn’t he?”
“He did, but I didn’t hear what happened after,”
“They’re acting like they’ve fucked or something,”
“Anton!” the group averted their eyes at Anton, who seemed to have shrunk under the sharp glares sent by his teammates.
“What really happened after?”
If you were to receive at least a dollar for the times your coach has reprimanded you and Sunghoon, you would’ve quit swimming and be a millionaire. This instance was the same as before where he called you and Sunghoon out on your lack of chemistry. He wasn’t entirely wrong, and you could understand how it might affect the overall team chemistry, but what could you do? Make the first move? Insane.
“Guys, I know I’ve said this before, but you’ve got to at least talk a little,” Coach Jeon let out a sigh, rubbing the sides of his head with his lips pressed into a thin line. “Everyone with eyes can tell you do not wish to be associated with each other or stand next to each other—” his eyes were trained on the distance between you and Sunghoon. Upon realisation, the both of you took a step closer to each other, but it was not enough to mend it.
“Just try. Don’t give the national team or yourselves bad press, alright?” Coach Jeon’s face was laced with genuine concern and worry. Given how long your relationship has been affecting the team, your coach’s worries only increased. “Look, either try to be on friendly terms before the Olympics or I’ll make it happen,” the latter sounded almost like a threat from the tone of his voice, sending chills down each of your spines. “Dismissed.”
The moment your coach was out of ear shot, you turned to look at Sunghoon, narrowing your gaze accusingly at him. “Did you hear him? We’ve got to at least try speaking—” before you could manage to finish your sentence, Sunghoon scoffed and turned on his heels to leave the room.
You, on the other hand, were entirely dumbfounded by his sheer audacity. Was him helping you out that night merely a front that he kept up? He had transformed a total 180 compared to his previous attitude, this was not the same man who left you water and aspirin by your bed. “Asshole!” you shouted out at him as he made his way out, turning to leave from the other door to avoid following him.
The rest of your teammates that were huddled in a group still had their eyes fixated on the drama unfolding before them, most of which were shaking their heads in disapproval, some wandering eyes were trained on either one of your backs before disappearing completely behind the doors. Yunjin exchanged a brief glance with Yujin, a light bulb on the top of her head turning on.
“I’ve got a way to get them to fix things up.”
The sun was soon setting as the evening came to an imminent end. You were the last to shower, being the only one left in the locker room, the sound of your locker door slamming shut echoed throughout the room. You took a seat on the bench, leaning your head against the lockers, a frustrated groan escaped your lips. You were annoyed, agitated at how Sunghoon had actively ignored you. Why was he acting like a total stranger to you? The least he could’ve done was spare some acknowledgement. Was he as cruel as you made him out to be?
You were pulled out of your deep thoughts the second you heard voices coming from the outside of the door. There was no way anyone would be catching you getting emotional over Sunghoon—except for Yunjin—once was already enough, you blamed it on the influence of the alcohol. The voices only got louder as it came closer. There was a man’s voice, but also a woman, or actually, it sounded more like a group as you walked to the door, straining your ear to listen in on the commotion outside.
Before you could get any closer, the door flung open, causing you to take a step back in shock, mouth agape. The person being pushed into the locker room was no one other than the manifestation of your thoughts: Park Sunghoon. Just as quick as he was pushed in, the door slammed shut and there was a sound of the door locking.
“Sort your shit out and we’ll let you out in a few hours! Sorry!”
“What?”
“What?”
You and Sunghoon yelled out simultaneously, absolutely incredulous this was befalling on you. Sunghoon, who happened to be unfortunate enough to be pushed into the locker room that you were alone in. This wasn’t a coincidence, it was a strategic plan your teammates brewed up. The realisation clicked once you locked eyes with him, the adrenaline soon died down and the usual awkward tension returned.
The pettiness from earlier had you turning your back on him, storming towards the bench where you were sitting before your peace was ruined. Slow and hesitant footsteps followed you from behind, the heaviness of your breathing filled the air and you soon stopped in your tracks, the footsteps followed short. You turned around fast enough for you to have a whiplash, the man in front of you had kept a distance between you and him, the unspoken emotions were visible in the way he looked at you.
“Are we ever going to stop this?” the words had left his mouth before you could even form a proper thought, that alone was able to break down everything you had prepared to say beforehand.
“Stop—what?”
“This! Us!” he gestured between you and him, the distance was already proof of your coldness to one another. “Are we going to continue pretending everything is alright when it’s not?”
“You seriously have the nerve to say that after ignoring me for years, so yes, everything is fine! It’s the way it’s supposed to be,”
“You were ignoring me too!”
“I mean, you hate me, we can’t stand each other, isn’t that what everything is meant to be like?”
“‘I hate you’? Since when have I hated you?” Sunghoon scoffed, nostrils flaring, frown lines deepening.
“Ever since our first competition after you transferred clubs. We stopped talking, you never bothered to look me in the eyes and brushed past me as if I was a stranger! I thought I could try apologising, but since then, all I could see in your eyes was anger,” your breath was shaky, the memories of your best friend becoming someone you couldn’t recognise was painful to relive. “You never told me your plans to leave, but you know what? I thought we were best friends…”
Sunghoon was silent for a moment, he opened his mouth to speak just for him to close it again, jaw clenched with a tense gaze. “I thought it was the right choice. I knew you would’ve said no if I had told you earlier, so I chose not to. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I suppose my judgments were wrong. I was a coward,” he paused, his eyes scanning every micro expression you made. “I never hated you. How could I ever? I was angry at myself. Seeing you…I was frustrated that I had let you go so easily. I thought you didn’t wish to reconcile after you ignored me, I didn’t know it was the opposite,”
You were still unresponsive, your pupils were shaking just as your breath began to waver. Sunghoon tried his best to muster the faintest of a soft smile, his knuckles were soon turning white from how hard he was balling his fists. “I’m sorry for saying those things that night. I shouldn’t have disregarded our friendship over something so stupid. I’m sorry, Y/N,”
With every blink, your eyes only stung from the tears building up. His confession as a whole made your heart twist, the overwhelming truth was eating you up from within. The explanation from him that you craved and yearned from years was finally here, but instead of feeling angry and wanting to punch him in the face like you’ve always thought you would, you were the total opposite of that.
Tears were streaming down your face before you could fully comprehend you were crying. The lump in your throat was preventing you from speaking, a choke sob escaped and that wasn’t helping your case at all. “Fuck,” you cursed, feeling the heat creeping up to your face from embarrassment and you immediately buried your face into your hands.
“Hey,” Sunghoon took large strides to get to you. You felt the warmth of his presence, the gentle touch of his hands that were on your arms, trying to pry them away from shielding your face. In that moment, you let yourself fall victim to him and his touch, feeling as if you had travelled back in time to when you first lost and Sunghoon was comforting you. “Hey, look at me,” your eyes flitted up to meet his gaze, recognising the familiarity in them that you’ve missed.
“What are you crying for?” his thumb brushed against your skin, wiping the downpour of tears.
“I’m sorry, Sunghoon, I’m truly sorry. I feel stupid, I shouldn’t have expected you to read minds, I shouldn’t have blamed you for everything—”
“Hey,” he said once more, pulling your attention back onto him. “It’s alright. The both of us made mistakes, we were both in the wrong, none of us could blame the other. I know where you’re coming from, I understand,”
You blinked your tears away, breathing in deeply to stop yourself from crying yet again. “I wished we could’ve done this earlier. I wished I could’ve been less consumed by my anger. I lost many years without you, and most of all, I missed you,”
There was a twitch to the corners of Sunghoon’s lips, his hold on your hand became slightly tighter, and in a blink of an eye, he tugged you into his chest, engulfing you into a hug. You’ve missed this feeling, yet it felt completely new to you. “I missed you too. I’m sorry for being such a stuck up asshole to you all the time,”
You snorted, smiling faintly against his hold. “You better be sorry. You’re forgiven,”
“You’re forgiven too.”
Six years. That was how long you’ve lost with each other. The amounts of competitions won, achievements and important events missed could no longer be replaced. But that day, in that locker room, you got a new chance at rebuilding the moments you’ve lost in those six years, and you got a new beginning to build memories, even legacies, together that lasted for centuries.
Waking up to a message from Sunghoon on a Saturday morning was the last thing you’d expect.
Sure, you had made up with him not long before this, rather forcefully so, and you were glad it went well because you were done with your years of miscommunications with him, but after all, the wound was still fresh, the awkwardness and unfamiliarity was there between the both of you. You couldn’t really speak to him without silence eventually following with nothing to say, nor could he keep a conversation with you fully either.
In your eyes, he looked like the person you knew for your whole life, physically unchanged, but at that moment, you didn’t know what he was actually like anymore, whether he would laugh at the same joke you made or if he’d have the habit of repeating some words as he used to, all of those became a mystery to you. It hurts you to know you’ve built a distance from him, causing the person you understood so well becoming someone you’re barely associated with.
Unknown number: this is Y/N, right? it’s Sunghoon. do you have time today?
You: hey, it’s Y/N. i do have time, i’m free for the whole day. why do you ask?
Sunghoon: i’m going home today, back to our hometown, i’m wondering if you’d like to come along? it’s okay if you decline though.
You: no, actually i’d like to come with you if you don’t mind. thanks for asking me.
Sunghoon: i’ll be at your house in an hour, eat something light, let’s get breakfast at our usual place.
Going back to the place that practically raised you along with the person that had been by your side since the start and growing up together with you was something you’d never once thought was possible in those six years apart, that was until now. It was a miracle that he’d willingly invited you to join him, and as much as you were relieved, you were also nervous, way too anxious for your own good.
For at least fifteen minutes after answering his texts, you paced back and forth in your apartment, conflicted about what to wear, the things you should bring, and even preparing what you could say to him once you saw him. This was a big step for not only you, but also him. It was a bandage that would heal the wounds caused by your dispute, a potential chance to restart the friendship and get closer to one another.
Seeing his car brought you back to the night he drove you home. An embarrassing realisation that you had was Sunghoon had to see you in your drunken state that couldn't keep yourself balanced on two feet. You disregarded that memory and entered his car, greeting him a good morning like you've grown to do at training.
“Hungry?”
“I'm alright, just had some bread,”
“Great. It'll be an hour drive and we'll stop by our favourite restaurant, how does that sound?”
“I'm excited. I haven't been back in months,”
“Well, I think you'd like the new set they added in the menu.”
He remembered what you liked and hated? The biggest shock was realising he still ate at your favourite restaurant, taking note of an addition to the menu that he'd think you'd like. Did that mean he's kept you in his head even before your reconciliation?
Everything was confusing to you. He was confusing to you. It was absolutely frustrating. You shook off that feeling and stared out of the window, noting some landmarks that you remembered. It was the same route you'd take every time you went back to your hometown as well. You wondered how many times you've happened to cross paths on this route with Sunghoon in the past.
By taking advantage of the silence in the car, you decided to ask Sunghoon a question that's been eating you alive ever since you received his message. “Why did you suddenly decide to go back at this time?”
Sunghoon didn't expect you to cut through the silence, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes upon the read ahead. He hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
“To be honest, I've thought about it for quite some time already. I wanted to have a small getaway while being able to see my parents before going to Paris,” he paused for some time, the faint music coming from the radio played in the background. “It's something that I do before major competitions. Visiting the old pool and seeing everyone again really calms me down a lot. I just thought it'll be a great opportunity to bring you along now…” now that we're somewhat friends again. That was probably what he wanted to say after judging from his hesitance.
“I never knew you went back so often,” you muttered, frowning at the fact that this was another thing that you failed to learn about Sunghoon. It was also another evidence of how your friendship was, in fact, in the ditch for a long period of time where you practically had zero idea of what the other was doing.
He maintained his focus on the road ahead, but you could see a small, ever so slightly of a smile forming on his face. At least you knew he was getting comfortable enough to not keep such a stoic expression around you like before. “It's not that often. I will try to do it as much as I can, but it's hard. You know, my mum would ask your mum about you all the time, she just hides it from me,”
You snorted at that, yet internally, you felt touched at Mrs Park's concern for you even when you and her son stopped being friends. It was hard to avoid her whenever you went home considering she lived in the house next to your family. Not that you had ill intentions to dodge her, but seeing her after what went down, you didn't have the courage to face her. Mrs Park was relentless to say the least, she'd always find her way to speak to you no matter what, and sometimes, you could see how sorry she was from her eyes alone.
“I'm sure my mum does the same too and she just never tells me.”
The journey there didn’t take long with several conversations here and there with Sunghoon, the small talks lasted longer than how it usually would, and that alone was saying something. There were some laughs shared together, in the midst of the moment, you couldn’t help letting your gaze on his smile linger for more than a second. It was the first few times you got to see Sunghoon letting himself go around you just like old times.
Sunghoon wasn’t kidding when he mentioned the first stop would be your favourite restaurant. It was surprising to see the restaurant again after almost a year of not dropping by. The times you went back to your hometown was to visit your parents only, there were barely any second thoughts about stopping to visit your favourite spots. Maybe it was also because you were scared to relive the best memories you had with Sunghoon and the only way was to avoid the places you created unforgettable moments with him.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” you looked around at the unchanging interior of the restaurant, the walls were decorated with simple paintings and a picture of you and Sunghoon together with the restaurant owner. Beside that picture was another one that caught your eye instantly. Squinting, you realised that it was Sunghoon with the owner in more recent years, most likely a year ago. He really did come back to visit much more consistently than you, especially to the places you grew up going to together. “Is that you in the picture?”
Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, turning to follow your line of sight and realisation dawned on his face at the picture that was next to the old one of you and him. “Oh—that, yeah it is. It was taken a year ago. I only started coming back here last year. I was surprised she recognised me after all those years. It was quite awkward when she asked me about you though,”
“I can imagine,” you cringed at the image of people asking either one of you about the other, you've been so close since forever where everyone assumed you and him came in pairs. “I didn’t think you’d come back here,”
“Why not?”
“Doesn’t it remind you too much of us?”
Sunghoon smiled at that, a hint of curiosity sparked in your eyes at his reaction. “That’s the reason why I came back actually … regardless of what happened,”
You could sense some sadness in his voice when he said that despite wearing an unwavering smile. There was an odd feeling in your heart knowing that you were wrong all along. Sunghoon never hated you, not even once. In fact, he missed you just as much as you did, or more judging from what he'd said. Was it relief, regret or sadness that you felt?
“Should we order?” he noticed the solemness settling in your face, taking the initiative to change the subject and divert your attention away from your thoughts. “How about we order our usual?”
“Do you still remember mine?”
“I do. I'd never forget anything about you.”
Every part of you was filled with nostalgia once you tasted the food you grew up eating. It was a shame your fear clouded you from coming back to the restaurant, you've missed it more than you expected. However, it was probably the best choice that you made unknowingly. It wouldn't have felt the same without Sunghoon. Eating the same food with the same person that you had done so years ago proved that you would've missed his presence if he wasn't there.
“You two are going to the Olympics next month, right?” the restaurant owner, Mrs Kim, came by your table to check up on you and Sunghoon, who answered her question with a short 'yes'. She turned to you, and it was then you realised how much older she's gotten over the years of not seeing her. Time really has slipped through your fingers. “I haven't seen you in years. I was really happy to see you winning in the last Olympics,”
You bowed your head slightly, smiling at the fact that she remembered you even though you practically disappeared for a long period of time. “Thank you. I really wished I got the time to stop by too,”
“It's okay, you're probably busy, aren't you? It just makes me really, really happy to see you here with him now. I remember how you and him loved coming by to hang out and eat,” Mrs Kim reminisced thoughtfully, spreading the effect to you and possibly Sunghoon as well. She took a quick glance at the wall where your old picture was. “How about we take a new photo? I'll make sure to stick it on the wall to show how much our Olympic medallists had grown,”
You and Sunghoon laughed awkwardly, but neither of you rejected her offer either. At the same spot in the restaurant where you stood years back, in the exact position standing beside Mrs Kim with Sunghoon to her right, you smiled at the camera, listening to the click coming from the phone as the picture was taken. As Mrs Kim ran to check on the pictures, you looked over at Sunghoon, meeting his eyes at once as he had already been staring at you before that.
It was unspoken, but you knew what he meant. This moment was something you and him both needed after everything that went down. It was a start over, a reflection on your past and reliving your memories. You were there then, also creating new memories for your future-self, looking back to feel nothing but relief that you and Sunghoon had patched up the cracks.
There was a small, genuine smile that crept onto your face. It was filled with nothing but sincere joy and relief. At that, Sunghoon reciprocated your smile, chuckling a little too. A wave of emotions flowed through the two of you in that instance, because you knew, there was nothing in this world that could ever take this moment away from you, never again.
The next stop right after breakfast was your parents' homes.
There was a sense of ease in the air ever since you left the restaurant. You and Sunghoon no longer were as tense as before, feeling rather comfortable in your own skin compared to the awkwardness you suffered from last time. Sunghoon couldn't hide his nervousness about going home, and if you thought about it too, you started feeling the same.
You didn't tell your parents you were visiting, after all it was an impromptu trip and you figured a surprise visit would be nice. 'Surprise' probably wouldn't be enough to describe your return together with Sunghoon. You doubted anyone could've seen this coming.
“Let's meet up after to get lunch, how does that sound?” Sunghoon and you were standing outside of his car that was parked on the sidewalk right by each of your houses.
“Sounds good. I'll text you,”
“Sure. I'll let you know when I'm done too,” he glanced over your shoulder, looking at his house before averting his gaze to yours. It didn't take long for you to piece together what was going through his mind. Memories of your childhood, that was most likely flooding his head. “See you,”
“See you in a while too.”
It was odd. Watching Sunghoon entering his home, you couldn't get yourself to enter yours. Not because you were scared of your parents whatsoever, it was mainly due to a weird feeling clouding your senses. Every moment, everything, from the restaurant up until standing on the sidewalk with Sunghoon, it reminded you of your past that you were reliving in the present, except you were much older and had different circumstances. Growing up was weird.
Your parents were definitely surprised to see you walking through the front door. Nevertheless, they engulfed you in a hug and asked about your sudden visit. Once you mentioned Sunghoon, their eyes almost popped out, and you had to explain everything from the start to the end.
“So, I guess we're friends again,”
“Oh, thank God,” your mother sighed dramatically, clutching onto her chest. You were already tired from her antics and it has only been an hour. “Thank God you and Sunghoon are back to being friends. I was wondering if you two will ever talk again,”
“We were almost never going to talk forever. Things weren't as smooth sailing in the beginning, but I'm glad we worked through it somehow,” you shrugged, lips flattening into a thin line.
“Did you know Sunghoon would always visit us whenever he's back here?” your dad chimed into the conversation, it was his turn to surprise you with something new that you never knew about, so you shook your head. “He practically begged us not to tell you because he knew you'd be angry,”
“He did?” you breathed out in disbelief and shock, not expecting Sunghoon would go out of his way to visit your parents as well. All while you and him were on bad terms, that was way more than necessary. You felt yourself melting into the couch, another level of guilt built internally. “He cared … way more than I thought.”
The day eventually rolled by swiftly after eating lunch and an early dinner with both yours and Sunghoon's family. The two families hadn't had the chance to sit down and catch up together as a whole in years. It wasn't the same in those years of bad blood, and now that everything was back to the way it should be, you could tell both families were at peace just as much as you were. Inevitably, you had to bid them goodbye with a heavy heart, accepting their wishes for the Olympics and stealing one last look to remember the moment.
The evening sun was setting soon, the sky was painted a hue of orange and yellow. You missed the feeling of watching the sunset back at home. This time around, however, you didn't feel a sense of sadness in you anymore, unlike how you did in the past. The sun was disappearing from sight as you stared out of the window. Sunghoon was bringing you to the last spot that he'd usually go to during his routine visit: your old training centre.
You still remember the last few times you visited the training centre. Once was after the Tokyo Olympics where you and some of your other teammates that you trained with at your old club came to meet some of the young swimmers. There was the other time when you personally visited to see your old coach, having the chance to speak to him privately and you could still recall the unavoidable mention of Sunghoon.
There you were, years later, walking by him along the vast swimming pool that you trained in with Sunghoon growing up, watching evening training sessions of the youth swimmers. Eventually, you and him decided to take a seat in the stands, feeling worn out after a long day. You turned to him, unwavering eyes trained on his face. “I’m surprised you would visit everytime you’re here even though you transferred,”
“It’s where everything started,” he had his attention on the training session happening below, a smile filled with reminiscence of the past slowly crept onto his lips. “It’s where all my memories are. I could remember every little memory of us being here from years ago,”
“I suppose you’re right. Whenever I’m here, I feel oddly nostalgic. Every part of the pool has a story behind it, that’s how much time we spent here,” you hugged your arms around yourself, leaning forward to get a clearer look of the swimmers’ performances.
Sunghoon averted his gaze, turning to meet your eyes instead. There was a hint of fondness in those warm, brown irises that reflected a different version of you in them. They lingered for a beat longer before he finally spoke. “I’m glad you’re here with me this time,” there was no mistaking the sincereness in both his voice and his gaze, the truth of his was the same as how you felt. It truly was the closure that you and him needed. “You have no idea how much I missed you whenever I’m here,”
The edge of your mouth twitched, there was an unexplainable feeling in your heart, something that you’ve experienced around Sunghoon one too many times back then and it seemed to have returned once more. “And you have no idea how I feel the same about you when I’m here too.”
Going home, there was a much lighter atmosphere surrounding you and Sunghoon compared to before. You couldn’t explain it, but you just knew the trust and love that had existed in the past was coming back stronger than ever. It was a day filled with nostalgia, reminiscence and also vulnerability. You’d never thought you’d confess your inner thoughts to him until he did, being the first to open up and allowing you to realise he wasn’t the bad guy that you made him out to be in your head. He was Park Sunghoon, the same as the one you grew up with, the first boy who showed you everything and made you feel emotions you’ve never experienced.
He was your best friend. Yet, deep inside of you, you knew in those two words, ‘best friend’, there was something more than simply just that.
One month. 30 days.
The Paris Olympics seemed to be closer than imagined. From being a faraway dream to becoming a reality, the Olympics were the only thing clouding your thoughts day and night, just as it was for your teammates. You and your teammates have yet to stop pushing yourselves with the reminder of winning a gold medal, the weight of it made everyone tense and having a harder time to calm down.
“Should we get some drinks tonight?” Yunjin proposed at the end of the training, looking expectantly at every one of you. “It’s the weekend and we have some time off,”
“No clubs please,” Anton threw his head back, dreading the thought of getting drunk at the club and being disoriented again, especially when the big day was coming.
“Who said we’ll be going to the club?” Yunjin’s smirk was telling you that she had a grand idea brewing in her head already. “Come to my place. I have the best drinks to offer,”
The temptation of drinking somewhere other than the club was getting to you and the others. With the accumulated stress and endless training, all you wished for was a chance to let go even for only a second. Now that Yunjin had proposed an idea that was hard to reject, the devil on your shoulder was calling for you to agree.
“I’m down,” Sunghoon was the first to agree to Yunjin’s idea, his eyes immediately meeting yours when you looked over at him. He flashed you a faint smile, giving you a drinking gesture to which you rolled your eyes at.
“You know what, me too,” Juyeon, who stood next to Sunghoon, threw his arm around Sunghoon, bouncing slightly on his heels. Following him, the others agreed too, and you inevitably went along.
“I’ll pick you up,” Sunghoon said as he passed by you before disappearing with the guys to their locker rooms. Yunjin and Yujin were staring at you with a type of smile that you knew was up to no good.
“What?” you wrapped your towel around you and started making your way to the locker room as well, the other two running up to catch up with you.
“You and Sunghoon have gotten really close,” Yunjin nudged you with her elbow.
“Isn’t that what you all wanted? Since you locked me in a room with him,” you wiggled an accusatory finger at both Yunjin and Yujin who were equally guilty for conjuring up the idea and going along with it. “Is it supposed to be surprising that we’re close friends again?”
You remembered that day clearly and what exactly happened after. Once you made up with Sunghoon, you and him weren’t freed from the room immediately as you wished for it to be. Instead, you were in there for over an hour, stuck with Sunghoon and having to converse with him even though he had just witnessed your breakdown in front of him. Admittedly, it was a great bonding time that did help in repairing your relationship, but you were still holding that grudge that your friends had run off to leave you fending for yourself in that locker room.
Thankfully, their efforts were not in vain. After that, you and Sunghoon became closer as each day passed by. Although it was a little awkward and tense at some points in time, you still managed to get over it, building back the friendship that you used to have together. You could tell Coach Jeon was much more relaxed than usual seeing you and Sunghoon talk and interact. Not to mention, the trip back to your hometown has made a monumental impact on you and him, getting the closure that the both of you needed and finally putting everything behind.
“Well…no,” Yujin interjected, a finger placed on her chin as if she was pondering deeply about something, then she turned to look at you sharply. “But, what if…”
You pulled a face at her, absolutely confused at what she was trying to mean. “What if?”
“What if,” it was Yunjin’s turn to chime in, raising her eyebrows suggestively at you. “What if you and Sunghoon—”
“Never!” you blurted out, stopping Yunjin from finishing the sentence that you knew what was going to end with. That question has been asked ever since you were kids till your teen years, and you were getting deja vu at that moment. The thought of Sunghoon and you dating has always pulled a convulsive reaction out of you.
“What?” Yunjin and Yujin shrieked, halting in their steps which prompted you to follow suit, staring frantically at them as though you’ve spoken a curse that had shook them.
“You had Park Sunghoon wrapped around your little finger since you were a kid and you never once—not even once—thought about him in that sense? Do you know how popular he is?”
You knew Sunghoon was popular ever since you were a kid. It didn’t matter if it was in school, in the club or around your neighbourhood, his name had a reputation to it, the ‘cute swimmer boy’ was typically how people described him. The crushes people had on him were something you wished you would forget too, not because of jealousy whatsoever, but mainly because you were dragged into it for no reason at all.
“I’ve never considered it before,” you said simply, avoiding their watchful gazes, but were met with doubtful looks from the two girls.
“Not even once?”
You swallowed, fidgeting with your towel and slowly losing your composure. There was a momentary pause that spoke more than words were needed, followed by an uncomfortable cough. “Well…maybe once,”
“Okay. Just once?” Yunjin pressed on, a satisfactory smile appearing on her lips just as imaginary devil horns appeared on her head. She knew what she was doing.
“Or twice…”
“Only?”
“I’m leaving!” you clutched onto your towel, not sparing your friends a single look before rushing towards the locker room. Your heartbeat was increasing at a concerning rate and it was not because you were speeding up your steps, but because of the thought of Sunghoon and your friends’ questions. This was frustrating!
Yunjin and Yujin watched as you sped walked away from them with smiles on their faces, the identical ones they had while brewing up the plan to get you and Sunghoon back together. Well, that worked, didn’t it? So, their next plan should be a guaranteed success.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
“I think I do.”
To your absolute dismay, the conversation you had with Yunjin and Yujin completely distracted you from that moment onwards. All you could think of was Sunghoon associated with the words ‘what if’ when you were in the shower, locker room until seeing the man himself in his car. You listened to him talk with the soft music in the background, the ambience itself painted a picture where a new light was shone on him, the thoughts returning in no time.
You tried your best to avoid him when you had the chance at Yunjin’s place, taking every chance to distract yourself with your friends’ conversations while chugging down some good beer. There were a few occasions where you felt Sunghoon’s lingering stare at you, locking eyes for several seconds before being the first to look away, heat gradually crawling up to your cheeks. Damn it, Yunjin and Yujin, why did they have to put this imagery into your head? Now you can't face Sunghoon like a normal person.
“Why are you so quiet today?”
You were startled when you heard Sunghoon’s voice coming from behind you. It was right after midnight when you were sitting on one of the chairs in the balcony all by yourself, looking out at the city skyline with a half empty bottle of beer. Sunghoon made his presence known by taking a seat next to you, keeping his unwavering gaze at you, expecting an answer from you.
You. You were the reason. That was what you would’ve said if you had the guts to be as bold as you wished to be. However, that was already reserved for the Olympics, so you couldn’t bring yourself to be bold when it came to your true feelings. What were your true feelings in the first place?
“What? Oh, it’s nothing. I guess it’s just finally hitting me that the Olympics are soon. It’s quite nerve wracking,” you were lying through your teeth, and there was a small chance he could see through you.
Sunghoon propped one hand on his knee, leaning a little close to you, his eyes trained onto your face, the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of the beer lingered in the air between you and him. “You’re nervous? The Y/N L/N is nervous? That’s something new,”
“Quit teasing,” you slapped his arm in a lighthearted manner, resisting the urge to smile when you saw his face lighting up. “Everyone’s expectations are a heavy burden. Maybe I got older and became a little more aware of everything, but I’m finally realising not only our country is placing their hopes on us, the entire team is too,”
The emotional side of you was making its appearance once more just as it always does when you drink. Last time it was about Sunghoon, and this time it was with Sunghoon, you should be proud of the progress. Taking a swig of your beer, you tried to hide your vulnerability by acting as casual as you could. It has been ages since you and Sunghoon had these types of conversations, especially now that you’ve just recently patched things up, the last thing you wanted was to dump your worries on him.
“Do you still remember what they called us?” he placed his beer bottle onto the ground, the cool night air brushing against his hair, a slight tinge of pink painted on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. You ignored how close he was to you, your knees brushing against one another at times, his cologne being the only thing you could breathe in, every single detail of his features being as clear as day in the night. “‘National treasures’. That’s what we are. That is what I think you are. Despite everything, whether it is losing or winning, it’s something nobody could ever take away from you. Take the burden and turn it into your strength. No one would blame you for any kinds of outcome,”
There was a beat of silence, you were blinking at him, absolutely lost for words. You were touched, the emotional imbalance wasn’t helping either as it made you feel a bottle of surging emotions. Most importantly, you could feel your heart skipping a beat. Was that supposed to be normal? You ignored the telling signs, opting to feign nonchalance and breaking into a smile. “Since when did you get so matured?”
Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle, turning away from you to look at the night sky instead. He breathed in deeply, exhaling just a second after, a comfortable silence settled for a split moment. “We’re the protagonists of the world,” he said without missing a beat, then he glanced back at you with a fiery spark in those brown irises of his. “That’s what we used to tell each other, isn’t it? So, what’s stopping us from being that again?”
He remembered. He remembered everything. Every little detail that you thought to be too insignificant for him to recall, every small moments you had together, every word you said to him, he never once forgot them. There was a slight widening of your eyes as you processed what he just said, the realisation eventually pulled a laugh of amusement out of you, a sudden wave of reminiscence filled your heart up.
“You’re right. We’re born to be national treasures and the protagonists of the world. You and I.”
Landing in Paris was a dream come true.
Not only were you accompanied by the entirety of the national team, but you had your closest friends by your side, the anticipation for victories were apparent in every one of you. Yunjin and Yujin couldn’t contain their excitement throughout the whole plane ride either. They were bugging you about the food choices available, the opening ceremony leading up to the design of the medals. It was a miracle you managed to sleep despite their constant bickerings.
“It’s really happening, isn’t it?” Yunjin whispered to you as the team were en route to the Olympic Village.
“It is. It truly is,” you had a dazed look in your eyes, the passing sceneries of the city mesmerised you with the reality of you actually being there gradually hit you. “A once in four years opportunity. It is our time now.”
Unpacking your luggage was a hefty job once you’ve arrived at your assigned room in the village. You shared the lodging with your two best friends along with your other teammates from the swimming team, so there was nothing much to worry about except for the amount of gossip that would happen in that space alone. No matter how tired you all were, you had no choice but to power through it and get ready for the opening ceremony in the evening.
The opening ceremony was an unforgettable experience to say the least. You were dressed in a simple suit just as the others were too, the team uniform was the only thing taking up your line of sight as you stood on the boat that was cruising along the Seine River. Countless spectators were crowded on the bridge overlooking the river, waving to the boats passing by.
“I can’t believe we’re on a boat. We didn’t have this in Tokyo,” Yunjin whisper-shouted to you, recounting the opening ceremony back in Tokyo four years ago while waving the flag in her hand with great enthusiasm.
“It’s not everyday you get to be on a boat in some expensive suit in Paris,” you threw an arm around Yunjin’s shoulder, pulling her close to your side.
“And it’s not everyday you’re just casually participating in the Olympics,” Yujin added, doing the same to you and pulling you closer to her, eliciting a laugh from both you and Yunjin. It really was a miracle and a dream to have your best friends competing with you at such a big event, and that wasn’t something anyone could just brag about.
Halfway through the boat ride, you managed to squeeze past many familiar faces from your national team, some were even athletes you looked up to, and it made you feel like a fan all over again. However, that wasn’t your main goal for searching around the large boat. It was the person that came to your mind ever since you landed in Paris.
“Sunghoon!”
He turned around at the sound of your voice calling after him, his curious gaze landed on you, warmth and familiarity filled his eyes at the sight of you accompanied by a boyish smile he would have whenever he was with you. There was no way he could hide his excitement of seeing you from the way his eyes sparkled and crinkled at the sides, looking at you as if you were the only person in his field of vision.
“Hey,” he breathed out once you reached his side, the both of you leaned against the railings and looked out at the river. “Tired?”
“Very. Can’t you tell I’ve put concealer over my dark circles? I think the jet lag might hit soon,” you dramatically pointed at your under eye area, the frown on your face only pulled a humorous laugh out of Sunghoon.
“Rest up. Our first event is tomorrow,”
“Already?” you threw your head back, groaning at the thought of early morning training.
“Crazy, isn’t it? I have back-to-back events too,”
“Who asked you to sign up for so many anyway?” you nudged his side teasingly, sharing a brief moment of eye contact.
“I’m very passionate about swimming,”
“Sure you are,” you snickered quietly at him, sharing the same smile he had on his face. Slowly, you turned to look at him, resting your elbow on the railing. “You’re not pushing yourself too hard, right?”
He averted his gaze from the view in front of him, glancing at you instead and meeting your rather intense eyes that held a message that he knew to decipher before you could explain further. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly. There was a hint of hesitance in his movements for a split second, but then he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m really glad I got to spend this Olympic with you,”
Given the last Olympics in Tokyo where you and he were still in the cold war era, it never once occurred to you that you’ve wasted a precious moment with him. It could’ve been a good memory where you experienced your first Olympics with the person that’s been by your side since day one. Four years since then, in this present time, staring at his delicate features with a crowd cheering around you, there was nothing you would trade to replace this moment with him.
“I’m glad you’re here with me this time,”
His smile grew wider, eventually reaching his eyes that contained sparks which grew brighter as time passed. Your breath hitched, the air around you seemed to grow thicker, the breeze swept across your face, blowing against your hair. Yet, all you could do was be frozen in place, becoming much aware of the feeling of his skin on yours. How were you to explain the weird sensation of your heart tightening and racing quicker than normal? You were too young to experience cardiovascular diseases!
Something in you knew it wasn’t symptoms of any heart diseases, it was the signs of love. That was much more frightening to you than anything else.
“Are you…okay? You dazed out for a bit,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to reality after having an internal conflict with yourself.
“What? Oh—I’m fine. Just a little jetlagged. I told you it’s setting in,” you laughed with a nervous undertone to it, trying to wave off any suspicion along with your own thoughts about Sunghoon.
“Get enough sleep tonight. I’ll be there rooting for you tomorrow. After all, your event is before mine, so I’ll be giving you my every support,” he squeezed your hand gently, unbeknownst to him, his action along with the feeling of it travelled to your heart, triggering it to thump harder against your chest. “You better swim at your best, okay? I’ll always be able to see right through you,”
‘I know you’. You remembered it as clear as day, as though it happened just yesterday. Sunghoon’s words brought back the memory of what he had said to you during your first few altercations in training. It was a fact. There was no need for you to deny it or try to avoid that, because both you and Sunghoon knew, no matter what, you’d be able to see through one another and be the best judges of each other’s performances. After all those years, this seemed to have not changed.
You scoffed lightheartedly, turning your face away from him for a moment to hide your flushed state before facing him once again, putting up a front of casualness. “Who are you? Coach Jeon?”
He snorted at the mention of your coach, shaking his head a little. “I think Coach Jeon would be pissed if you didn’t do your best,” he was stating the obvious, considering your coach has the sharpest eyes when it comes to everyone’s performances, there was no way anyone would dare to do so. Sunghoon raised his eyebrows at you, the slightest smile resting on his lips. “But I don’t think that’ll happen. Ever. Y/N L/N, the person I know my whole life, would never slack off or put zero effort into your swim. So, just do your best,”
“You, do your best, too. I’m hoping we can return home with medals around our necks,”
“Of course we are,” he said without any hesitation whatsoever, straightening his spine and wearing a confident smile, never once loosening his hold on your hand. You forgot Sunghoon tends to be the one who had more confidence than you before every competition. It has been that way ever since you were kids, and it seemed to have continued onto the present day. “Did you forget? We’re national treasures. We’ll always bring a medal home. This time, however, it’s going to be gold,”
“You better stick to your words,” you pointed a finger at him, the thought of winning the gold medal excited you, but it also scared you. To Sunghoon, it was just another challenge for him to tackle.
“I will, and you better give it your all to win that gold too. I want to win it together with you … like how we used to.”
Nostalgia was certainly dangerous. You couldn’t help smiling at the mention of the past, thinking about the times you and Sunghoon won gold medals in your individual events. The pictures taken together with a gold medal hanging around each of your neck, smiling innocently with pure joy from winning resided in a thick photobook, becoming memories that you would never let go. It might’ve been different this time compared to the competitions from your childhood as it was the Olympics, the pressure and expectations were higher on you and him. Despite all that, the dynamic between you and Sunghoon remained the same.
Looking out at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, you realise this Olympics wasn’t just a chance to fulfil your dreams, your country’s expectations, but also the hope and dream you shared with Sunghoon since you were kids. The last Olympics might’ve not gone as well as you wished it had in terms of your friendship with Sunghoon, so this was a chance for you to turn things around. Not to mention, your inner voice bugged you constantly about your complicated feelings that have yet to have an answer. Now, that was another problem to solve.
First, you’ve got to get that gold medal. Secondly, you must figure out your true feelings for your best friend. Between the two, the latter seemed much harder than the Olympic gold medal.
“You’re telling me you thought of Sunghoon in a romantic way?”
Breaking the news while you’re warming up half an hour before the finals of your first event was probably the worst timing possible. It was even worse for Yujin and Yunjin who had just finished their semifinal round for their butterfly event.
Quite frankly, you couldn’t blame yourself either. The thought of it was spilling at the seams since its first appearance prior to the Olympics. From that point onwards, it only seems to plague you further by taking over your mind. You were lucky you managed to make it to the top three out of the eight to qualify to the finals. The first day was already chaotic for you, to top it all off, you just couldn’t avoid Sunghoon entirely and thus, the thoughts about him worsened.
“Well, correction, ‘thinking’, not ‘thought’,” you said meekly, attempting to hide your face by stretching, but your two friends weren’t letting you go easily.
“Present tense?” Yujin shrieked, earning odd stares from reporters and other competitors around you. She pursed her lips, lowering her gaze before narrowing it at you. “So, you do have feelings for him?”
“I don’t know? It’s not confirmed … yet. I think?”
“You haven’t made up your mind yet,” Yunjin hummed, seemingly much calmer than Yujin from the looks of her demeanour. “You’re in denial. I do think you have some feelings if you couldn’t stop thinking about him,”
You stopped your actions, deciding you were done warming up, but remained motionless, a defeated sigh eventually left your lips. “What do I do?”
“Own up to it. Face it,” Yunjin stated plainly, receiving a groan from you as a response.
“Easier said than done. The last thing I want to do is to ruin our friendship right after fixing it,”
Yujin looked at you with the softest gaze, much rather in sympathy at your pathetic state. “That won’t happen. How do you know it’s unrequited? What if Sunghoon feels the same way?”
“Impossible,”
“Hey! Don’t make any conclusions before knowing the truth,” Yunjin landed a smack to the back of your head, and as much as you knew you deserved that wake up call, you still hissed at the sting.
“You’re right. I think I’m overcomplicating everything,”
“You are,” Yujin was straightforward, even if her honest truth was a cut to the skin, her rubbing your back in reassurance was a way to patch the wound. “How about we have a debrief tonight at dinner? You should be focusing on what’s much more important now,”
“The fucking finals, Y/N! The 400m freestyle finals! You’re against Ledecky, you should be more worried about her than Sunghoon,” Yunjin surely made a point, and it did help in giving you additional assurance.
You couldn’t resist laughing, especially at their rather interesting way of encouragement and comfort. “Let's talk about this tonight then. I’ll make sure to swim my best later,”
“Duh, when will you ever not? Come on, Sunghoon’s 400m freestyle final is starting. Do you want to watch that or dodge him?”
“Of course I’d want to watch it. After all, he’s still my best friend and I told him I'll be there to support him,” you remembered the unspoken promise you had with Sunghoon to win the gold medal together. With your first finals happening back-to-back, the desperation to achieve your life-long dream with each other had personally overwhelmed the thought of your nation placing their entire hope on your back.
Being at the poolside gave you a slap in the face with the reality that you were in the finals and you weren’t hallucinating every part of it. You were with some of your other competitors for the finals, some were doing last warm-ups while some were sitting and waiting for the men to start their finals. You were one of those waiting for the event to begin. From the looks of your legs shaking, it was hard to determine who you were nervous for. Yourself or Sunghoon?
The swimmers soon take their places at their individual starting block. You could spot Coach Jeon giving Sunghoon some last minute advice before giving the boy an encouraging pat in the back, sending him off to his spot. At one point, you wondered if you were staring too intensely at the back of Sunghoon’s head. It was as if he could feel your stare and your presence simultaneously, opting to look over his shoulder instead of stretching like the other swimmers. One look was all it took for Sunghoon to spot you. He had the same spark in his eyes as the moment he saw you on the boat during the open ceremony.
His shoulders evidently sagged in relief. He breathed in deeply, followed by a striking smile that he casted specifically at you. In those years of competing together, you barely had times where your events were back-to-back, but whenever there were opportunities as such, either you or him would be relieved to see one another. Just one glance, and it’d calm your racing heart in no time. To you this time, however, instead of slowing down your beating heart, his presence only made your heart work ten times harder than usual.
Sunghoon had no choice but to take his eyes off of you once they gave out the signal to the swimmers to take their places on the starting block. Your eyes were trained solely on him, unable to tear them away from his figure as you watched him pull his goggles over his head. Quietly, and routinely, you prayed for the best.
There was a loud electronic beep that was followed by the swimmers diving into the pool, a sound of water splashing filled the arena and from that, the cheers increased by ten folds. You could barely breathe as you stared at the large projector that displayed the live televised scene of what’s happening before you, giving everyone a much better view of the action in the pool.
Sunghoon was currently in a tight spot with both the German and Australian swimmers relentlessly chasing after the first place. There were times when the top three would overtake each other to secure the gold medal position just to fall back. It was only the second lap out of the eight, but you could feel yourself unconsciously gripping onto your chair tightly. To the spectators and fans, the thrill of the competition between the swimmers spurred them alive, the atmosphere in the arena became increasingly wilder from the shouts and cheers.
The swimmers completed each lap with vigour, swimming back and forth for eight laps without stopping for a second, the last lap was soon approaching once you saw Sunghoon kicked his feet off the wall, heading back to the starting spot for one last time. The underwater battle between him and the other two swimmers was becoming much more fierce, leaving the rest of the swimmers to trail behind them.
There was barely any gap between the three of them till the point where it became hard to determine who was in the lead. The tension was high, the fans in the crowd were shouting louder while waving the flags of their countries. You could hardly get your eyes off of the screen, the name of your best friend was displayed on the lane he was swimming in, the distance between them and the starting point was closer as each second passed.
Nobody dared to blink the next moment. Once their hands touched the walls, it was already the signal of the end. Every swimmer stopped once they had finished their lap, holding onto the edge and waiting for the results. The screams from the people watching in the stands became a hundred times louder when the leaderboard revealed the names of the top three winners. You averted your gaze to the three names, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of Sunghoon’s name sitting in second place.
The camera panned over to show Sunghoon on the screen. There was a hint of disappointment that was hard to hide, but you could tell he was trying to put on a smile. Losing the gold medal was frustrating, however, at the end of the day, he was still a winner of the silver medal, making him the first athlete to clinch an Olympic medal for the country this early on in the campaign.
The swimmers eventually got out of the pool, rushing to interviews or choosing to freshen up by changing into their tracksuits. The medalists were busy tending to the reporters and once they were done, they rushed off to change so that they could get ready for the award ceremony. That was when Coach Jeon approached you, reminding you that your own event was starting soon.
“Ready?” he patted your shoulder, giving his best to offer any form of encouragement that seemed to not have successfully calmed you down entirely.
“Not really, but I’ll be okay,”
“Just remember what we always practised. Those months of hard work will not be in vain, you hear me? Go out there and prove to everyone that you’re Y/N L/N. The star swimmer of the national team.”
‘Y/N L/N, the star swimmer of the national team’. You never expected that the title which has been thrown around in headlines for years to finally become somewhat significant to you until this moment. You were in a designated staging room waiting for the award ceremony to end and at the same time, to get ready for yours. The small television screen in the corner of the wall was broadcasting the entirety of the ceremony, the commentators’ voices were drowned out by the chatters in the room, and your sole focus was on Sunghoon who stood behind the podium.
The moment his name was announced, he stepped onto the podium, accepting the silver medal that was hung around his neck. There was a small smile on his face as he waved to the crowds, a smile you knew very well whenever he wasn’t fully satisfied with his own results. Apparently he hasn’t changed much over the years when it comes to swimming.
“We’re starting in five minutes!”
That reminder brought you back to your own reality that you had to face undoubtedly. The second the awards ceremony ended as fast as it had started, preparations for your event began and not long after that, the names of every competitor were announced in order. You walked out of the tunnel right as your name was called, the sound reverberated around the arena, the cheers that followed were loud enough to shake the ground of Paris. You’ve missed this feeling.
Standing before the pool with a large crowd was indeed nerve wracking after months of not competing and swimming in a pool with no spectators around. Even though you did swim with the crowd watching the day before for the preliminary round, you felt the difference at that moment knowing it was the finals. Everyone in that arena was placing their hopes on the athletes from their own countries, it was the same for you, but nothing could compare to how you and your competitors actually felt.
There was a buzz that signalled every one of you to take your places on the starting block. At that point, everything seems clearer to you. The water in the pool, the people in the crowd, your country’s flag, all of them were the reason why you felt almost unbeatable, they gave you strength. The beeping sound of the countdown matched the rhythm of your heartbeat, ever so calmly and steady.
Just as it did for the finals prior to this one, the electronic beep sounded once more and you kicked off from your starting block, diving into the pool with nothing but the goal of finishing the eight laps in your mind. Time stood still, the only thing filling your vision was the bottom of the pool along with your competitors in your peripheral vision. You didn’t know what was happening above the water or which place you were currently in, with every breath you inhaled, you wished time could stop for a second.
Every contact with the wall gave you a purpose to keep pushing forward. More than half of the eight laps were completed, all you needed was to push yourself further. It was hard being trapped with yourself and your own thoughts, the constant ideas of what would happen after this kept bugging you even as you swam. Time was, in fact, ticking. The eight laps were soon coming to an end. There was just one last lap from you and you’d be done.
The starting point seemed distant from your point of view. All you could wish for was your extended hand to quickly make contact with the wall. With every pump of your heart, you counted down to the moment you’ve anticipated for. One, two, three …
One slight graze of your finger against the wall marked the end of your lap. You grabbed onto the edge tightly, emerging to the surface of the water and inhaling a deep breath. Practically snatching your goggles off, your head snapped towards the direction of the leaderboard. Your name sat between the Australian and American swimmers.
Second place. 3 minutes and 58 seconds, only a second away from first place.
You shut your eyes for at least a few seconds, forcefully swallowing your disappointment down after as you congratulated your competitors. It was the first event out of the many you were competing in. You remained optimistic even as you answered questions from the reporters, though you wished they would cut down on the gold medal questions this early into the campaign.
On the way to the changing room, you spot a familiar face hanging around with your coach and several other of your teammates. The sight alone brought comfort to you and your heart, there was no chance of you resisting the urge to run up to them. Anton had already beaten you to it, being the first out of the group to spot you and practically shouting your name for the whole world to know.
“Congrats! You kept your spot in the 400m freestyle,” Anton wasted no time in giving you a one handed hug. The others followed too, giving you different variations of a hug.
“I wish I could’ve upgraded, you know?”
“It’s better than none, right? But I do know what you mean, and I believe you’ve done your best,” Anton gave your shoulder a light squeeze, offering a warm smile.
“You did good, Y/N. You were in great form today, but sometimes there’ll be people with better form. Don’t let that get to you and focus on the next event, okay?” Coach Jeon patted you softly on your back, recognising the disappointment in your tone. “Go on and change up, the awards ceremony is soon. Let’s go and not bother Y/N first. We’ll see you later,”
Coach Jeon gave you one last pat on the back then left with the others trailing behind him, all of them cheering you on as they passed you. In the end, it was always your team who’s your biggest support system. That has never changed over the years, and it would never change even for the future, you were very sure of that.
Amongst the group of your teammates who had already left, one happened to stay back and waited for the chance to speak to you alone. You didn’t expect seeing this person would bring you more comfort after losing the lead. Not a hug or some encouraging words, his presence alone was what you needed in times like this, just the same as it was years ago.
“Hey,” Sunghoon had his hands tucked into his pants, the silver medal was still hanging around his neck. You figured he had just finished taking pictures and was freshly done with the press conference. From the tiredness in his voice, you wished he had gone off to rest as well, but knowing him, he would rather see you first than do all that.
“Hey,” you said back, letting him be the one to walk towards you and closing the gap. Pointing at the silver medal that he was sporting, you stared at him with a knowing smile. “You better not beat yourself up over this,” you landed a firm punch to his shoulder, but unlike how he would’ve usually reacted, he just accepted it with a grin growing on his lips, neither dodging or groaning from it. There was something so soft about his eyes that stared back at you, an unreadable mix of emotions that you’ve never seen before reflected in his those brown irises.
“I won’t,” he chuckled, hands unknowingly reaching to touch his silver medal. “After all, this is only the beginning. There’ll be a gold medal soon,”
“I need some of your confidence. You’re always so certain about your goals and you’d end up achieving it,” you pointed out without a second thought, and you weren’t exactly wrong either, earning an amused chuckle from him. “You better let me wear the gold medal once you win it,”
“Hey, didn’t we have this conversation before? We’re both winning the gold medal. Don’t forget that,” he frowned at you, thick eyebrows knitting together and it only made you smile in endearment. “I’m not winning this without you. I want to achieve our dream together,”
“You’re ridiculous,” you let out in disbelief, but from the look on Sunghoon’s face, you knew he was dead serious. Sunghoon was determined to achieve this goal with you no matter what, and he was going to succeed despite the circumstances. Just as you’ve said, Sunghoon has always achieved his goals that he was certain of, this one was the same as the rest to him.
“You said I’m certain about my goals, so here I am. I’m sure we’d win it. Together.”
There was an overflowing amount of sureness in his conviction till the point where it had influenced you gradually. If there was one thing about Sunghoon, it’d be the fact that once he’s set his mind on something, he’d do anything to get it. You were just worried that mindset would wear him out in the long run if something didn’t go his way.
“I’ll hold you to it then,”
“Hey Y/N! The ceremony is starting in five minutes! Go change up! I’ll see you out there,” the American swimmer who secured third place, Katie Ledecky, spotted you still unchanged and in your swimsuit.
“Oh—alright! Thanks!” you waved at her, casting her an appreciative smile, and once she was out of sight, you turned back to Sunghoon, looking rather awkward at the sudden interruption. “I need to get going—”
“Right. I’m sorry for holding you up,”
“No, it’s okay. I’m … really glad I got to see you before going out there. I’m less nervous now,”
“Really?”
“Really,”
A beat of silence filled the space between you right after. Internally, you were freaking out for admitting your thoughts so freely as you’ve just done. What was Sunghoon going to think now that you’ve said that? Would he interpret it as something else? What if—
“I’ll get going now. See you after the ceremony,”
“See you!”
There you went scurrying away from Sunghoon like a coward with your heart rate increasing, mentally cursing at yourself for your slip of a tongue. At any moment, you might as well confess your deeply hidden inner feelings to him. The gold medal, the pressure of winning and the expectations from everyone else could no longer amount to the stress of your true feelings towards Park Sunghoon.
Even as you stood on the podium with everyone watching, you couldn’t bring yourself to take your mind off of Sunghoon. In the midst of the crowd, you could easily spot him together with your teammates. It was your moment, your victory, the few times you could call yourself a winner on a stage as big as this, but the only person you could think of was your best friend.
The same best friend that grew up watching movies at your house, sometimes staying up too late just because you couldn't stop talking and wishing the night would never end. He was your best friend who would tell you stories about how one day you'd both be competing at the Olympics, and he was the one who'd hold your hand whenever you felt overwhelmed no matter where you were.
You had always thought those weird feelings you'd have in your heart were common everytime he said something to you or whenever he held your hands. Never once you thought those nights you stayed up with him, lying on your bedroom floor, talking about your futures where you stared at him with something other than platonic love in your eyes was odd. You remembered the time he laughed so hard until his eyes turned crescent shaped, and that was when you felt your heart skipping a beat, not knowing this wasn't as common as it seemed.
It was not normal. None of those things were ever normal. All of them went flying over your head instead. In that moment, while the national anthem played in the background, you've come to finally realise you've always felt this way for Sunghoon since forever. Those years together were just you denying your feelings for him, avoiding the fear of ruining your friendship. Up until now, you still had that underlying fear especially with the fall out that happened. But your heart was screaming louder at you, clouding the fear and pushing you towards him.
With the applause and camera flashes going off, you forced a smile, the grip on the flowers and your medal tightened, because it finally dawned on you, the undeniable truth that you've suppressed for almost your life was emerging.
You're in love with Park Sunghoon.
Nothing has been the same for you ever since coming to terms with the realisation that you romantically loved Sunghoon.
Your friends could tell you were acting a little off that day when you won your first medal, barely able to swallow down your food during dinner as you talked about Sunghoon. Even though you initially shrugged it off by saying it was just jet lag, it didn’t take long before you cracked and confessed the actual truth to your friends. Did they see it coming beforehand? Absolutely. Were they helpful? Not so. ‘Just tell him’, ‘I think he feels the same’ were the inputs from your friends that seemed to have made your head a mess.
You’ve always been brave. There were times where you had to face challenges thrown at you from every direction and somehow you managed to deal with them. For instance, you got through your injuries with courage and determination, nobody doubted that fact. But when it came to your feelings, bravery and determination was practically nonexistent, only quiet longing and pining existed.
“You better not beat yourself up over this,” the familiar words coming from Sunghoon who appeared beside you almost made you jump in surprise.
Another silver medal won, another close chance to get gold, merely missing by a small margin. You wished to be as optimistic as you were at the beginning, but the disappointment seemed to have built up gradually. The reminder from Sunghoon made you smile upon realising that he had just repeated what you said to him before, it was a genuine smile unlike the one that you put on the podium.
“I’ll try not to,” you removed the medal from your neck, clutching onto it in your hand. “After all, you did say a gold medal is coming soon, didn’t you?”
“I did. Don’t you remember we’re having the mixed medley relay in less than an hour?”
“Right. Our first event together,” your grip on your medal tightened unconsciously, the sudden awareness of your feelings towards him was causing your brain to haywire. Why now? “We haven’t competed together since we were fifteen,”
“I don’t think they saw I’m promising in mixed and men's medley,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he recalled the day he was announced to be replaced in the line up. “How ironic it is that I’m back to square one,”
“Must be fate, isn’t it? The domino effect that led us here,” you marvelled at the fact that your reconciliation with Sunghoon happened at the cost of Yeonjun’s demise. Sunghoon seemed to have caught onto the gist of the meaning behind your words, shaking his head and laughing quietly.
“I hope Yeonjun’s doing fine,”
“He is. He’s just bummed that he had to miss the Olympics. I’m surprised at how nonchalant he is about it though,”
“Maybe, maybe not. You’d never know. Anyway, I think we should get going, we need to get ready with the rest,” he gave your back a light pat, nodding his head over to where your coach and teammates stood, signalling for you to go there together. In less than thirty minutes, you’d be swimming in the mixed medley relay, not knowing what the outcome would be like against the other powerful teams, especially with Sunghoon as a replacement, it was impossible to predict anything.
“What do you think might happen?” You couldn’t help wondering aloud as you and Sunghoon made your way, occasionally stealing glances at the pool where the current event was taking place.
“It’s hard to say. I’ve never done this before and making it to the finals was already a miracle for someone who has little experience like me. I just hope this will be the moment,” he had a small pensive frown, eyebrows furrowed as if he was fighting with his thoughts internally. You instantly knew what he meant by ‘the moment’, the silver medal in your hand somehow becoming heavier at the longing for your shared desire of winning the gold medal.
Despite the tense atmosphere with the pressure to win the gold medal, you managed to let out a genuine, carefree laugh, looping your arm around Sunghoon’s in the heat of the moment. Unbeknownst to you, he tensed for a second and his eyes were flickering in panic at your touch. You turned to look at him, a wide, infectious grin plastered on your face, reminding Sunghoon of many moments you shared with him in the past, feeling a sudden surge of deja vu but also an unfamiliar sensation gripping at his chest.
“With us together, I’m sure we’d be the protagonists of the world, like always.”
Walking out of the tunnel with you and your teammates names being announced to the whole arena to hear was a surreal moment. You had ignored the way your heart raced from the simplest action of holding Sunghoon’s hand for a split second when all of you raised your interlocked hands in greeting to the fans. It was torture to pretend you were completely normal even when Sunghoon casted you a smile right after you dropped your hands. It was almost as if he knew and was mocking you.
“Alright guys,” Anton started, taking the chance while all you were huddled together removing your tracksuits. “After our months of training together and from the results recorded each time, I’m sure we’ll be able to face this and get a medal home. Don’t think much, we’re going to win this,”
Anton, being the group’s hype man for every competition, didn’t fail to restore the heavy atmosphere yet again. The rest of you smiled at his encouraging words that were filled with confidence, making quiet cheers and taking turns to give him a grateful pat in the back. There were some wishes of good luck and last encouragements shared around the group before Anton took his position on the starting block, being the first to begin for the backstroke leg in the relay.
The electronic buzz was no stranger to any of you by then. At the sound of it, every swimmer dived into the pool, swimming faced up with their arms moving in a windmill-like fashion. You could tell Yujin and Sunghoon were both holding their breaths, watching Anton and the two other swimmers fighting for the lead. Hell, you were too, wishing you could choose to close your eyes instead.
Before you knew it, Sunghoon was already making his way to the starting block to get in position. The time was ticking, you knew it was selfish but you couldn’t help yourself from grasping onto his hand, stopping him in his steps, catching him off guard like a deer in headlights. “Good luck,” it was nothing much, a simple expression just like any other, yet you couldn’t explain the reason why you had to tell it to him personally.
It wasn’t obvious, but from the looks of his expressions softening, melting into a relieved smile as if a huge boulder had been taken off his shoulders, Sunghoon seemed to have needed to hear it from you just as much as you needed to tell it to him. “Thank you. Really.”
You let go of his hand, watching as he took his position the same way as he had always done in practices. There was a sense of calmness around him. He fixed his swim cap once, pulling on his goggles after, strictly in a particular order that he followed since the start of his career. His small habits and the superstitions he believed in never changed even after all those years.
The moment Anton was nearing, Sunghoon dived into the pool. Your head snapped to the leaderboard displayed on the big screen, heart nearly stopping at the sight of the team being in first place at that moment. Yujin followed your sight, letting out a breath of disbelief. You turned to meet her eyes, exchanging a knowing look and placed your arms around the other. Nothing could compare to the anxiety you were feeling as the person who was going last.
Yujin was the next to dive into the pool after Sunghoon reached the starting point. He climbed out, absolutely drenched and breathing heavily from the swim. Anton went up to him and gave him a wordless squeeze to the shoulder, letting Sunghoon catch his breath first while they watched the scene unfolding before them.
Soon, it was your cue to get in position on the starting block. Anton patted your shoulder, saying a haste ‘good luck’ once more as you made your way there. Sunghoon was quiet, he knew you more than anyone would, and in that exact second, he understood that you didn’t need another word of encouragement. Instead, he held onto your hand, squeezing it tightly, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he nodded his head, a slight smile on his lips. That was truly all you needed from him.
The feeling when you pulled your goggles over your head, eyes facing straight on the water was simply unexplainable, complex even. It was the same as it had been for days, months, years, but this time, in this exact instant, why did everything feel different? Was it because of the lead and the pressure to uphold it as the person in the last leg? You shook away every one of those intrusive thoughts, focusing on Yujin getting closer.
Just as she got close enough, you knew it was your cue to dive into the pool, letting the water engulf you whole as you kicked your legs, propelling yourself upward to the surface. Your hands and legs were working in tandem, going over the limit to execute your best movement. Every intake of air was scarce, filling your lungs with the right amount as you turned your head each time.
Before you knew it, you had already reached one point, executing a swift flip turn, then you were swimming towards the starting point, towards the end of the relay. You had no idea what was happening above the water, whether or not you were still maintaining the lead, all you could was empty your mind and swim despite the tiredness wearing you down after having to compete in another event earlier on. You finally understood the struggles of having two finals in a day that your teammates would constantly complain about at that moment.
You didn’t dare to move your head a single inch, maintaining the perfect position as you swam even though you were curious how far you were from the other end of the wall. Time was slow when you were the one swimming, the concept of everything happening around you was unknown to you. Your heart dropped to your stomach the second you felt your finger lightly brush against the wall, instantly gripping onto the edge with overwhelming suspense to know what the results were. You were holding your breath as you resurfaced, ears muffled for a split second before you were swarmed with your teammates who all crouched by you, barely having the chance to spare a glance at the leaderboard.
“We won! We fucking won!” Yujin shouted, barely containing her emotions as tears started streaming down her face, swim cap gripped tightly in her hands.
“We did it. Oh my God,” Anton exclaimed, letting his own emotions overwhelm him as he buried his face into his hands, not budging when Yujin wrapped her arms around him.
Sunghoon reached his hand out to you, his eyes were rimmed with a soft crimson hue, the redness highlighting the raw vulnerability within that he tried so hard to mask. The lashes glistened with unshed tears, and the whites of his eyes seemed to shimmer, revealing the depth of his unspoken feelings. Each blink threatened to spill over, this moment was what you and him have been waiting for. “We finally did it. We made it.”
You accepted his hand, allowing him to help you out of the water, but before he could fully stand straight, you had already pounced on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Sunghoon melted into your touch, holding you close to him with his arms around you with no space left for you to move. The leaderboard was turning blurry in your vision that was gradually filling with tears, your grip on him tightening and your head leaned onto his shoulder, tears mixing with the pool water on his skin.
He pulled away for a moment, hands still holding onto you, never wanting to let go for just a split second. There was nothing said, yet you could feel every emotion he was trying to convey through his eyes. Those shaking hands of his travelled from your waist to your face, cradling it in them, the softness of his palm pressed against your skin. It was fast, him leaning in to press a kiss that lasted longer than a second, the aftermath of it being you and him staring at each other with a mixed reaction of surprise and softness. Before you could say anything, he pulled you back into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tighter than ever.
The cheers around you were drowned out, the presence of the other swimmers were long forgotten, all you could think of was you and Sunghoon only. As you held onto each other as if there was no tomorrow, you never knew how impactful this win was to you and him. If either of you had won your first gold medal in your individual events, everything would’ve turned out differently. But with this shared win, the long awaited gold medal win that you and him swore to achieve together, your dreams had come true, and it was done side by side.
Standing on the podium next to your teammates and most importantly, the person that you’ve been through thick and thin with, receiving the gold medal that hung around your neck perfectly, you wondered if it was all a daydream. You reached for Sunghoon’s hand, slipping yours into his that he instinctively accepted, glancing at you with the widest smile in his face that was immediately burned into your brain, an image that was impossible to recreate. It was real, everything was real. The win, the feeling of victory, your unwavering feelings for the man that was holding onto your hand tightly, all of those were equally real.
“What should we do to celebrate?” Anton had his eyes glued on his gold medal the rest of the day, unable to store it away for just a second. Every one of you thought he might’ve already developed an attachment to it.
“Sleep, rest. We still have our last day tomorrow,” Yujin let out a massive yawn, muscles worn out for the time being to even be able to muster any leftover energy. Unfortunately, you had no choice but to agree with her, the only one who seemed to have enough energy to celebrate was Anton.
“Right, the men and women’s medley relay finals,” Anton murmured, his enthusiasm for a celebration was crushed after realising he still had one more event to go before being able to celebrate fully. “Ready for another round, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon, who only looked rather dreadful at the mention of their next and last event, showed a frown as a response, thinking about the possibilities that would emerge from the big event. “I’m scared. China and the US … France—”
Anton, carefree as always, slapped Sunghoon in the back. “Don’t be pessimistic, we’ll be fine. Isn’t that true, Y/N?”
You averted your attention away from the screen of your phone, looking up and unknowingly meeting Sunghoon’s eyes almost at once. It was unexpected, the intensity of his stare was all you needed to know that he had been stealing glances at you before this. The suddenness of it made you fluster for a second, nearly forgetting what Anton had just said. “Y–yeah, you guys will be fine. The team medalled at the world championships anyway,”
“You hear that? Don’t worry about tomorrow. Let’s bask in the glory!” Anton threw his arms around Sunghoon, successfully stealing his attention and giving you a chance to look away, calming your heart that was beating out of control.
Taking down one challenge at a time for your forte. With a gold medal secured, you’ve succeeded at the main task at hand. Now that your biggest obstacle was gone, there came another tumbling towards you: Park Sunghoon. You swore to yourself you’d get a gold medal first before dealing with that, and since you’ve always been someone who stuck to your words, it seemed to have come to haunt you instead.
Mission ‘tell Sunghoon how you feel’ was about to be tougher and scarier, probably a much higher chance of a heartbreak than any competitions you’d have ever participated in.
Who would’ve known that the Olympics had ended as fast as it started. One day you were just arriving at the village and the next thing you knew, you’re in the airport waiting for your flight home. Four medals won, a friendship mended, many unforgettable memories made, all of which happened in the course of a few months leading up to the Olympics and also the weeks that you spent in Paris.
“What’s in your mind?” Sunghoon crept up to the empty seat next to you in the lounge as everyone waited to board the flight. You turned your head to the direction of his voice, your body instantaneously reacting to him before your mind could fully process his presence.
“I’m just thinking about how quick this whole Olympics passed by,” you leaned your back onto the seat, Sunghoon following your action without removing his gaze on you.
“Isn’t it crazy how training started a few months ago?” Sunghoon chuckled at the thought of his first day in a new team that totally freaked him out. That entire nonchalant persona he put on was a complete facade, though he would never admit it aloud. “And now you’re going home with four medals,”
“Says the man who has five,” you nudged his shoulder with yours in a lighthearted manner, exchanging a brief smile with him. “It’s weird how six years of us not talking feels like it never happened before, like it was some kind of blip in the matrix. I’m glad we’re able to patch things up and go back to the way it was,”
“Me too. I missed this. I missed us,” it was odd, the way Sunghoon looked at you with emotions that you’d never seen, the vulnerability breaking through his voice, everything felt intimate, too intimate for just a simple conversation in the middle of an airport with everyone around. He took your hand and placed it in his, soft eyes crinkled in the corners with a gentle smile that he always had around you. “Once we’re back home, how about you and I take a short trip to our hometown again? Just the both of us like the last time,”
Staring at him, you were quite stunned, blinking feverishly, and at the same time, the feelings that you tried to shake off so many times were returning at that exact second. “I’d love to. We can grab our favourite lunch set like always,”
Sunghoon snorted, but he was nodding along despite the amusement. “You’re right. We didn’t get that when we were there that day,”
“I forgot! Plus, we had lunch with our family, I’m sure the overdue reminiscing can wait for a little longer,”
“That is why we’re going to go back for a week or more, do the things we always did and visit the places we went when we were kids,” Sunghoon snapped his fingers, staring at you with sparkling eyes. You could tell he really did miss home and his hometown with you in it. “Do you remember the secret hideout we had? The one in the park?”
“You mean the swing?” you smiled at the mention of your shared memories, remembering bits and pieces of it that has yet to be brought up until then.
“Yes, our swing,” Sunghoon enunciated the word ‘our’, a cheeky grin plastered on his lips that told you he was about to say something abysmal. “I really want to go back to that spot with you. Do you still remember that one time you dragged me there at night sobbing because the coach said you’re off by two seconds?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” you landed a hit on Sunghoon’s shoulder, the latter continued to laugh at the fond memory, ignoring your eye roll. His laughter and his smile that reached all the way up to his eyes made you feel fuzzy inside, the picture of it was eternally imprinted onto your mind. “I was such an overachiever,”
“You still are,” he managed to say in between laughters, gradually settling down and unbeknownst to you, his shoulder was pressed against yours, the gap between you and him were becoming nonexistent. “That is why you’re an Olympic champion,”
You shook your head, waving your hand at him. “Please, don’t flatter me and my ego,”
“It’s true! You really are amazing, you know that?” Sunghoon exclaimed, not a single trace of dishonesty was found in his words, his expressions showing genuinity. If he was able to read minds, he would’ve heard your mind yelling at you right after that. You were short circuiting, unable to generate a response. “In my whole life of knowing you, you’re truly one of the best, both in terms of swimming and simply as a person. You’re smart, kind, talented a–and everything. Frankly, you’re my favourite person,”
Are you in love with me? Because I’m in love with you too. You wanted to spill that out of your mouth, vomit your inner thoughts and feelings that you held in for so long, wishing you could make it clear to him how you actually feel and stop yourself from continuously confusing everything. What did he mean by all of that? Was it a casual compliment? To you, none of that was casual and normal. What kind of signals was he trying to give?
“Thank you,” you were breathless, simply because you were barely breathing and you had been holding your breath in ever since the start of his rant. “Y–you’re amazing too, really. Nobody could ever amount to you … you’re my one and only,” was this a suitable time and place to confess your undying love for him, your childhood best friend that you had feelings for? In this airport filled with athletes, being in the city of love, with the clock ticking down to 11:11, you were about to do the unthinkable that you’ve been overthinking for countless nights. “I have something to say, actually. Sunghoon, I actually am in—”
“Guys! Time to gather and board!”
F.M.L.
“What is it?” Sunghoon stared at you expectantly, eyebrows raised in suspense with a slight frown at the sudden interruption. You, on the other hand, were left with your mouth agape, confession cut short and the perfect timing that you deduced ended up being in vain. There was no way that this was reality. “Y/N?”
“I–I’ll tell you another day. We have to board,” you gripped onto the strap of your backpack tight enough to drain the blood from your knuckles. The disappointment was on par with the times you lost your lead.
“Is it something important?”
“Well, sort of? I guess it is,”
“Then you better remember to tell me when you’re ready, okay?” he wagged his finger at you, smiling softly as if he had noticed the drop in your face and was trying to assure you somehow.
“I will. Let’s get going now.” you patted his back, nodding over at the counter where the athletes were getting their tickets scanned and managing to divert his attention away.
‘I’m in love with you’. It’s simple and straightforward, there’s nothing hard about it for you to say, but why couldn’t you tell him that? Even when you tried to do so, it ended up being in a pile of mess, leaving you dejected in the end.
Since when has loving your best friend become so hard? You’ve been doing it for the majority of your life, the only difference was that you were aware that it’s romantic now, so what’s stopping you? Time? Or was it yourself? Maybe it's the fear of vulnerability that feels so heavy. Every shared laugh, every secret whispered in the dark, suddenly carries the weight of possibility. What if these feelings are too big to fit within the bounds of friendship? And yet, isn't love, in all its forms, worth the risk?
You were scared, scared of losing the person you just got back and also the possibility of loving someone who knew your strengths and weaknesses too well.
“You never told me he tried to hit on you while we were there,”
It was the third day of your one week trip back to your hometown with Sunghoon. After the last two days of being stuck with your own families and having to entertain relatives who were too inquisitive, you and him finally got the chance to hang out together without any prying eyes. Getting out of the city once you were done with your public appearances was the perfect plan, it didn’t take Sunghoon long before sending you a text telling you to pack your bags. If only he knew how relieved you felt seeing him pull up to your house like prince charming coming to save the day.
Sunghoon wasn’t kidding when he mentioned about revisiting your secret hideout. It was right after dinner, the sun had set and the wind was cooler, Sunghoon’s jacket was wrapped around your body despite his constant nagging. The night sky was littered with constellations of stars above you and Sunghoon, the two of you were sitting on the swings, the park was mostly empty except for a few lingering figures.
“I didn’t think it’s important,” you muttered, holding onto the swing that you’ve sat on ever since you were only a kid, specifically the right swing while Sunghoon occupied the left.
“It is! It’s literally Thomas Ceccon. He’s Italian, tall and hot…” Sunghoon trailed off at the sight of you staring at him with an expression of deadpan, clearly unimpressed.
“Sounds like you’re the one with the crush instead,”
Sunghoon pressed his lips into a thin line, sighing out a rather loud and big breath. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is … it’s just frustrating, okay? I mean, I’ve heard some things about him before that tells me he isn’t the best person. It’s like he thinks he has a chance or something. You don’t even need that kind of attention. You’re way too good for him,” he shifted his gaze, unable to look at you head-on.
You searched for his wandering eyes, the shock you experienced from his words and the harshness in his tone that you would seldom hear gave you a slight whiplash. Was he …? Could it be? Jealousy? There was no way, or so you thought whenever you tried to convince yourself that your feelings were one-sided. The small hope burning internally sparked brighter, though the fear of letting yourself down if the truth turned out to be the opposite of what you wanted lingered. “You worry too much. I don’t think about him that way. I … have someone else in mind anyway,”
“You do?” his spine straightened immediately, head almost getting snapped from his neck at how quick he turned towards you, eyebrows raised so high they were almost touching his hairline.
You nodded, strangely calm and collected, unlike the usual jitters that you’d experienced around him whenever you’re close to revealing the truth. “Someone who gets me, who knows how to make me laugh. Someone who sees me for who I really am,” you paused, your gaze steady. “But I guess he’s just too oblivious to notice,”
Silence was what followed after, the suspenseful tension turning thicker by the minute. You watched his expressions being scrunched up in deep thought then changing into a mix of confusion that eventually morphed into realisation where he might begin to piece the little things together. “What—no—are you … trying to say—”
“Forget it,” you blurted out, standing up from the swing, feeling your heart burning from your own fear and avoidant. You were close, so agonisingly close and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to face the possibilities of the aftermath. It was always you who chose to break your heart first.
“No, tell me,” Sunghoon got a hold of your wrist before you could get the chance to walk away, following you suit to stand and facing you straight, never once breaking his gaze that was locked onto yours. You were startled from the grip he had on you, the intensity he had in his eyes felt almost palpable, as if he were searching for the words that had lodged themselves in his throat. “Tell me, am I the oblivious one? Is that what you think? Because I’ve been feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around you, afraid to say what I really want. If you’re hinting at something, just say it. I can’t keep pretending I don’t care or be completely sane when I see some sleazy swimmer trying to approach you, it drives me crazy,”
The heat of his gaze burned through the air between you and him, a mixture of vulnerability and determination that made it hard to look away. Every emotion he felt flickered across his features—fear, longing, and an urgent need for you to understand. It was as if, in that moment, the world around you and him faded, leaving only the raw connection pulsing in the space between your breaths.
“Please, just tell me,” he urged, his voice low and urgent after seeing your silence. “I need to know if I’m the one you’re talking about or if I’ve been chasing shadows all this time. Because if there’s even a chance you mean me, then I can’t just let this go,” He stepped closer, vulnerability etched on his face. “I’ve been scared to say anything, afraid of ruining what we have. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel something more. So, just… say it. Please.”
“Do you really want to know?” you took a breath, your heart racing, knowing you were putting whatever it was about your friendship on the line. “Because if I say it, things might change between us. You’re my best friend … and I just can’t lose you like this,”
Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, evidently frustrated but trying his best to understand your fears. He could see right through you, you and him were alike in many ways, it didn’t take long for him to realise you were scared of losing him again, because to him, that was his fear too. “God, I hate that word,”
“‘Lose’?”
“‘Friend’,” Sunghoon practically spat out, the word alone was laced with distaste, his chest heaving. He took a step closer, his legs were feeling heavy, the weight pressing onto his chest was becoming apparent. You didn’t budge even when his hands travelled to your face, palms rested on both sides of your cheeks. “Can’t you see? I’ve laid my heart out for you,”
“Then let’s stop pretending,” you said, your voice was quiet but steady despite the storm in your heart. “It’s you, Sunghoon. It’s always been you. I’ve tried to ignore it, to push it aside because I didn’t want to risk what we have. But every time I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters. I’m scared too—terrified of losing you, but I can’t hide my feelings anymore. You mean so much more to me than just a friend,” you poured out every single undying confession that you had hid as if your life depended on it, desperation and pining was overwhelming you as time passed. “I’m in love with you, Sunghoon, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved you,”
Sunghoon’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper shimmering in his gaze, he froze for a moment, his breath hitching as your words sank in. A rush of emotions flickered across his face—shock, disbelief, and then a dawning realisation that made his heart race. He searched your eyes, looking for confirmation, as if needing to ensure that this wasn’t some beautiful dream. A smile broke through the haze of confusion, a mix of relief and joy. “I’m glad … because I’ve never once stopped loving you either,”
For a heartbeat, the world around you and him seemed to pause, your confession hanging in the air like a delicate thread connecting your hearts. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, he closed the distance between the two of you even further, his hand remained gently cradling your face.
He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips. You felt your pulse quicken, anticipation and fear intertwining as you still couldn’t believe this was actually happening. With a softness that took your breath away, he pressed his lips to yours. It was a tentative kiss at first, filled with all the unspoken words you and him both had held back for too long. But as you melted into each other, the kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more passionate, as if you and him were finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had been denying.
In that moment, the weight of your fears and the uncertainty of the past faded away, leaving only the electric connection between you and Sunghoon, igniting a fire that had always been there, waiting for this moment to finally ignite.
It was unmistakable, the feeling of his smile against your lips, the same smile that you had kept in your mind ever since you were merely kids. Your best friend, your lover, was undeniably your soulmate, the boy who you’ve loved since you were merely a kid had returned to your life as if it was fated for it to happen.
The smile was still present on his face even after he pulled away, the look in his eyes was enough to convey every emotion that he had. Foreheads resting against each other, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, Sunghoon’s eyes searched yours, a mix of wonder and disbelief lingering in the air between the both of you. He looked at you with such love, adoration and admiration as if you were his world, unaware how full his heart truly was.
“You know, that day at the airport, remember the important thing I wanted to tell you?” you were the first to break the silence, hands resting on each of his shoulders, mainly for support knowing your knees were getting weaker as you continued to process what had just happened.
“I do,”
“I actually wanted to confess to you about how I feel,”
“Really? In the middle of the airport? L/N, you never fail to amuse me,” Sunghoon chuckled, his thumb caressing the expanse of your cheek. Another choke of laughter was pulled out from him when you attempted to land a punch on him.
“Hey! I thought it was a good setting, the vibes were telling me so,”
His smile only widened, there was a sense of softness that he had in his eyes whenever he was around you, this was one of those instances. “I think I wouldn’t have made it onto that flight if you pulled that on me. We would’ve never made it home,”
“You’re right. It really would’ve been quite disastrous, wouldn’t it? I never thought about the entire outcome,”
“I wouldn’t complain spending a longer time in Paris with you,” he removed his forehead from yours, his features becoming much clearer under the glow of the streetlight. His expression softened, a seriousness returning as he took your hands in his. “This feels right. We’ve been more than just friends for a while now, haven’t we? ”
“Yeah,” you replied, your heart swelling with hope as you recalled every little, detailed moment with Sunghoon that made you rethink your life choices. “It really does, ”
A moment of silence hung between you and him, filled with the promise of something new and exciting. “So… what do we do now?” you asked, a playful grin on your lips, eager to explore this new chapter together as you always did with him for most parts of your life.
He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your hand. “Well, I guess we figure it out together. No more hiding, right?”
“Right.” you agreed, your smile widening as you stepped into the unknown, hand in hand, ready to embrace whatever came next.
Under that night sky which you and Sunghoon had shared and walked under all your life, the two of you spent the rest of your time in that park in each others’ presence, the air around had changed undoubtedly, but you and him were still the same, there was nothing that could possibly change when it came to the two of you.
The stars were shining brighter than usual, the moon was round and illuminated, the endless possibilities were now unfolding before you. With every shared laugh and whispered secret, the world around you felt alive, filled with promise and the magic of new beginnings. As you walked side by side, fingers intertwined, it was clear that this moment was just the beginning of a new path you’d be taking with him.
Under that vast expanse, you realised that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had each other—two hearts that had always been drawn together. In the quiet of the night, surrounded by the glow of the universe, you felt a warmth blooming between you, a certainty that whatever the future held, you would face it together, side by side.
Two months.
That was how long it had been since that night you and Sunghoon got together officially, ending the lengthy and obvious tension that existed way before you and him became friends again. Since then, many things have changed and happened. Sunghoon had returned to train under his original coach, the team’s success was celebrated by the nation from the point you’ve returned from the Olympics and praise has yet to stop in the tabloid with the additional excitement for the swimming world cup. Not only that, you revealed your relationship with Sunghoon to friends and family, receiving exciting screams and some ‘I knew it’ that you should’ve known was coming. Everything was finally perfectly in place.
Fast forward to the present day, you couldn’t believe you were actually standing on top of the world. It was the last day of the final stop of the world cup, the aggregate points from all three separate stops were counted to determine the top three male and female swimmers. Safe to say, ever since the Olympics, your drive for success only came out stronger. It was your determination and headstrong personality that drove you past your limits to emerge as the champion of the world cup.
Walking out to the stage and accepting the medal was a surreal experience, you wished someone was there to pinch you and remind you none of it was a dream. Never once in the course of the past weeks have you expected yourself to come out in first place with the highest points. Here you were, standing on stage with your fellow swimmers, facing the fans and giving your speeches, proving yet again that you were indeed the ‘national treasure’.
At the thought of that name, your attention averted towards the stands, scanning through everyone to find the person that you’ve been wishing to see most. Instead, a big sign that read ‘MY GF’S A WORLD CHAMPION’ caught your eyes, the person that was holding onto it peeked out from behind the sign, revealing his true identity, bringing an amused smile onto your face. Park Sunghoon, your boyfriend who has forfeited the last stop for the sake of his health, had never once missed a single event that you were in. You dared to say that he was your biggest supporter, not only for this instance, but for the majority of your life.
As your eyes locked onto Sunghoon’s, the noise of the crowd faded into a soft hum, leaving only the warmth of his smile and the fluttering in your heart. You didn’t need him close to feel his warmth, you could tell from the pride and affection hidden in his eyes that you were about to get the biggest hug when he got his hands on you. You raised a hand, waving enthusiastically, and he responded with a playful flourish of the sign, drawing laughter from those around him.
In that moment, everything felt right. The adrenaline from your win mixed with the comfort of his unwavering support, filling you with utmost comfort that you needed all along, making every sore limb and painful nights worth it. Even if you were out there alone, you knew, in the midst of every crowd, there always would be someone present, cheering for you no matter what the circumstances were.
That person would be Sunghoon. The man who you would call your best friend, your confidant, but also your lover. It might’ve taken a while to struggle past your differences and misunderstandings, yet, you managed against the tides washing over you and him, building a bond that surpassed everything. Not only was there trust and admiration, but an unmeasurable kind of love was formed. It would be eternal, an everlasting love that couldn’t be washed away, leaving you and him together for as long as you lived.
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