[wonies-crocs]

★ ☆ WELCOME! ─ ⠀⠀✧ ༉‧₊˚.

ABOUTME! 💬 ⠀♪ (- -ᣟ݂

hi my name is lilie, , welcome to my blog

(i have no idea what im doing LOLAHSJAH) , , , basically am just reblogging works i like / works ive enjoyed ^_^

༉‧₊˚✧ 8teen ⁽⁽ଘ( ︲˛︲ )ଓ⁾⁾ FiLO/UK ››

[stllmnstr]

all that glitters — part one.

pairing: park jongseong x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn

part one word count: 19.6k

warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn

playlist: jealousy, jealousy - olivia rodrigo / garden (say it like dat) - sza / simple - shae / needy - ariana grande / yellow - coldplay

note: Well it looks like two part fics are just my thing now so I hope that’s alright with youuuuu. This one is a rollercoaster of angst but also hopemaxxing and optimismmaxxing and yes, eventually lovemaxxing so I hope you enjoy!! Do note the tags for triggers, but don’t let the angst scare you I’m too much of a baby to write anything with a sad ending. Also, younger uni track star Jungwon is still in the works and in the drafts I just needed a quick change of pace after writing so much for him lately. And finally, FIRST STLLMNSTR JAY FIC!!!! EVERYBODY CHEEREDDDDDD

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Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You can’t even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires you’ve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.

But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought you’d always loathe.

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The back of Park Jongseong’s head is almost as annoying as the rest of him. 

Haloed in a well-kept array of perfectly styled dark hair, it currently blocks your view of the last slide in today’s lecture. Eyes tracing the perfectly mussed strands, you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

It’s an illusion of a carefree nature you know Park Jonseong certainly does not possess. Every strand of hair, down to the very last follicle is exactly where he wants it to be, no matter how hard he tries to pretend like it was nothing but a few strokes of his fingers and the grace of the light afternoon breeze. 

You scoff. As if that control freak would leave anything up to the whims of nature. You’ve seen his planner, even if only in passing. And by accident, of course. 

Filled to the brim with reminders and deadlines and memos, all etched in his infuriatingly neat handwriting, you doubt he’s ever left anything up to chance.

You’d admire the incessant diligence if it came from anyone else. Or at least, you’d respect it. But with Jongseong, or Jay as he insists on being called, you can only resent it. 

Every minute he dedicates to his own meticulousness is only another hour you have to spend studying. Writing. Editing. Practicing. Perfecting your own work and hoping the final result looks half as effortless as his. 

Effortless. That word tastes more bitter on your tongue than it has any right to. But it’s hard not to resent someone that was handed everything on a silver platter and loves to dangle it just out of your reach. 

Park Jongseong. He’s the only son and surefire heir to the conglomerate his father has been grooming him to run since he could check boxes on a spreadsheet. Part of you wonders if his enrollment in university is just for show. Surely there’s nothing he could learn from a bachelor’s in business that he didn’t learn on his father’s lap at the age of ten. That only makes you even angier. 

Mentally, you begin to sift through the day’s to-do list. 

Finish econ homework. Assign roles for your insurance law midterm project. Email your marketing professor for a finalized version of the midterm schedule. Send it to your manager at the cafe so he doesn’t schedule any overlapping shifts. Call your mom. Text Sunoo back. Make sure this month’s stipend didn’t get blocked during transfer again. Ask Kaia if she got an update from the landlord about next year’s rent increase. 

The longer the list extends, the more the words start to swim in your mind. The sound of your professor’s voice begins to lose its sharpness. It fades to a lulling wave before it disappears entirely, replaced by a sudden ringing in your ears. 

Your vision starts to swim, too. Blinking, you try to clear the black spots that suddenly halo Jay’s head. Quickly, the effort begins to strain. Screwing your eyes shut, you lower your head, hoping it will ease the sudden nausea beginning to rise from the pit of your stomach. 

Your skin feels hot. Too hot. Sweat beads at your temple as you fight the urge to be sick. 

Not on the laptop, you pray. Even through the haze in your mind, you’re well aware of just how many notes and assignments you would lose if your laptop died. Never mind the fact that you wouldn’t be able to afford a replacement for at least five months, and even that leaves no room for error in your finances or emergency spending. 

Palm supporting the weight of your clammy forehead, the ringing in your ears sharpens to something piercing. You can feel your consciousness slipping, thoughts fading as soon as they come. 

The urge to be sick is still there, but it’s distant now, fading into some corner of your mind that you can’t quite access. 

I’m not going to puke, you realize. But I am about to pass out.

Forcing breath in through your nose, you feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat. It echoes between your ears as you do your best to hold onto your last threads of coherence. 

You think you hear your name, maybe, somewhere in the distance. Grinding your teeth, you do your best to focus on it. Reach out like it’s a lifeline pulling you through the waves. 

You hear it again, louder this time. You’re closer. The nausea has faded now, more of a mild discomfort than an imminent threat. The vertigo that sent your mind swooping is calming to a gentle rock. 

Hesitantly, you try opening your eyes, just barely. The bottom of your keyboard looks back at you, blurry through your eyelashes. 

Again, you hear the sound of your name. Only this time, it’s clear enough to realize that it’s not a figment of your imagination. 

Too quickly, you lift your head, opening your eyes fully. Doing your best not to wince at the sudden movement, you suppress the sudden chill that traces your spine in a shiver. 

Sat halfway up the bowl of the lecture hall, you meet your professor’s eyes. Your face, previously clammy, suddenly feels impossibly warm as you realize nearly everyone in the lecture hall has their eyes locked on you too. 

Their expressions are a mix of concern and confusion. You can’t decide which one is worse. 

Pointedly, you avoid the weight of the stare coming from directly in front of you. The last thing you want to know is how Park Jongseong is looking at you right now. Because he is. 

You can feel it, the heaviness of his lingering gaze. What expression does he have? Is he confused like the rest of them? Or maybe his eyes are full of nothing but contempt, a sick sense of vindication at your humiliation. 

You did just barely edge him out of the top score on last week’s econ quiz, after all. Maybe he’s been praying for a moment like this. Karmic justice for taking what he must be sure is rightfully his. 

Or, worst of all, his eyes could be shrouded in sympathy. Worry. A reminder that no matter how many sleepless nights you spend studying and extra shifts you pick up just to afford the used versions of the pristine, brand new textbooks he arranges on his bookshelf, you will always be nothing to him. 

Not a threat, even if your GPA rivals his. Not competition, even though the two of you are always fighting for the last word in class discussions. 

You’re just another student. A girl whose place in the lecture hall behind him is funded by scholarships he’s never had to think twice about. A business major who studies the field and knows that ultimately, connections are the only thing that make your name worth anything in this cutthroat industry. 

It doesn’t matter how many networking functions you attend, how many professors you build relationships with, and how much of your own blood, sweat, and tears you pour into this. 

The blazer you found on clearance with loose threads and a stubborn wrinkle that your old iron can never seem to entirely erase will never turn heads the way his limited edition, perfectly pressed designer brand suits do. 

The name your parents gave you, will love and consideration and pride, will never hold the same weight, the same value, as Park Jongseong. 

“I—” you try, but your voice comes out dry, scratched raw. Forcing down a reluctant swallow and hoping your humiliation goes down with it, you try again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the question. Could you repeat it?”

Your professor hesitates for a moment, frowning. Eventually, she says, “That’s alright. We’re just about out of time actually.” 

You glance at the clock. Class isn’t scheduled to finish for another eight minutes. And Professor Jung never ends early. Ever. 

Addressing the entire hall now, she adds, “Don’t forget that this semester, we’ll be doing an exam and a project for your midterm. Again, my recommendation is that you find someone to partner with for the project. It’s extensive, and I designed it intending for the work to be split between two people. I won’t stop you if you choose to work alone, but the deadline will come sooner than you think. Finalize your plans and topic now, and send me an email or come see me at office hours if you have any questions. I’ll see you all next time.” 

With her reminders, students begin to shift, gathering their things as a few glance around in disbelief at the early dismissal. Thankfully, the gesture has eased most of the attention off of you. 

But before you can slide your laptop into your bag, her voice cuts through the hall once again. “And, ____?” Startled by the sound of your name, you look up to find her eyes already on you. Her expression is unreadable. “Stay after class for just a minute.”

Shit.     

Nodding, you bend to grab your bag. As soon as you stand from your chair, you feel it again. That same pair of eyes. 

This time, he catches you off guard. You don’t have enough of a warning to avoid the gaze you suddenly meet. 

Over his shoulder, Jay isn’t looking at you with disgust or contempt or even vindication. He’s just… looking. The same way you’ve seen him fine comb a spreadsheet or double check a report when the numbers don’t quite add up. 

Like he’s searching for something. Trying to figure something out. 

Your eyes widen slightly before you turn your head, breaking eye contact. 

When Park Jongseong looks at you, the only thing you want to see is the mild annoyance he has whenever you beat him to a correct answer. The strained frustration whenever you edge him out of setting the exam curve. 

Not his scrutiny, his searching assessment like you’re someone worth a second glance. No matter how much you resent him for largely treating you like a pesky fly, it’s what you’ve come to recognize as the status quo. It’s comfortable. Safe. 

Him giving you any sort of actual attention is very much not. 

Pulling your bag over your shoulder with a bit more force than necessary, you’re pleasantly surprised to find your legs quite stable beneath you, even if that shaky, jello-like feeling lingers slightly. 

Approaching Professor Jung’s podium with trepidation, you do your best not to fidget. She busies herself shutting down the projector and gathering her notes as the rest of the students file out of the hall.  

After a handful of moments, she closes her laptop and looks up at you. Her eyes shift over your shoulder, somewhere near the door. 

“Is there something you need, Jay?” she asks. 

Immediately, a surge of unease pulls at your stomach. The last thing you need is for him to bear witness to this conversation. 

“I…” you hear behind you, hesitant in a way he almost never is. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll ask you next time, Professor.”

You watch as she nods towards him. “You can always send an email, too, if it’s urgent.”

“Right.” His voice is smooth. Sliding around your shoulders and settling in the air. “Thank you, Professor.”

She nods again, a final dismissal. “Take care, Jay.”

You can’t bring yourself to look. Instead, you wait for the soft thud of the door closing behind him. 

Your professor waits, too. She parts her lips to speak, but the words are spilling from you before she can. 

“I’m so sorry, Professor,” you plead. Participation isn’t weighted particularly heavily, according to the syllabus she handed out at the beginning of the semester, but you need all the points you can get. “I promise it won’t happen again. And I really was paying attention, I just had this weird headache all of a sudden, and—”

“Woah,” she reaches out a hand. “Slow down.” Confusion creases her brow at your reaction. “I didn’t ask you to stay to chastise you.”

“Oh,” you breathe. Relief is short lived as confusion begins to take its place. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry that I gave that impression.” She sighs. Silence stretches for a moment before she continues, “Look, ___, you’re one of my top performing students. Maybe the top performing student.”

For a second, you almost wish Jay had stuck around, just to hear that. 

“I’m not concerned about your academic abilities or your focus in class,” she continues. “I am, however, starting to become a bit concerned about you.” 

“Me?” you echo. 

Nearly halfway through the semester, Professor Jung has solidified herself as one of your favorites. She’s in her mid-forties, demanding but receptive, and an absolute genius in the accounting world. 

She’s pushed you to see numbers, data, in a new way. To stop looking at them as some cold, detached thing and start looking for the implications. To consider how salaries and bonuses and business expenses affect not only a company’s bottom line, but also the employees that make it possible. 

Numbers, she always says, are a reflection. They tell you about customer satisfaction, employee well-being. Factors that matter if you care about longevity. Continued success. Ethics and morality. Conversations that are all too often missing or pushed to the side in this industry. 

You’ve been hoping that come finals, she’ll be willing to write you a recommendation letter. Maybe even ask you to TA for one of her lower level classes if your schedule allows. 

In short, you value her opinion. Not just as someone with significant authority over your GPA, but as someone with experience who seems to share your values. In the business world, it’s as rare as striking gold. 

Now, she stands across from you with concern etched across her features. “You’ve been quieter in class,” she says. “And today isn’t the first time I’ve seen you like that.” She nods towards your earlier seat. “Hand on your head like you’re in pain.”

“Oh,” you exhale, not sure what to do with her worry. You never imagined she, or anyone for that matter, would notice. You shake your head, prepared to brush her off, “I’m fine—”

She won’t let it go so easily. “Are you sleeping?”

“What?” you flounder for a moment. “I mean, it’s almost midterms, so I’ve been doing some extra studying, but—”

“So you haven’t,” she concludes, disapproval in her eyes. 

“I have,” you insist. “Just less.” The concern in her gaze doesn’t ease. “A little less,” you amend. 

“Are you eating?”

“Yes,” you nod. Extra hours in the library and the pressure of a potential rent increase might mean your meals are a bit less regular these days, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I even get free things from the case at the cafe during shifts, so—”

“You’re working?” Another flicker of concern crosses her face. 

Shit. 

“Oh, I…” you trail off, unsure what to do with the sudden interrogation. “I mean, yeah. But only part time.”

“You’re taking nearly double the recommended course load and you’re working. No wonder you’re nearly fainting in the lecture hall.”

Swallowing your pride, you admit, “I’m trying to graduate early. My scholarship depends on my class rank, and I—” you bite at the inside of your bottom lip. Your throat suddenly feels full, words getting stuck on the way out. “I can’t—”

“I know what it’s like,” she says, voice gentle. “Believe me, I do.” She pauses for a moment, weighing her words. “You’re brilliant, truly. One of the most impressive students I’ve had in my classroom in a long time. And you have grit, talent, perseverance. A commendable work ethic. You have what it takes to make it in this industry. But you need to take care of yourself, too.”

It’s humiliating, the way a tear catches in the corner of your eye. It spills, despite your stubbornness. You feel small, helpless as it tracks a hot, wet streak down the curve of your cheek. 

Professor Jung’s voice softens even further. “Is there someone nearby that can help? A family member? A friend?”

You’re biting the inside of your lip so hard you’re worried you might draw blood. Another tear escapes as you shake your head in a miniscule movement. 

Friends have long since fallen off your list of priorities. The few relationships you formed during freshman year have long since fizzled after you left one too many texts without a response and canceled on one too many plans. Kaia is the closest thing you have now, but your schedules are nearly opposite each other and as a nursing student, she’s nearly as busy as you. Even after two years of living together, you still call her your roommate. Not your friend. 

Your family is far away. Back in your hometown, the distance between them and the city your university campus sits on feels like an uncrossable ravine. Besides, they have their own worries to take care of. Namely, the restaurant that’s been in your family for generations. An enterprise that has cost your family more than it’s earned them for the last decade. 

Your father, mother, and younger brother all work multiple jobs to make ends meet. It would be nothing short of selfish to ask them for help now. 

“Okay,” your professor nods. The sympathy in her eyes is almost unbearable. “Then I’m going to request that you go visit the university clinic. I’ll call now and make you an appointment for this afternoon.”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, really, I’m fine—”

Professor Jung is firm. “Their services are free for students. It’s a university resource. Your tuition funds it.”

“I work this afternoon,” you protest.

“What time?”

“Three thirty.”

She’s already pulling out her phone. “I’ll see what’s available before then.” 

“Really,” you try to stop her, “I’m fine. I’ll eat a good meal tonight and make sure I go to bed early—”

“Frequent headaches and dizziness can be a cause for concern.”

“I’m sure if I just rest, then—”

“But you won’t rest.” Her gaze is heavy, something almost protective in it. “I know how it is. You tell yourself you just need to push through until midterms. But then there are events and presentations and research conferences. And then there are finals and you’re doing the same thing over again. It doesn’t end with graduation. This line of work rewards people who never sleep, who never rest, who never take a breath. Your competition is always trying to get one step ahead of you, to edge you out. You wear yourself to the bone until you make enough money to pay someone else to do it for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel that familiar sting at the edge of your eyes again. The urge to cry, but this time for an entirely different reason. 

“I believe in you,” she says. “I know you have big dreams, and I believe in those, too. So take an hour out of your afternoon and go visit the university clinic. Do it once and the next time you’re feeling unwell, it will be a little easier. Find ways to take care of you, too.”

The hesitation must still be apparent on your face, because she adds, “I’m more than happy to resort to threats if I must. I’ll make the midterm project a mandatory partner assignment.”

Your gaze wavers. “You wouldn’t.”

She just nods. “And I’ll assign partners. Why not pair up the two best students in class? I’m sure if the two of you put your heads together, you could come up with something truly commendable.”

The two top students. That would mean you and— 

No. 

“This doesn’t feel aligned to the Business School code of ethics,” you point out.

“Then go to the clinic,” she instructs, a note of finality in her voice. “And you’ll never have to find out just how terribly malleable that handbook is.”

You clench your jaw for a moment, looking for a loophole, a way out. And then, finally—

“Fine,” you acquiesce. 

“Good,” she nods. “I know the director at the university health center. I messaged him before the end of class. Go now. They’re waiting for you. They’ll see you right when you arrive.”

“You already…” your jaw drops slightly. “But what if I—”

“Just go,” she urges, nodding towards the door. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back to running yourself into the ground studying.”

There’s more you want to say, to argue, but she’s right. The quicker they diagnose you with stress induced headaches and fatigue and recommend resting more, the sooner you can get back to doing the opposite. 

Nodding, you make your way towards the door. Fingers around the handle, her earlier words echo through your mind. 

I believe in you. It’s been a long time since anyone told you that.

Turning back, you meet her gaze one more time, trying to swallow the emotions that threaten to rise. “Thank you.”

Professor Jung nods once, an expression you can’t quite read in her eyes. “I’ll see you next week, ___.”  

Halfway between the lecture hall and the health center, your phone dings with an incoming notification.   

You smile as the image spreads across your screen. Sunoo poses next to one of the cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, both of them tilting their heads at the exact same angle. 

A surge of fondness is quickly followed by a pang of loneliness. You’d give anything to see your little brother in person right now. To see that smile in person and wrap him in the biggest hug as he laughs in your ear. 

Looking at the picture a moment longer, you send a quick response before tucking your phone back into your pocket. 

Sunoo. Your brother is only one year your junior, but the protectiveness you feel towards him makes the gap feel bigger. 

He hates it, the way you coddle him. But after a life-threatening tumor nearly took his life when the two of you were in elementary school, you’ve felt more like a guardian than an older sister. 

It’s hard to remember how things were when you were just a kid. Your memories are hazy around the edges, and the passage of time has only dulled them further. 

There was never a time when your family was wealthy, but things were different back then. Your mother smiled more. Her back didn’t ache yet. She came home from long days of taking telephone orders and covering waitress shifts at your family’s restaurant with a smile on her face and enough energy to chase you and Sunoo around the neighborhood playground for hours. 

Your father came home later, usually. After all the cleaning was done and the restaurant was prepped for the next day. After the books were balanced and the cash register was double checked. But he laughed when he saw the two of you. Entertained your requests for endless rounds of hide-and-seek no matter how exhausted he was. 

Sunoo was always a sweet kid. The kind of shy that people gravitated towards. He was gentle, thoughtful, good. His teachers sang his praises and his friends’ parents were always happy to have him over. 

You were a bit rougher around the edges. Not mean or misbehaved, but something in you was always trying to run, to take, to push, even when everyone around you was resting. You had a fierce competitive streak and a hard time losing at anything, especially at school. 

You wanted to be the best at math, at science, at language arts. You wanted to run faster than all of the boys who treated the playground like their domain and draw better than all of the girls who spent every second of free time at the arts and crafts table. 

You wanted to do everything. Be everything. An astronaut. A scientist. A famous singer. A doctor. A lawyer. The president. Your dreams, your hopes, your goals for the future were always shifting, never standing still. 

And then, on a rather ordinary Thursday afternoon when you were in the fifth grade, your world fell apart. 

You rode the bus home alone that day. Sunoo hadn’t gone to school. Complaining of a stomachache and his head hurting in the morning, your mother took a day away from the restaurant to stay home with him. 

When you finally arrived at your stop, the elderly woman who lived next door was waiting for you there. You still remember it now, the awful, aching look of sympathy in her eyes as she greeted you. Called you sweetheart and told you that your family wasn’t home right now. That they had asked her to bring you to them. 

You remember the confusion, the anxiety as she pulled her small car into the hospital parking lot. The terrible ache in your heart, the panic in your chest as you met the tearful, desperate gazes of your parents. The crushing weight of their arms around you as they pulled you into a crushing embrace. 

The utter agony of looking at your baby brother unconscious on a hospital bed, skin pale. So pale. Too pale. 

A tumor, the doctor called it. You were too young to know what he meant, but you understood the weight of it. The implications. The sickening feeling in your gut as you heard him tell your parents to prepare for the worst. That he likely had no more than three months left to live. 

The clang of your mother’s knees hitting the hospital floor still rings in your ears sometimes. The desperate, hushed tones of your father’s whispers as he pleaded with the doctor, begging him to save his son’s life. 

The next year was the worst of your life. 

Week after week, treatment after treatment, doctor after doctor, and your brother only got worse. Sicker, paler, weaker. 

It was a rare gene mutation that caused the tumor, the doctor explained to your family one afternoon. His voice was strange as he tried to juggle the appropriate amounts of professional detachment and sympathy all at once. And it was likely the same mutation making it so resistant to treatment.

The hospital was doing everything in their power, but they thought his chances might be better if he went to a larger hospital, one with more resources, with dedicated departments and doctors who specialized in this kind of treatment. 

Sunoo was moved to a different hospital less than a week later. Your parents took turns staying with him while the other kept the restaurant running. It killed them not to be at his side, you know, but the longer treatment took, the more bills began to stack up. 

There was a silver lining within it all, though. The three month estimate that the doctors gave came and went. And still, Sunoo was alive. Even if only barely.

Your community was supportive beyond words. Donation drives were set up, meal trains funded by strangers you’d never seen before. Your family's restaurant had more visitors than it had seen in decades. But even with their generosity, it wasn’t enough. 

When the revenue ran dry, keeping Sunoo alive was funded by your parent’s meager savings. And when that evaporated, they turned to loans. 

You watched as they worked themselves to the bone. Trying to keep their sick son alive and their only source of income afloat. 

Your parents wanted your life to remain as normal as possible. You still went to school, still lived at home, still rode the same bus. 

The same elderly woman who brought you to the hospital that day was the one who made your meals most nights. Who made sure you were taken care of and got to bed at a reasonable time. She even came to your parent-teacher conference. Knitted you a new sweater and a pair of mittens when autumn turned to winter. 

But no matter how much normalcy they wished for, your life was a shadow of its former self. School was different. Teachers treated you like broken glass. The high expectations they once had were whittled away into nothing in the name of sympathy. 

The friends in your class did their best to be kind, and the easygoing friendships you’d built before were lost somewhere in the rubble of their pity.

You had never felt more alone in your life. 

You only got to visit your brother on the weekends. You remember the way you would sit at his bedside for hours, telling him stories, tidbits from school, random thoughts no one else had the time or ability to listen to. He was unconscious for most of it, but you told him everything anyway. 

And when the weight of your grief was too heavy, when your throat was aching and sore from all the talking, you’d fall asleep like that, curled awkwardly over the edge of the hospital bed, his limp hand gripped tight between your fingers.

In the midst of it all, somewhere in the tangle of agony and grief and loneliness, you lost your dreams. 

You didn’t care about being the fastest runner on the playground anymore. You spent most recesses in the school counselor’s office now, anyway. Whenever you tried to draw, your hands weren’t sure what to do. It was as if they’d lost their spark, their creativity. 

It didn’t matter if someone else was better than you at times tables or if another classmate’s essay won first place.

You didn’t want to be an astronaut anymore. Space suddenly felt so far away and so terribly cold. You didn’t want to be a singer or a lawyer or a scientist, and you’d had enough of doctors to last a lifetime. 

The only thing you wanted was for your brother to get better. For him to come home so the two of you could ride the bus together again. For your mom to smile like she used to. For your dad to take the two of you berry picking on a sunny day again.

When spring finally bloomed, so did the first glimmers of hope. Sunoo was responding to his latest treatment. Much better and quicker than before. 

He was actually awake now when you would visit him. He laughed at your stories, even if it did usually end in a coughing fit that made your mother sick with worry. He would respond to you, ask you to tell him more. 

One weekend, just as the daffodils around your school began to grow, he was even sitting upright when you walked into his hospital room. The next time, you brought him one, and he smiled when the nurse helped find a vase to keep it in the windowsill. 

Slowly but surely, color started to return to his cheeks. Life started to take root in his body again. 

The day after you finished the fifth grade, he stood up from his hospital bed, with his hand on the table for support. You hugged him so tight that your parents nearly had to pry you off of him when his heart monitor started to jump.

At the agonizing pace of a snail, things got better. Day by day, he got stronger. Healthier. Until eventually, finally, he was given a clean bill of health. 

It wasn’t the same as before. A year in the hospital had taken its toll. Your brother was still fragile, still needed the extra support that everyone around him was more than ready to bend over backwards to give.  

By the time summer came, Sunoo was back home. His weekly hospital visits became monthly, then quarterly, and eventually biannual. When autumn arrived, he was back in school. 

Even after a year in hell, life started to become normal again. But some things had changed fundamentally. 

Your family, once financially sound, had begun to struggle immensely with money. Irregular operations at the restaurant made profits plummet to nearly irreparable levels. Beyond that, every penny your parents had saved was gone. 

The hospital bills had submerged them in immense debt. Put simply, your family had no money anymore and nothing but a now failing restaurant to try and dig yourselves out of a hole that felt more like an abyss. 

And you, once fueled by visions of grandeur, dreams that stretched beyond your wildest imagination, lost every desire to become something amazing. It just simply didn’t matter to you anymore. The only thing you wanted to be was Sunoo’s older sister. Someone that could help him and take care of him and stay by his side no matter what. 

You still had drive, still had this fire deep that burned deep within you, but now it was fueled by something else. 

At eleven, it meant helping Sunoo with homework and threatening the boys that teased him on the playground until they cried. 

At sixteen, it meant canceling last minute on your date to the junior prom to take Sunoo to the movie he’d been wanting to see in theaters. 

And when Sunoo, much to your parent’s dismay, decided that he wanted to take over the family business and inherit the restaurant they had never quite managed to make profitable again, you decided to shoulder that burden, too.    

Your brother loved to cook, loved to use food as a means of connecting with other people. He treated food like a remedy, like a gift. He used a warm meal to comfort people in despair and baked cookies whenever he wanted to show his appreciation. For him, he could think of no better way to spend his days than making, preparing, and serving food to all kinds of people. 

You had no talent in the kitchen, but it didn’t matter. Sunoo was the chef, not you. In your senior year of high school, you realized that what your family’s restaurant, what Sunoo, needed was someone who could handle the business side of things. Someone who could look at impossible numbers and make them work in their favor. Someone who could breathe life into a failing business and turn it into the bustling diner of your brother’s dreams. 

You needed a business degree. And not just a degree, but an education. One from a top university where your professors could give you the tools you needed to make Sunoo’s dreams a reality. Of course, that was never going to come without a hefty price tag. 

So you made a plan. You were smart. Academically gifted. You already had impressive college entrance exam scores on your side, but you needed more. While your classmates enjoyed their last months of time together, you worked. Day in, day out applying for scholarships, internships, fellowships. Writing essays, email professors, scouring the internet for every bit of information you could find on business schools. 

You could count on one hand the average number of hours you slept each night senior year. But in the end, it was worth it. You graduated high school with an offer into the most prestigious business school on this side of the country and the scholarship to fully fund it as long as you maintained a high enough GPA and class ranking. 

On top of that, you were even granted a modest living stipend. One to help cover the rent, textbooks, and grocery expenses you could never bring yourself to ask your parents to help cover. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was enough. 

It didn’t matter that your dreams fell by the wayside all those years ago. It didn’t matter that before all of this, you had no interest in business. 

Your brother, your miracle of a brother, had been given a second chance at life. And now, you had the opportunity to help him achieve his only dream. 

Walking across your university campus now, you almost decide to just ditch the health center. You have work to do. You don’t have time to waste sitting in a doctor’s office.

Besides, the selfie Sunoo sent with the dog, no matter how adorable, is only a reminder of what you set out to do. The longer you take to graduate, the longer Sunoo has to keep the restaurant afloat through a combination of long hours at odd part-time jobs. 

Right now, his current gig is as an assistant at the local veterinarian’s office. Your brother loves animals, but it kills you knowing how much he’d rather spend that time cooking. Restoring your family’s restaurant to its former glory. Surpassing it. 

It would be such a relief to tell him he doesn’t have to pick up extra shifts anymore, to tell your mom that she doesn’t need to keep the job she hates at the grocery store anymore. To tell your dad he doesn’t need to keep taking all of the contract construction work that takes such a hard toll on his body. 

Your family, all three of them, have been through so much. It’s the least you can do to ease some of their strain. To lessen some of their burden. 

But then you hear Professor Jung’s words again. 

Find ways to take care of you, too.

Should you? Part of you is still resistant. But regardless, you realize, you’re no use to your brother’s dream if you run yourself entirely into the ground. 

Besides, maybe the clinic will give you something a bit more effective than Tylenol for your headaches and you can actually get a bit more studying done before your vision starts to swim. 

So, even with feet that want to drag, you force yourself all the way to the university health center. 

You don’t make a habit of spending time in hospitals, but much to your relief, this is one of the more pleasant waiting areas you’ve been in. The ceilings are high, and the windows are large. Afternoon sunlight warms the space where a dozen odd people wait for their names to be called. 

It has a relaxed feel to it. There are patterns on the chair cushions. Conversations in the corner. It doesn’t have that awful, lifeless, sterile feel you’ve been trying to avoid since you were ten. 

When you give your name to the receptionist, she immediately ushers you towards the small hallway of exam rooms. Glancing towards the half full waiting area, a flicker of surprise crosses your features. Professor Jung must have really pulled some strings for you. 

You follow her to room number six, offering a tight smile when she says the nurse will be with you shortly. 

Glancing around the small examination room, it looks how you’d expect. There’s a layer of paper beneath the table you sit on, and it crinkles loudly every time you shift your weight. There’s a computer in the corner, two low stools, and a handful of medical tools whose name you know about half of. 

A handful of posters cover the walls. Reminders about good handwashing hygiene, dates for the latest flu shot, a list of symptoms for upper respiratory infections. There’s nothing unusual, but you can’t quite get your body to relax fully. 

Before long, you hear a quiet knock on the other side of the door. The nurse that enters introduces herself before settling onto one of the stools in front of you. 

Glancing down at her clipboard briefly, she looks up to you with a perfunctory kindness in her eyes. “What brings you in today?” she asks. 

“My professor suggested I come, actually.”

“Mm,” she hums. “Anything in particular bothering you?”

You take a deep breath in. Part of you is still itching to just brush her off, but you came all the way here. Might as well be honest. 

“I’ve been having headaches,” you admit. “They don’t usually last long, but they’re… intense. Sometimes they make me dizzy, too. Or nauseous. I haven’t vomited or passed out, but I’ve come close a couple of times.”

The nurse nods, reaching for the stethoscope. “How frequent are these headaches?”

“It depends,” you nod. “Usually no more than once every couple of days, but it’s been happening more often for the past few weeks.”

Pressing the stethoscope against your sternum, she instructs you to take a deep breath in. Exhale. 

She jots something down on her clipboard. “When you have these headaches, what do you usually do to treat them?”

“Take a Tylenol,” you explain. “Maybe lay down for a while if it’s really bad.” Most of the time, you just grit your teeth through it, but that doesn’t seem like the right answer.  

“Would you describe the pain as manageable?” she asks, picking up another tool. This one, she presses gently into your ear. 

“Usually, yeah.” You think back to your lecture today, the spinning in your head. “Sometimes it’s really intense, but it passes pretty quickly.”

She takes a step back from you, recording another note on her clipboard. “Do you have any other symptoms, anything strange that you’ve noticed since the headaches started?”

“Not really,” you shake your head. 

“Are you sure?” she presses. “No night sweats? Fever chills? A clammy forehead?”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s really just the headaches that are bothering me. I actually have to get to work soon. Is there any—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the nurse frowns. “You’re running a bit of a fever, and your heartbeat is slightly irregular. I’d like to check a few more things. Draw some blood and do a chest x-ray, at least.” 

“Is that really necessary?” You don’t mean to be so curt, but the sudden shift in tone has panic starting to claw at your throat. “Midterms are soon, so I’ve been a bit more stressed than usual. I’m sure it’s just that—”

“Regardless,” she interrupts, not unkindly, “it’s best to be sure.”

So you acquiesce. Push up your sleeve with no resistance so she can draw a vial of blood. Don’t mention your upcoming shift as she guides you to the x-ray imaging room. 

The more rooms she leads you to, the more tests they run, the more a sense of unease begins to build in your stomach. 

Not because you’re worried you’ll be late for work. Not because you’re thinking of your to-do list or an upcoming midterm. 

Because for the first time, you’re beginning to wonder if your headaches aren’t quite as benign as you’ve dismissed them to be. That’s the thing about spending so much time focused on everyone but yourself. You never stop to consider that something could actually be happening to you. 

You’re sure it’s just paranoia. Lingering trauma from all your previous time spent in hospital rooms at your brother’s bedside, but whatever it is, you can’t seem to shake it. 

After another handful of minutes, she gives you the final update. There were no abnormalities detected in any of the x-rays. The blood tests will take a bit longer to process, but they’ll call you within three days. 

Until then, you’re to take it easy and come back immediately if you notice worsening headaches or any other symptoms. 

With a nod, you gather your bag again. Walking past the receptionist, you offer her a tight smile. Glancing at your phone, you check the time. You still have a little over an hour before your shift. 

You should probably eat something, take a quick break before you’re on your feet for the rest of the afternoon, but that lingering feeling of dread in your gut makes both options seem unfavorable. 

Instead, you force your feet to come to a standstill. Not caring that you’re still in the middle of campus, surrounded by other students passing you by, you screw your eyes shut. 

You take a deep inhale. Hold it. Count to five. Exhale. 

You’re fine. You’re just fine. You have to be. 

If you play your cards right, you’ll graduate in two semesters. Sunoo will finally have the restaurant of his dreams. Your parents can enjoy a true retirement. 

You’re better than this. Stronger than this. A couple of fucking headaches are not going to ruin everything you’ve worked for.

You’ve survived worse, and you’ll survive this too. No matter how many sleepless nights and skipped meals and bottles of Tylenol it takes. You’ve worked too hard to watch it all go down the drain now. 

Again, you tell yourself, you’re fine. 

Even in the privacy of your own mind, you can’t quite tell if it’s a lie or not. But at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t really matter. 

You’re so close. Fine or not, you know what you need to do.  

…..

Three days later, you’re pouring over your insurance law notes in a library study room when the vibration of your ringtone breaks the silence. 

Checking the caller ID, you hesitate for only a moment before answering. 

Inconclusive, the nurse from the university health center tells you, and you hate that answer more than you expect to. You’ve spent the last three days more anxious than you care to admit, and this only adds fuel to the fire. 

According to the nurse, there are some abnormalities in your blood test. Namely in your blood count. Proper diagnosis is outside the scope of the university health center, but they’ve written you a referral to the nearest hospital proper for further testing. 

It’s called Saint Mary’s. It’s pretty close. Should only take you about thirty minutes on the bus.

Mentally, you scramble. You’re not sure what tests they’ll need to run or how much they’ll cost, but you’re sure the answer isn’t free. Your finances are already tight, and part of you wants to just ignore the nurse’s advice and hope that whatever’s causing irregular numbers will resolve itself. 

But the sheer anxiety of it all is killing you. Maybe the hospital can get you set up with some sort of payment plan. If your rent increase isn’t too high, then you can mitigate this with some extra shifts at the cafe. 

It’ll be fine. Your headaches haven’t been nearly as debilitating for the last three days. Visiting the hospital will give you the peace of mind you need to push through these last few semesters. 

So you make time in your schedule the next day. Erase a study session from your planner and replace it with the hospital’s name. 

Pull out the exact change for the bus fare and sink down into a window seat, pulling your headphones over your ears as you watch the city begin to pass you by. 

It strikes you then, just how little of your surroundings you’ve explored these past two years you’ve been in university. You can hardly remember the last time you stepped foot off campus for something other than a visit back home. 

It feels strange, seeing so many buildings and parks and places so close to you and realizing just how unfamiliar they all are. 

The hospital is only a handful of stops away. You exit the bus just as quickly as you got on, and then you take a deep, steadying breath. 

The process is nearly identical to your university health center. They ask for your name and identification, but this time, they direct you back to the waiting room. It’s the bad kind, this time. The type of sterile, lifeless room that makes you want to run back out the front door the way you came. 

Thankfully, you’re not left to wait long. 

This nurse is kind, too. She asks for your name and gives you hers. The testing they conduct is more extensive now. You’re shuffled from one machine to another, listening as they explain the purpose for each one without really processing anything they tell you. 

And then, when it’s done, they send you to a private room. Inform you with a tight smile that the doctor will be with you shortly. 

You sit alone for long minutes, waiting. You tap your fingers against the top of your thigh, a steady rhythm that grounds you to reality and allows you to escape it in short bursts. 

The doctor enters quietly, introduces himself. You don’t remember his name. You hardly remember yours. 

It’s difficult to focus on anything he says. The ringing in your ears is back, now. Even stronger than before. 

You only gather bits and pieces of what he tells you. But it’s enough. 

Three months. The universe must have a strange, sick sense of humor. Must love the vertigo induced by the worst sort of deja vu. Must revel in the irony of doling out death sentences. 

Three months. 

Sat in an uncomfortable chair in the dead center of a sterile, lifeless office, the doctor pushes his glasses a little further up his nose. Then, he repeats himself with just as little fanfare. 

You have three months to live. 

It’s only an estimate of course, but he’s seen this kind of tumor before. A rare genetic mutation.

Genetic. Of course.

You should have been tested, ten years ago. But money was so tight, and everyone’s attention was on Sunoo, and it just never happened. You slipped through the cracks, along with the identical malignant gene mutation you share with your younger brother.

Yours is small still, just behind your heart. That’s why the x-ray didn’t pick it up. But the MRI today did. It’s why your blood count is all over the place, why your heartbeat is arrhythmic.

It’s why you’ve been having headaches, why you’ve come dangerously close to fainting multiple times in the past few weeks. 

Three months. It may just be an estimate, but no matter how you look at it, it’s not a lot of time. It’s no time at all. 

Grief, pure, raw, aching, hits you with the force of a tsunami wave. 

The realization strikes you, in the middle of the doctor’s office, that you aren’t going to do it. Any of it. You aren’t going to graduate. You aren’t going to see your parents retire. You aren’t going to give Sunoo the restaurant of his dreams. 

No, instead, you are going to die. 

You can already feel it. Sunoo was the exception to the rule, the anomaly. He may have survived this once, but he was always meant for better things. He had the care he needed, got the treatments that brought him back to life even if they bled your family dry. 

Your parents, even if they wanted to, couldn’t do that again. They barely scraped by the first time. And even if they could, you wouldn’t let them. The guilt of it all would be too unbearable. Maybe even a fate worse than this. Your own savings are laughable. Not anywhere near the amount needed for something of this magnitude. 

When the doctor asks if there’s anyone he can call for you, you shake your head. You won’t burden your family with this. Not yet. Not for as long as you can. The weight of their worry would only make it worse. 

He looks at you with pity, then. With sorrow. You hate them both. He writes you a prescription for a pharmacy’s worth of medication, tells you that these will ease the worst of your symptoms but that you shouldn’t expect to be fully functional for more than a month or so with medicine alone. 

He gives you the list of treatment plans and watches as you half heartedly pretend to look them over. The bold faced font seems to mock you. The pictures of smiling families and spring air that you’ll likely never see again.

All of the treatments have fancy names, medical terminology you don’t understand. Glancing over the list, the only thing you see is dollar signs. Money you don’t have. 

When you ask for time before making a decision, the doctor advises against it. Reminds you that time is of the essence, that you’re lucky they caught the tumor now before it progressed further. 

That waiting longer is nothing but a death sentence. 

You thank him and tell him you’ll be in touch shortly. You can’t tell if he knows you’re lying through your teeth. 

The bus ride back to campus passes nearly the same as the journey here did. Again, you sit by the window, pulling your headphones over your ears. The buildings you pass blur into an undistinguishable mix of colors and shapes you realize you’ll never get the chance to parse between, to sort through. 

The ride to the hospital felt like an opportunity, a reminder that there was so much of the world left for you to see. The journey back feels like a prison sentence. The taunting fear that outside the tiny bubble you’ve built for yourself, the rest of the world will remain a mystery to you forever. 

When you reach the stop for your university, you stand, thanking the bus driver as you exit. 

He looks almost surprised at your gratitude, pleasantly shocked someone remembered him at all. 

And then you walk, not in the direction of your apartment, but instead towards the cluster of buildings that make up the School of Business. It’s evening now, and students are far and few between. 

There’s an unseasonal chill to the air, and you pull your jacket a little tighter around your shoulders. You walk until you reach the edge of the campus, the place where a singular, half hidden bench sits just out of view. Sinking down onto it, you let it absorb the weight of your body. Pray that it will hold steady as you unleash the weight of your grief. 

For a moment, you just sit. Your emotions feel out of reach, untouchable in some part of you that’s been locked away for too long you can’t remember how to get there again. 

But eventually, you find them. It starts slowly, a detached feeling of loss, of mourning, before the floodgates open. Before long, you’re sobbing. Alone on the bench, tears stream down your face with little restraint as choked sobs catch in your chest, your throat. You’re nearly screaming at the sky, your entire body shaking with the force of it all. 

Above it, a question circles your mind. 

Why?

Why this? Why me? Why now?

You cry for so long you think you must surely be out of tears. There can’t be anything left in your body besides this horrible disease, this awful fate your own failing nervous system has sealed in stone. 

And then your sobs start to change. Until it’s not tears you’re choking on anymore, but laughter. Terrible, gut-wrenching, bone-cracking laughter at the sheer irony of it all. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, caught somewhere in the crossfire of all your mixed emotions. But eventually, your sobs subside entirely. 

As the night begins to close around you, you’re left with nothing but the weight of reality, the gravity of truth. The disorientation of your world that’s been flipped on top of its head within the span of hours. 

Every impossible deadline, every bit of effort you’ve put into achieving all of your goals these past few years – it suddenly all feels so fucking useless. 

Every sacrifice you’ve made, every self-serving desire you’ve pushed to the side, buried beneath your commitment to your family, they all start to bubble to the surface one by one. Until you're left with something that tastes all too much like regret. 

You’ve never thought about it twice, your decision to pursue business for your brother. Ever since Sunoo’s miraculous recovery, his goals and yours have felt inseparable, like one, united thing. 

But now, alone on a campus bench with a knife hanging over your head, you think, for the first time in a long time, of that little girl who dreamed of being an astronaut. A singer. A scientist. 

You wonder what she’d say to you now. If she’d admire your determination, your grit. Or if she’d take one look at your business degree and simply think, how boring. 

You suppose it doesn’t really matter now. She’s not here anymore. But you are. Even if only for three more months. 

You imagine telling her the truth, that shadowy version of you that the past has long since claimed. 

You part your lips. They feel dry against your breath, dehydrated from your sorrow. “I only have three months to live,” you whisper to the wind. 

You’re not sure how she’ll react. She’s only ten, after all. Death still feels like some abstract concept, you’re sure, not a finite reality. Time still feels malleable. Birthdays still feel far aways. Nights still feel endless. Dreams still feel worth chasing. 

Three months? She whispers back to you, tilting her head in thought. 

You nod. 

Okay, she whispers again. Then live for three months. 

It’s not that easy, you want to explain. I have plans, hopes, goals. Things I still need to finish. 

But maybe you underestimated her. She had her life taken from her too, after all. Maybe she understands your grief more than anyone else ever could. 

And no matter what you tell her, her answer remains the same. 

Live, she insists. For three months. 

So instead of crying or laughing or cursing the universe any longer, you reach into your bag, fingers closing around the spine of your favorite notebook. Pulling a pen out, you open to the next clean page. And then you start to write. 

…..

The back of Park Jongseong’s head is even more annoying than usual today. Has his hair always been this shiny? Even the fluorescent lights that wash everything else out only seem to make it richer, more luscious looking. 

You’re so wrapped up in debating how much pride you would lose by asking him what shampoo he uses that you almost miss the tail end of his argument. 

“Laying off unnecessary staff is the only way to remedy the situation,” he states. Plainly, firmly, as if his opinion is law. As if there’s no room for argument. “Of course the accounting error would have ideally been caught much earlier in the process, but if the company is already in secondary audits, it’s practically a losing battle. It’s best to just cut the losses and preserve what they can.” 

“An interesting perspective as always, Mr. Park,” Professor Jung nods from her place at the podium. Glancing around the lecture hall she asks, “Did anyone have a different interpretation? An alternative recommendation for how the company should proceed?”

Nearly every pair of eyes in the lecture hall turns to you. Even Professor Jung glances up at your seat, although she’d never admit if you called her out on it. 

But your hands remain planted firmly on your lap. Instead, you play dumb. Pretend that it’s strange of them all to assume you’d have something to say. Act as if you haven’t spent every single other class this semester countering every single one of his points. Today, you remain silent as you too glance around the hall curiously, as if expecting someone else to counter Jay’s idiotic analysis. 

Perhaps idiotic is too harsh. A better word might be obvious. That’s Jay’s problem, you think. He’s always had everything he needs. He’s never had to get creative, to think outside the box. He looks at a poorly balanced accounting book and thinks, “How would Dad handle this?” instead of “What would be the best solution for this unique situation?”

Even Jay himself, who sits nearly directly in front of you, tries to shift in his seat subtly enough to take a glance back at you. You don’t think you’re imagining the frown on his face when he finds you sitting silently, a mask of indifference on your face as you pretend to type another row of notes on your laptop. 

“Okay,” Professor Jung continues from the front after the silence extends a moment longer. “If no one else has anything to add, then we’ll look at our next case.” She changes the slide, showing a new set of sample data from year end accounting books. “Business A had a profit margin of roughly 6.2% in the third quarter of the previous fiscal year…” 

Her words trail off as you glance down at your nails. They’re pink. A pretty shade that you selected with spring flowers in mind, even though it’s just the beginning of fall. Call it nostalgia or stupidity, but spring has always been your favorite season. You’ll take it in any form you can. Besides, the shade is gorgeous against your skin. The tip of your ring finger even has a tiny cherry blossom painted on it. 

You smile, thinking of the nearly two hours you spent yesterday afternoon at the nail salon getting them done. You’d never been before, but the process was just as fun as you imagined. The nail artist was sweet, too. She graduated from your university just a few years ago with a history degree. Changed her mind a few months after earning her diploma, and after some time in cosmetology school, here she was. Running her own nail salon.

Changing her mind and seeing where life takes her. Not worrying about wasted time in the pursuit of a happy ending. It’s not jealousy, exactly, but something unpleasant pulls at your heart when you think about it.   

You get why she likes her job so much. You feel pretty, feminine. Love the way it feels when your nails tap against the screen of your phone as you type a message. Or click against your keyboard as you type your class notes. 

They weren’t cheap, though. Despite that, you’d only smiled and nodded when she suggested coming back in three weeks for a fill. You’d have to scratch out another study session to make time, just like you did for this appointment. Old habits may die hard, but no matter how hard you search, you can’t quite seem to find a part of you that cares. 

You’ve always wanted to get your nails done. Always wanted to be one of those girls that walks around with glowing skin and nice hair and new clothes and pretty nails that you fund with disposable income. It doesn’t matter if it’s frivolous or ridiculous or hopelessly girly.

You’ve spent years with jagged cuticles and short, plain, nails because it was practical. Because it saved you money and time and effort that you could spend studying or networking or planning for the future. 

When you finished at the nail salon, you imagined showing your ten-year-old self how they turned out. 

Very pretty, your past shadowy self told you, and the smile that spread across her face made it worth it all over again. 

Even now, Professor Jung’s voice fades to a pleasant blur in the background. You’re going through the motions more than anything. Pretending to write notes even as you alternate between tabs. One for your lecture and one for flight tickets to the nearest beach town that nearly every student at your university has been to at least once for a drunken spring break vacation. 

You’ve never dreamed of going, have never even been to the beach, but you think it might be nice. You can already imagine the feeling of sand between your toes. Of warm ocean water lapping against your skin. The sound of waves lulling against the shore. 

A pleasant seaside breeze rustling through your hair. 

The sound of Professor Jung wrapping up the lecture for the morning drags you back to reality. There’s no sunlight in the lecture hall, and there’s certainly no sea breeze.

There is, however, a reminder.

“Don’t forget about the Goldfellow’s annual charity gala this weekend. As upper division students, you’re all welcome to attend. It’s an excellent opportunity to network and share space with some of the top executives in our local community. If you do decide to attend, remember that it is a formal event and proper attire is expected.” At that, class is dismissed.

The Goldfellow charity event. Although a better label might be ‘a gathering of every silver spoon raised twenty-something within a fifty mile radius.’ You have serious doubts about how much charity is actually being done.

Then again, perhaps you shouldn’t judge. You’ve never attended the event yourself, after all. Usually you would jump at any kind of networking opportunity, but this one is different. Exclusive. 

The stipulation of proper attire has always made it dangle just outside your reach. Until now, it hasn’t bothered you much. You’re sure that most people are there for the ridiculous venue and open bar. And you use that to convince yourself that no real networking is done. 

Standing from your seat, you pull your bag over your shoulder. Glancing up, you find that Park Jongseong has yet to leave his seat, too. He is standing, though. And, even more alarming, he’s looking right at you. 

More specifically, his gaze is fixated directly on your hands, your fresh manicure, as if it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. 

Then, he looks up at you. “You’re quiet today.”

His tone is infuriatingly neutral. You can't tell if he’s mocking you or deliberately trying to incite your rage, but with Jay, you’ve made a habit of assuming the worst.

“Perhaps you should take notes,” you suggest, voice even.

Jay shakes his head. “If I have something to say, I’ll say it.”

“Well, do you?” you ask. “Have something to say, I mean. Or are you just determined to waste a few more minutes of my time?”

His mouth opens, closes again. This time, his already sharp jawline clenches into something lethal. As if he’s biting back words. Ironic, given what he just said. 

“I suppose I don’t,” he finally tells you. 

“Great,” you intone flatly. “Well, then.” And then you're pushing past him, all the way down the stairs to the door of the lecture hall. You’re not sure if he watches or follows or stays right where he is. You don’t look back, not even once. 

A handful of minutes later, you’re in the library. For nearly the first time since you began your degree program, however, it’s not class notes you pour over.  

Instead, you pull your notebook out from your bag. Your personal notebook. The same one from that night, alone on the bench, screaming at the stars and asking for advice from hallucinations of your younger self. 

Its pages are mostly blank. You don’t use it for much. Grocery lists, mostly. Occasional reminders that aren’t related to school. Over the past two and a half years, you’ve only managed to fill about twenty pages.

Turning to the last one, you half expect to not find what you’re looking for. Parts of that day still feel like figments of your imagination. 

But there it is. Looking back at you in your own neat handwriting.

Bucket List, it reads across the upper margin. 

You nearly snort. You suppose there was no need to get creative, but you really were putting things in blunt terms.

Kicking the bucket. You’re not sure where the idiom comes from, but you guess it doesn’t really matter. There are other things to focus on now. Namely, the neat, bullet point list beneath it.

Get my nails done professionally, the first line reads. You smile, glancing back down at your hands. With a satisfying stroke of ink, you write a checkmark through the hand drawn box next to it.

Done, you think.

Lip caught between your teeth, you scan over the rest of the list.

Get my hair cut and colored professionally

Buy a really expensive dress 

Go on a beach vacation

Ride in a convertible 

Kiss a stranger

And then at the bottom, the item you scratched out almost the second after you wrote it. 

See the Northern Lights

You remember the documentary you watched in elementary school, how magical the sky looked, all lit up in colors, glowing shades of green and blue. But it just isn’t realistic. Auroras haven’t been sighted in your city in, well, forever. And it’s not like you have the ability to fly to an Arctic country on a whim. 

So your list is complete with just six items, one already checked off. 

It’s a mismatched list. A short jumble of whatever random desires struck you in the moment. You can already think of things to add, to amend. 

But part of you hesitates. These were the first things you thought of that night. Your most selfish, vanity driven, purely inconsequential desires that you wanted to do just because. 

It feels wrong to edit them now. So you don’t. Instead, you push your planner to the side, ignoring your perfectly curated study schedule.

It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter if you’re the top scorer on the midterm or if you’re just painfully average. You’re not even sure you'll get the chance to take it. 

So instead, you open your laptop and search for hair salons in the area. You don’t filter them with the lowest priced options first. You just look. See which ones have a nice interior and friendly looking stylists. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re pressing on the ‘confirm booking’ button, despite the fact that the listed prices are nearly a quarter of your monthly rent. 

It doesn’t matter. You’ve never gotten your hair done. You’ve never even let yourself think about getting your hair done. 

But alone on the bench with the weight of your imminent mortality heavy on your shoulders, it was one of the things you wanted to try. 

Like your nails, it’s frivolous. Unnecessary. And that’s what makes it perfect. It’s something entirely for you. For no reason other than the fact that you simply want to. 

Glancing at the next list item, your mind starts to turn. A new hair style and an expensive dress deserve to be seen, after all. 

The Goldfellow charity gala is hardly your ideal party, but you’re not sure how many formal events you’ll be invited to in the next three months. This might be your only chance. 

Sifting through your emails, you find the invitation Professor Jung forwarded to all her students. And then, before you can overthink it, you RSVP yes. 

And then you start looking up department stores in your area.

…..

The dress you wear looks just as good when you put it on Saturday night as it did in the fitting room two days ago. 

It fits you like a glove, flattering your body in a way you didn’t even know was possible based on your experience with the clearance rack. And it’s satin. Has a beautiful, subtle shine and glimmers gorgeously under the soft chandelier lights. 

Walking into the charity gala, the man at the front smiled as he offered to take your coat for you. Didn’t look at you with pity or confusion or poorly hidden disgust. 

He just smiled. Like you belong here. 

For once, you actually feel like you do. At most networking events, especially the ones hosted by the upper echelon, you feel a bit like a toddler in her mother’s closet. Playing dress up with the big kids in a way that’s painfully obvious. 

But not tonight. Tonight, you feel pretty. Worth the second glances people are giving you. You understand it, why people with the resources go through so much trouble. Their attention feels good. You like the way people look at you like they want to know more. 

Settling further into the tastefully decorated convention room, you can picture it all, a life you could have had if you’d been born with money and ambition for this particular field. 

You’d be a charmer, you decide. The kind of girl that needs nothing more than a good dress and thirty seconds to have investors begging at her feet. A true conglomerate sweetheart that understands how the best of deals are made with champagne and well-timed fleeting glances. 

Kind of like the girl your eyes land on now. On the opposite side of the room, her long, dark hair shines under the low chandelier light. She’s gorgeous, and it’s not just because of the deep, red dress that favors her.

Even from a distance, even at a glance, you can tell she comes from money. She carries herself with that kind of grace, that self-assurance that wealthy people always have. Like the room belongs to her.

Whoever she’s talking to seems to agree. It’s a man, you can tell. He has his back to you, but you can imagine his expression easily enough. His eagerness. The way he hangs off her every word, hoping she’ll deem him worthy of her time a little longer. 

You watch for another moment, until he turns. It’s his side profile you see now, and it’s unmistakable. Jay. 

Of course. You want to roll your eyes. 

The two of them are perfect together. A match made in heaven, or maybe a CEO’s board room. 

Either way, it has you adjusting your dress, a bit uncomfortably. All of a sudden, it starts to feel like an illusion again.

One hair cut, one expensive dress. You’re still playing dress up. You just did a better job this time. The truth is that you can wear whatever you want. It will never be enough to make you belong here. Not really. Not in the way they do. 

The next time a waiter passes with a tray of champagne flutes, you don’t hesitate to reach out and grab one. 

Taking a long, slow sip, you allow yourself one final look at Jay. At the girl he’s with. He laughs at something she says, and she puts her hand on his arm. 

You pretend like there isn’t something unpleasant starting to swim in your gut. 

And then you make yourself busy. It is a networking event, after all. 

The first person you find is another girl from your class. She hardly recognizes you, and you can’t quite decide if you like that or not. The champagne is starting to form a pleasant, light sort of haze in your mind, and you feel like you can’t be bothered by anything. 

You speak for a minute before moving on. Before long, you start to lose track of all your conversation partners. Another boy from your class. A recent graduate. A startup leader who’s always looking for interns to join his team.

One conversation bleeds into the next, and your glasses of champagne do the same.

The lights start to feel warmer, or maybe that's just the proximity of bodies. Either way, your cheeks are flushed when the waiter passes again. 

Reaching out, you replace your empty glass with a full one. But you never get the chance to bring it to your lips. 

A hand suddenly encircles your wrist, plucking the champagne flute from between your fingers. 

“Hey—” you begin to protest, but a glance upwards stops you dead in your tracks. The hand around your wrist, the champagne thief, is none other than Park Jongseong.  

He’s looking at you with something furious in his gaze. “What is wrong with you?” 

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. And then— “What’s wrong with you?” you return. “I was drinking that.” 

You try to reach around him for your stolen champagne, but he’s faster. He steps to the side, effectively blocking your path. You hate to admit it, but he looks good. 

Of course he does. This is his domain, after all. It comes naturally to him, you’re sure, the styled hair, the spotless suit that’s been tailored to perfection. 

Across from you, he’s looking too. You watch as he swallows, throat bobbing with the action. 

Just like in the lecture hall, his gaze makes you fidget, brings back your previous uncertainty tenfold. 

You’re hoping he’ll get lost, but Jay does the opposite.

“I don’t know what sorrows you’re trying to drown,” he intones flatly, “but a charity event hardly seems the place to do it, don’t you think?”

“I’m not drowning anything,” you argue. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “It’s only my second glass.” Another lie. 

His lips pull into a thin line. “It’s at least your third.” 

God damnit. 

You roll your eyes. “What are you, my father? I’m not even drunk.”

“And it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

“There is no we.” Your eyes narrow. “I can handle myself and my alcohol. So give me back my champagne and go back to flirting with whatever oil tycoon’s daughter you were talking to earlier before she thinks I stole you from her.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, and you curse your misstep. It appears he wasn’t the only one keeping tabs tonight. 

“I wasn’t flirting—”

“I don’t care what you were doing. Champagne.” You nod towards it pointedly. “Now.”

Jay makes no move towards the glass. Instead, he just looks at you for a moment. Assessing. “You’re acting strange these days,” he finally says. He scans you again, all the way down to where your hemline brushes against your heels. “And you look different. Your hair…”

You roll your eyes again. “Yes, well you’ll be delighted to know that even scholarship students have the privilege of getting a haircut sometimes.”

“What?” he blinks. “I didn’t even know you were—” he shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not just that. The color is different.”

Your hair, the hair you were so terribly fond of less than five minutes ago, you suddenly want to rip out of your scalp. “Try not to faint from the shock,” you say, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “but we do occasionally splurge on a box of hair dye, too.”

“In class, too,” he presses, ignoring your sarcasm. “You’re quiet. I mean, the other day in Professor Jung’s, you didn’t even counter my suggestion for mass layoffs from that sample data set.”

He really has some nerve. Some sheer fucking audacity. “Believe it or not, my sole purpose in life is not to correct every one of your idiotic takes in class. I think I’d run out of oxygen if I had to do that.”

“You had no problem doing it before,” he points out.

“And now I’m not. Shouldn’t you be relieved?” Champagne momentarily forgotten, you take a step forward, praying your argument will be final enough to get him to leave. “I mean, the way I see it, you should be thanking me. Everyone else is way too scared to go against you because of your family name. Now that even I’m silent, the entire lecture hall is officially your echo chamber to conquer.”

“I don’t want an echo chamber,” he shakes his head. “You’ve always had good, I mean, interesting ideas,” he amends. “You made me have to think harder, approach problems in a new way. It’s made me a lot better at analysis.” 

You thought you had all but run out of rage, but that comment incites a new flame you hadn’t realized was still there. 

“Well I’m terribly sorry that I can’t be your stepping stone to becoming a better analyst anymore,” you say, eyes narrow as your tone goes dangerously low. “I suppose you’ll just have to do it on your own now.”

“Wait,” he protests as he realizes how you interpreted his words. “That’s not what I meant—”

But you’re over it. Over this conversation. Over this event. And most certainly over him. 

“To be completely honest, Jay, I’m not really interested in hearing about what you meant. In fact, the only thing I really want is to have my champagne and some peace and quiet again. So, I’m just gonna just take my glass back, and you can shove whatever you meant by that right up your—”

He steps to the side again, this time just as your fingers are closing around the stem of your glass. Knocking into your wrist, he sends the contents of your glass flying, spilling down the front of his ridiculously expensive suit. 

It’s his fault, technically, but even with your renowned flippance on finances, you don’t want to be responsible for footing that dry cleaning bill. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He just stands there for a moment, shellshocked. Useless, you think. 

“Here,” you open your purse, pulling out the wad of napkins you keep stashed in case of accidents just like this. He takes them from you wordlessly as you search for more. You’re sure you have another handful somewhere in your bag. “It’s a light liquid, so it should be okay. Just dab at it gently, and then—”

You look back up, the words dying on your lips. 

Because Jay is not dabbing gently at the stain on his suit jacket. In fact, he doesn’t seem concerned with the spill at all. Instead, he’s intently examining one of the napkins you gave him, eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Confusion flickers across your features. Did you accidentally give him a napkin that was already stained with something? Is there a weird brand name written on it? 

“What?” you ask. “Why aren’t you—” you look at the paper in his hands again. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you realize that along with the napkins, you handed him something else. Something you never intended for anyone else to see. 

Panicking, you reach for it. Jay is quicker. Holding it above his head, he keeps it firmly out of your reach. Even in your heels, your fingers can’t quite close around it. 

“___,” he says your name. His voice is entirely too close to your ear. Stopping your struggle for a moment, you look at him. Involuntary, you let out a small gasp at the sudden proximity. As if you’ve been burned, you take a half step back. 

Looking at you with his hand still stretched above his head, he asks in a low tone, “Why do you have such a weird bucket list? And why do you carry it around in your purse?”

“It’s not a bucket list—”

“It literally says ‘Bucket List’ at the top.”

God damnit. Why did you write that?   

“It’s nothing. Just give it back to me—”

He continues to dangle the paper just out of reach. “Does someone have a hit out on you or something? Do you terrorize students in all your classes and now one of them is finally taking revenge?” There’s a playfulness in his tone, but you don’t miss the concern hiding there, too. Even if he tries to disguise it. 

“You know,” he presses on, “‘She’s smarter than me and I hate her for it’ isn’t a legally mitigating circumstance for murder. You can tell the authorities if someone’s acting like it is.”

“No one’s trying to kill me.” In your panic, you almost miss his mangled attempt at a compliment. 

“Then why are you acting like you’re going to die?” He says it so bluntly, so plainly, that you swear you nearly feel the world slip from underneath your feet. 

He doesn't mean it. There’s no way he actually means it, but it sobers you in a startling way. The thought that Jay, someone you’ve only come to know through contempt and competition, can read you like an open book. 

“I’m not—” Your words suddenly feel like chalk in your throat. You’re no stranger to lying, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. Not with the weight of his gaze, with the weight of your diagnosis, pressing against you from all angles. 

You feel it again, that sickening and all too familiar sensation. It starts as a sharp, localized pain, just above your left eyebrow. You wince. Your breath is suddenly a difficult thing to catch. 

In front of you, Jay’s posture eases slightly. You’d be able to grab your list again now, surely. If only you could get your limbs to cooperate. 

Pain spreads quickly, first through your head. The ringing in your ears is back, too. That high pitched sound you can’t seem to shake as your vision starts to swim. You feel unsteady on your feet as nausea begins to roll in your stomach. 

Beneath you, your legs feel useless. Made of jelly, feeble, about to buckle under your weight. You sway slightly, hand coming to your forehead as you try to think through the pain, through the haze. 

You can’t collapse. Not now. You have to stay standing. You have to be okay. 

“Woah,” Jay says. It’s lost somewhere amongst the high pitched frequency in your ears. Your pathetic bucket list lies discarded on the table behind him as he reaches forward, as if to steady you. His hands never find you, though. They just linger awkwardly in the space between your bodies, still half outstretched. “You okay?”

You try to answer, try to brush him off and grit through your teeth that you’re fine, but it feels different from before. The nausea, the worst of the dizziness should be passing by now. Your consciousness should be coming back to you, not fading into darkness the more you try to cling to it. 

“Hey,” you think he says. Gently, so gently, and you can barely hear him, can barely distinguish words from one another. “Hey, why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you some water or something, and—”

You don’t hear the end of his suggestion. With one final breath, your last tie to consciousness is severed. You feel your body teetering, before you start to slump forward. You think you feel it then, the warmth of his hands on your skin. The weight of your body against the soft fabric of his suit instead of the unforgiving surface of the hardwood floor beneath you. 

Your head rests against his chest. Even as your consciousness fades, you can feel his heartbeat, the way it pounds beneath your cheek. You think you hear him call out, loud at first and then louder. There’s desperation in his voice as he begs, pleads for help. 

With warm hands against your skin, and your pulse ringing loudly in your ears, the world around you fades entirely until there’s nothing but darkness. 

…..

Squinting, the only thing you can make out is light. It’s bright, too bright. The sudden influx of light only makes the dull ache against your temples more pronounced. Blinking slowly, you try to ease away some of your confusion. 

You’re not in your bedroom, that much you know for sure. Eyes opening fully, your surroundings begin to take shape. The ceiling above you is tiled, lined with fluorescents. Turning your head to the side, you see two chairs. A bedside table. A vitals monitor. 

You’re in a hospital. 

Trying not to panic, you push at the bed beneath you, moving your body into an upright position. The monitor next to you doesn’t seem to appreciate your effort. The second you sit up, it starts beeping incessantly, flashing a warning sign you’re not sure how to interpret.

A handful of seconds later, the door bursts open, a nurse flying in. 

“You’re awake,” she assesses. “Good.” Hands pressing against your shoulders gently, she urges you back to a laying position. “You shouldn’t try to sit up for at least a few minutes. Your body is still a little out of sorts right now.”

A little out of sorts. That’s a mild way of putting it, you suppose. 

“I…” you trail off, still a bit dazed. “Which hospital am I in?”

The nurse frowns at you, sympathy in her eyes. “You’re in Saint Mary’s, sweetheart. My name is Hana. I’ve been overseeing your care since your boyfriend brought you in yesterday evening.”

“My… boyfriend?” you echo.

“Mhm,” Hana nods. He should be back any minute. I’ll let him know you’re awake. He stayed here all night, you know. You found a good one,” she winks. Scanning the vitals machine, she adds, “You seem to be pretty stable now, but you took quite a fall last night. You’re lucky he was there to catch you. The doctor will want to speak to you again and get a final prognosis, but I think you should be free to go before the end of the day unless we find anything new.”

“Okay,” you nod, still a bit stuck on the word boyfriend. “Thank you…” you trail off, not able to remember the name she gave you. 

“Hana,” she finishes helpfully. 

You nod again. “Thank you, Hana.”

Just as she turns to leave, the door to your room opens again. This time, it’s Jay that comes tumbling in. Like Hana, he seems to have been in quite a hurry, if the shallowness of his breath is anything to go by. 

His eyes lock on you. You have the sudden urge to fidget under his stare. 

“They told me you woke up,” he states. In the middle of your hospital room, he looks more unsure of himself than you’ve ever seen him. His hands, usually folded neatly or busy with work, hang awkwardly at his sides. 

His hair is mussed. It still looks good, of course, but it’s messier than you’ve ever seen it.

He’s still wearing his suit from last night, from the gala. It’s not so pristine now. He’s removed the jacket, for starters. And the champagne stain still spreads across the front of his white shirt, more obvious now that it’s dried. 

His collar is askew, the top button undone by what appears to have been frantic hands.  

You wish you were here under different circumstances, so you could truly revel in the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Park Jongseong looking disheveled. 

“She’s awake,” Hana confirms. “Vitals look good for now.” Looking at you again, she points to the red button on the table beside you. “Press that if you need anything.” Glancing between you and Jay, she ends with, “I’ll give the two of you some privacy.” She winks at you again, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to correct her assumptions. 

But then she’s gone. It’s just you and Jay. 

“You told them you’re my boyfriend?” You arch an eyebrow.  

Jay shakes his head. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

“But you let them assume.” 

“It was either that or they called your family.” At the mention of them, something cold and sharp pierces through your gut. 

Still, you bluff, “What makes you think I don’t want them to call my family?”

“Do you?” He calls it. “I can go tell Hana right now.” His gaze narrows, once again assessing you like you’re a particularly stubborn spreadsheet. “But I don’t think you want me to do that. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even told your family you’re sick at all.”

You freeze. “Why would you assume that?”

“Am I wrong?” he challenges. 

Your silence is confirmation enough. 

“I knew it.” He laughs in disbelief, looking at the ceiling for a moment before he returns his gaze to you. “That’s so like you. You know, I get not telling your family when you have the flu or some weird infection you picked up from a party you shouldn’t have gone to, but Jesus Christ, ____. Cancer?”

Your body goes cold at the word. He knows. Jay knows. 

His anger is confusing. And, you think, entirely unfair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I exactly chose to have it.” 

“No, but you did choose to drink. You know, the doctor told me he specifically warned you about the side effects of alcohol with your medication.”

“That has to be a HIPAA violation. I should sue for dubious ethics—”

“Then I hope every doctor you come across has ‘dubious ethics’ so they can get someone else to help keep you alive,” he exasperates, volume rising, “since you don’t seem very interested in doing it yourself.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You must have misheard him. There’s no way he actually has enough audacity to say that to you. But this is Park Jongseong you’re talking about. 

Of course he does. Of course he fucking does. 

Your voice is low when you enunciate with an unnatural level of precision, “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

Jay has a mind of his own. “I mean, seriously, what the hell were you thinking—”

This time, you won’t let him finish. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t know the first thing about me or my family or my situation. I know you’re used to walking into a room and having your opinion matter more than everyone else’s, but you don’t get to do that here.” Your chest is heaving now. You’re half afraid your vitals monitor is going to start beeping at you again. But you’re angry. “This is my life. My burden to bear. Thank you for helping me get to the hospital safely. Truly. But that doesn’t give you the right to dish out your opinion unsolicited.” 

Across from you, Jay takes a deep inhale. Releases it. 

His eyes scan your face. He sees the anger there. The resentment. He drags a palm across his forehead, and on his next exhale, he says, much more quietly, “I’m sorry.” You can hardly believe your ears. 

“What?” You have to make sure. Surely you heard him wrong. 

But he says it again, more audible this time. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You’re right. I’m just… confused, ____.” He’s looking at you again, in that way that you hate. Like he’s trying to see all the way down to your bones. “I can’t figure this out at all. I mean, the ___ I know fought tooth and nail for every class assignment, no matter how small. You practically ran yourself into the ground every exam season since freshman year. I’ve never met anyone who works as hard, who tries as hard, as you at anything. And that was for test grades. And now… this is… this is your life. And I may not know everything about you or the situation, but from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve just accepted it. I’ve never seen you go down for anything without a fight, and now I’m supposed to believe that you’re just gonna let death take you?” He shakes his head. “It’s just not you.”

“It’s different.” You shake your head. You don’t expect him to understand. The last thing you want to discuss with a conglomerate heir is family finances. So you’ll tell him in vague terms. “Assignment grades, test scores, those are things I can control. The outcome is directly related to my effort. This is… different. There’s something broken in my body. It doesn’t play by the rules, and it doesn’t care about the effort I put in. No matter what I do, it’s just broken.”

“But the doctor mentioned treatment plans. He said there were options to consider—”

“Not for me,” you shake your head. “Those options aren’t things I can do.”

“But why?” he presses. “This is your life. Even if there’s only a small chance, isn’t anything worth trying?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s more honest than you planned to be. But his searching gaze, his rising desperation, have you feeling vulnerable. “I don’t know if it’s the right choice. If I’ll regret it. But it’s still my choice, and this is what I’m choosing now.”

“So what?” he pleads for a bit of understanding. “You just stick it out for a couple of years and then say goodbye to everything?”

“Three months,” you correct. 

“What?”

“The doctor estimated I have about three months left. I suppose it’s a little less now,” you amend. “It’s already been nearly a week.”

“Three m—” His voice breaks on the last syllable, eyes wide where they meet yours. Something releases in his body. The breath that was holding him upright. He deflates. “That’s not— You won’t even graduate. You’ll hardly finish the semester.”

“I know,” you nod. You’ve had time, albeit not much, to process some of your grief, your shock. Watching it play out across Jay’s features in real time is jarring, to say the least. “That’s why I made that stupid list I accidentally handed you at the gala. I know it’s not exactly a good bucket list, but they’re things that I want to do. Things that will make the next three months feel meaningful.” 

He just stares at you for a moment. “I… you’re so calm.”

“Believe me,” you smile ruefully, “I’ve had my fair share of tears and screaming and throwing things. But none of it changes anything.” You look away from him now, eyes on the window. “I don’t want to spend the next three months angry. Not at myself or anyone else or the universe.”

You feel his eyes against the side of your face. He won’t say anything in response. Won’t give any sort of acknowledgement or approval to your acceptance. 

Instead, he tells you, “You have to stay away from alcohol.”

At that, you roll your eyes. “Cut me some slack. You tell a girl she’s got three months to live and you don’t even let her drown her sorrows in a glass of champagne?” It’s meant to be a joke. Or at least a bit lighthearted. Something to diffuse to stifling tension. 

Jay doesn’t seem to appreciate the punchline. 

“Do you know how fucking terrified I was when you collapsed like that?” His voice is low, urgent. Your gaze meets his again, and there’s something desperate in his eyes. “I’m serious, ___. No alcohol.”

The gravity of his tone hits somewhere deep within you. Even if it’s only fleeting, even if it wasn’t intentional, it’s nice to think for a moment that someone else shares this burden with you. That there’s another soul in this world that understands what’s happening, that cares about the choices you make and their effect on you. 

“Okay,” you breathe, voice small. “No alcohol.”

“Good,” Jay nods. His relief doesn’t feel fabricated, not when you watch some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. “Okay,” he nods. “Hana mentioned that the doctor will want to talk to you again. He should be stopping by soon. I’ll wait for you, and then I can drive you back to campus.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You shake your head. “I can just take the bus—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he cuts you off. “I’m already here.”

“Okay,” you nod. You could argue further, but you have the feeling it would be useless. Suddenly, you’re the one feeling unsure of yourself. “Thank you,” you tell him, more a force of habit than anything. 

Silence stretches between you, both of you avoiding direct eye contact. 

As you look around the room, a question strikes you. “I know that this is Saint Mary’s but which ward am I in? It looks different from before.”

“Ah,” Jay nods. “That’s because you’re not in a ward.” Confusion flickers across your features. He’s quick to explain, “This is a private room.”

“A priv—” You nearly choke on your words. You don’t even want to imagine the hospital bill you’re currently racking up. “I didn’t request that.”

“I know,” he says, either oblivious to your panic or ignoring it. “I did.” 

“You…” You try not to let anger be your primary emotion, but it’s difficult in the moment. “Jay, I can’t afford a private room.”

At that, he only looks surprised. “What are you talking about?” He balks. “You don’t have to… I wasn’t going to ask you to pay.”

“Of course I’m paying,” you argue. “You think I’m going to let you cover my hospital bills?” 

“You’re not paying me back,” he shakes his head. 

“Don’t do that,” you warn as soon as you see something dangerous start to enter his gaze. “I might be sick and I might not have money, but you don’t get to pity me.”

At that, he looks genuinely surprised. He’s quiet for a moment. And then, soft but firmer than you expect, he says, “I don’t pity you. I don’t, can’t even begin to understand you, but I don’t pity you. Not today, not ever. My family donates regularly to this hospital,” he explains. “They offered to put you here as soon as I said my name. There’s nothing to pay back.”

“Oh,” you say. Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to. And then, just because it feels due, “Thank you.”

Jay looks at you for a moment, expression unreadable. “You can thank me by actually listening to what the doctor says this time. And then by following his advice.”

“I will,” you nod.

“Seriously. Medication side effects are no joke. You have to—”

“I will,” you repeat, firmer this time. 

“Okay,” Jay accepts. “Good.”

As if on cue, you hear a quiet shuffling outside your door. Muffled voices exchanging words, feet turning towards the entrance. The doctor must be here. 

Jay hears it too. He looks at you one last time and instructs, “Behave. And listen.”

Something about the way he says it has your spine feeling rigid. “I already told you I will—” 

The knock interrupts your protests as the doctor enters the room. It’s the same middle-aged man you saw the last time you visited Saint Mary’s. The one who gave you your diagnosis. The one who told you you have three months left to live. 

You don’t remember his name now. Doctor…

Your eyes land on his name tag. That’s right. Doctor Kim.

He looks at you now with an expression that’s hard to decipher. Not pity. Not sympathy. Now that he knows you have someone willing to come to the hospital for you. 

You wonder if he’s curious about it now, the reason you told him you had no one to call before. 

It’s impossible to tell. Doctor Kim’s expression is unreadable. He’s a malignant tumor specialist, after all. He’s used to giving out terrible news, to putting even the worst of circumstances in plain terms. 

Jay greets him before excusing himself. He reminds you he’ll be waiting, when you’re done. And then, he's gone. 

At first, Doctor Kim rechecks your vitals, jots down a couple of notes. And then he says, “I can’t lie, Miss ____. I was hoping the next time I saw you, we’d be discussing treatment plans.”

“Ah,” you intone. You try to keep your voice light, but you can’t quite look at him when you say, “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“Champagne, was it?” He pulls a stool up next to your beside and sits. There’s no judgement in his voice, not even the frustration that Jay had. He’s just confirming the facts, but that somehow feels even worse. Like you’ve disappointed him. 

“Only a few glasses.” 

“A sip of alcohol is enough to trigger serious side effects with the medication you’re on. You’re lucky all you did was lose consciousness. You’re very lucky someone was there to catch you. If you had fallen, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. If you were able to talk at all, that is.”

The gravity of his words hit you with full force.

“What?” The syllable is small, breathy.

Doctor Kim sighs. “Perhaps the gravity of the situation was not fully conveyed at our previous meeting. I’ll be more clear now. Miss, ____, your body isn’t able to heal itself right now. Your blood cells, even the healthy ones, are deteriorating rapidly. If you fall, if something breaks, if you cut your finger and it becomes infected, the three month estimate I gave you becomes much shorter.”

There’s no ringing in your ears, but his words feel muffled, like you’re listening underwater. 

He continues, “That’s why my primary treatment plan includes a specialized, targeted version of chemotherapy that can—”

You shake your head. “I’m not interested.”

“You’re not interested in what, exactly?” he asks. “Living?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Can’t quite meet his gaze. “Am I free to go?”

“You’re stable for now, but I’d like to keep you one more night if—”

“Is that a yes?”

He sighs. “If you insist on going, then I won’t force you to stay.”

“Thank you, doctor. I’ll be more careful.” 

He has more to say, you’re sure of it, but the room remains silent as he helps detach the monitors from your body. 

And then that’s the end of it. 

The drive back to campus is quiet, mostly. Jay has some old classic rock album on shuffle, but he keeps the volume low. Lets you look out the window and doesn’t say much. Doesn’t expect you to either. 

The truth sits heavy between the two of you now. 

It interrupts your plans, shatters the mirage you’d constructed. 

For the last week, you’ve imagined your death and the moments leading up to it as a solitary endeavor. You know you’ll have to tell your family eventually. But you have to time it right. If there’s any hope, they’ll insist on treatment. Even though it would mean losing the threadbare pieces of their lives that they’ve managed to scrape back together. 

You told Professor Jung that your health checkup went well, told Kaia that the two hundred dollar rent increase coming next year was something you still needed time to think about. 

You’re prolonging it. Delaying it. Death is your dirty little secret. Well, was. 

The evidence of that currently has his eyes trained on the road ahead, knuckles slightly pale against the steering wheel. 

And that presents a problem. 

As you approach the outskirts of campus, you break the silence. “Please don’t tell anyone,” you request. 

Jay sighs. Resigned, like he expected this. “Does anyone know?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Your family?”

He already guessed in the hospital, but you confirm it again now. “I’ll tell them when the time’s right.”

“When it’s too late, you mean.” He’s stealing glances at you now. You school your features into something neutral as he does it again. Reads you like a damn open book. Predicts even the darkest of your plans with ease. 

“It’s complicated,” you argue. You’re not sure why you feel the need to justify your choices to him. 

“How so?” he presses.

You deflect. “It’s a long story.”

Jay won’t give it up. “I have time.”

You’re quick, too. “Yeah, well I don’t.”

He doesn’t get it at first. “What? What urgent plans could you possibly have on a Sunday afternoon?”

You’re silent for a moment, just giving him a look while you wait for the ill timed joke to sink in. 

“Oh,” he finally says, slow on the uptake. And then he’s glaring. “That’s not funny.”

“I think it is.” You shrug. 

“Do you really? Or is it just easier?”

That catches you off guard. “What?”

“It is easier,” he repeats, “to treat it all as some big joke? Something meaningless? To pretend like your life doesn’t matter to you, like none of this scares you?

You’re quiet for a moment. Silent, while the wake of his words settles around you. It extends a bit too long, and despite all the boundaries he’s already broken today, he worries he’s overstepped. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I—”

“Of course I’m scared,” you whisper. In the passenger seat of his car, the admission feels like defeat. You feel like you’re on that bench again, by the business buildings. Only this time, you aren’t alone. “Jay, I’ve never been more fucking terrified in my life. Death is so… unknown. I’m scared it will hurt. I’m scared that it won’t, that I’ll feel nothing at all. I’m scared that three months will be over before I have the chance to do anything that matters, and I’m fucking scared that I won’t even actually get all the time the doctor estimated. When I close my eyes and try to sleep, I see my parents. My little brother. I imagine them seeing me like that – pale and stiff and wrong – and they just keep—” Your voice breaks. “They’re always crying. And then it’s not just fear anymore. It’s guilt too. I made them feel that way. I couldn’t just stay alive for them. It was my fault, and deep down, maybe they resent me for it, too.”

“Then why—” He whispers, voice cracking too like he’s the one who’s suffering. “Why won’t you get help? Why won’t you tell them?”

“Because believe it or not,” you whisper back, “I think it would be worse if I did. I watched them lose everything, give everything up once. I can’t ask them to do it again for me. The guilt would eat me alive. I can’t be that selfish.”

“And this isn’t selfish? Making their choice for them?”

You shake your head. “It’s my turn to make a sacrifice.”

“Are you insane?” He’s louder now, as if sense can be forced into your head with volume. “Love isn’t some transaction you pass back and forth. You’re lying to yourself,” he accuses. “You’re not telling them because you already know what they would do. They’d do anything for you. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been through hell before. They’d choose to do it again. Always. So put your guilt aside for a second and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.”

He’s dangerously close to striking a vein you don’t want him to find. His arguments are making too much sense, eroding the decisions you thought were set in stone. You need him to stop. “You don’t get it—”

“Because you won’t tell me anything!” His palms splay against the steering wheel now, open in frustration.

“I don’t have to!” You’re loud now too. “I barely know you. It’s not like you would even begin to understand, anyway. You were born with the world at your fingertips, but in case you need a reality check, that’s not what life is like for the rest of us—”

Jay switches into the left lane so suddenly it cuts through your words. Thrown by the force, you grip the armrest for support. “What are you doing? You’re about to miss the turn—”

“I hope,” his voice is low now. Steady, controlled but just barely. “That I’m misunderstanding you.”

He waits until the light is green, then he spins the car through a U-turn. 

“Jay, what are you doing? I need to go back to campus—”

He’s done hearing your excuses. “Are you telling me this is about fucking money?”

In the passenger seat, your blood runs cold. Shit. Shit. You said too much. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you said I wouldn’t understand. Because of my family. Their resources. Their money.”

“I did not say that,” you argue, but it’s futile. Weak to even your ears.

“You implied it.”

“So what,” you scoff. “I’m done talking about it. Like I said, you wouldn't get it. And why did you turn around? Where are you even going?”

“I’m taking you back to the hospital.” His tone leaves no room for discussion. 

“What?” For the second time, your blood runs cold. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” He says it like it’s obvious. Like nothing you’ve said in the past few hours has gotten through to him. “So you can tell the doctor you changed your mind and start treatment.”

You’re panicking now, pulling at your seatbelt. “I didn’t change my mind,” you protest. “I’m not starting treatment—”

“And I’m not gonna drive you back to campus and act like everything’s okay. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you die.”

His words hang in the air, the implication obvious. He has the money, after all. Probably won’t even notice it’s missing. You hate the way it makes you feel small, like you owe him something. Like he’s doing this out of some misplaced sense of obligation.

Your voice is barely audible. “You told me you didn’t pity me.”

“I don’t,” he reaffirms. “This isn’t pity.”

Your words bite, even more than you mean for them to. “Well, I’m not a fucking charity case either.”

“Then it’s not charity.” He shakes his head. “It’s a deal.”

“A deal?” you echo. “What deal could you possibly make with me—”

“Let me finish first in our class,” Jay says, and it catches you entirely off guard. “In all of our remaining courses and overall class rank,” he clarifies. “Let me take first.”

You scoff. “You don’t need me to do anything for that.”

“I do,” he insists. “You and I have been neck and neck since our first year. Competing against you, there’s no guarantee.”

“That’s hardly an equal trade,” you point out. “I can’t even imagine how much money—”

“It is for me.” His jaw tightens. “If I don’t rank first, my father won’t officially initiate me as a shareholder. I won’t have any position or power in the company. And he’s not fond of second chances. I won’t have an opportunity to remedy my mistake later.”

At that, you turn to face him fully, surprise coloring your features. His eyes are still on the road, but you’re sure he can feel that way you scan his side profile, the tense set of his jaw and shoulders. 

You can’t get a read on him, on what he’s thinking. Does it humiliate him to ask? Is he even telling the truth? You can’t imagine someone in your family ever treating you so coldly, but the sudden tension doesn’t seem fabricated. 

You know you’d be stupid not to agree. You don’t need to rank first to keep your scholarship, and that accolade won’t mean much past graduation. You glance at him again. Well, at least not for you. 

And regardless of the consequences, you’d get a fighting chance. Something akin to hope blooms in your chest. You haven’t let yourself feel it, not since that first night. It’s almost addictive now, like water in a desert. You stop yourself just before you start scooping mouthfuls with your bare palms. 

“I can’t—”

“Please,” he whispers. It’s not an argument now. Not a debate. He’s begging you. 

And that’s what does it. Unties the last knot of your resistance.  

You’re quiet for a moment longer, and then—

“Okay,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. Jay keeps his gaze forward, but you watch a flicker of relief ghost across his features. 

“I have two conditions,” he tells you. 

It’s so like him, you think. To get his way and then ask for more. 

“You’re really gonna push it? I could change my mind, you know.” But you won’t. Not when you’ve already tasted water from the oasis. Not when hope is already curling deep within you. Not when you could live. 

Jay calls your bluff, too. “First, you tell your family.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” he adds. “But within three days.”

You want to argue, to protest. But they’ll want to come see me. They’ll have to take time off work, away from the restaurant. And the transportation costs will be too high. 

Jay beats you to it. “I’ll cover any related costs that you let me. I’ll help you hide it, too. Pretend it’s part of a donation program or a special fund for university students.” 

It’s generous. It’s so terribly considerate that it makes your head spin. You can’t linger on it too long without feeling uncomfortable. 

Instead, you say, “Fine. What’s the other condition?”

“Your bucket list.” Jay nods to your purse that rests on your lap. You realize he must have returned it while you were unconscious, the list you accidentally gave him last night. “You still spend the next three months checking everything off.”

“What?” you frown. You weren’t expecting that. “Why?”

“Treatment is hope,” he explains. “Not a guarantee. You took the time to write it, so you should see it through.”

Part of you hesitates. If you’re really going to do this, if you’re really going to live, then you’ll need every last penny you’ve saved. Sunoo will need it. Your parents will need it. 

But you suppose you can take a sleeper train to the beach to avoid hotel costs and find some old convertible with a cheap rental fee to drive around for an hour. And kissing a stranger doesn’t exactly cost anything. 

Suddenly, the thought of Jay reading that particular list item has heat rising in your cheeks. It’s probably too much to pray he’s forgotten about it. 

But you’ve left enough of your pride in his car and at his feet. 

For a moment, you imagine what this feels like for him. What it would be like to give out such an impossible amount of money so easily. To have a father that gives ultimatums that could change the trajectory of his entire future in an instant. 

And then you think of you. Of the simple truth you’ve been dodging and denying and ducking from since reality slapped you across the face a week ago. 

You don’t want to die. 

You think of that little girl. The one who wanted to be an astronaut, a lawyer, a singer. She wouldn’t want you to die, either. 

And like Jay said, this isn’t a guarantee. But it is hope. 

For you. For Sunoo. For your parents. For her. Maybe, you think, even for Park Jongseong, who's been slowly edging further and further past the speed limit for the last five minutes. 

“Okay,” you tell him, looking out at the buildings you pass. You still don’t know most of them, but there’s another word there now, and it makes all the difference. 

Yet. 

You don’t know most of them yet. 

So you seal your fate with one last word. “Deal.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

[pprodsuga]

never to keep | heeseung

summary: heeseung was always a natural scene stealer, capturing the hearts and attention of those around him. it seemed predestined that he'd pursue a life that would take him beyond the cosmos and leave behind the constellations he once treasured. it's too bad that you were one of them.

warnings: angst and typos, probably.

word count: 8.6K (shorter than previous works, forgive me)

notes: ahahah. this is a therapy piece ... currently dealing with similar themes of a friend prioritizing work and people who don't care for her over people who do, and i feel veryyy conflicted as of late. i, like yn, am not a plaything. why not turn it into a fic. anyway, enjoy and happy reading! x

masterlist + taglist

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

If you love someone, they will always come back to you. 

There’s no logic in love, only strong emotions that make people disregard all they know to chase the feeling of reckless abandon. Love is a wildcard that can catch even the most self-protective person off guard. You’ve read it in stories from childhood fairytales to watching strangers fall in love in your favorite books and television shows growing up. You believe the people who kiss on the screen must surely find an ounce of love, even if only for a brief moment. 

It’s no surprise that you’ve come to love Heeseung the way you do. To love him is to know him, even if he’s too tired to see you on the weekends or too occupied to sit next to you at the lunch period because of his days training to become an idol. What you know at this point in your life is that love is unconditional; supporting your best friend to pursue a dream he’s talked about since he could speak feels right. 

To love somebody doesn’t necessarily mean to devote oneself to the fullest extent, but somehow you feel as though this way of thinking never quite aligned with how you’ve come to love. Heeseung’s parents are a surrogate for your own, especially when it’s just you and your mother in the small, two bedroom apartment that sits on the edge of town and away from the city. They tuck you in at night during holidays and other special occasions when you’ve become too tired to drive back to your home. 

Minjun, Heeseung’s younger sister by four years, warmed up to you quicker than anyone had expected. The fierce girl had a protective streak over her brother once he grew into his height and learned that winking at pretty girls could get them to do whatever he asked of them within reason. Minjun doesn’t recall when she met you for the first time because she was likely too young to remember, but her sweet nature towards you speaks louder than you could’ve ever anticipated. 

Growing up with a single parent as an only child provides enough time to befriend loneliness. There are days spent idly in the apartment waiting for someone to keep you company, often wishing that the house was filled with people to keep the void full and lively. But now, because of the Lee family and how close you’ve become to their two children, it seems as if the idea of a central family is closer than you think. 

Heeseung didn’t expect for you to become a prominent fixture in his life when the two of you were partnered for a science project at the ripe age of thirteen. He’d experienced a growth spurt and acne for the first time simultaneously, growing insecure in himself with every day that passed by. Heeseung hadn’t anticipated you sitting with his family at the dinner table five years later, listening to a mundane story about his mother’s workday at a boring corporate-level position Heeseung doesn’t bother to remember. 

He never thought you’d be cooking with his father in the kitchen upon returning home from his training practices, talking about the art of seasoning as the meal preparations come to a finish. He doesn’t remember when you started coming over without the pretense of coming to see him either. Heeseung surely does not anticipate Minjun waiting for your arrival by the front windows just to insist on being the first person who welcomes you into their home. 

Naturally, Minjun becomes a recognizable face in your life because of how often she spends time with you and Heeseung. The young girl sets up her homework as the two of you begin yours, her schoolbooks significantly lighter than yours but you make conversation anyhow. 

“I think she likes you because you don’t treat her like she’s thirteen,” Heeseung says as he dries the dishes from dinner as you scrub them clean. “She hates it when people baby her.” 

“Sometimes I think I need to watch how I talk to Minjun.”

“No, you don’t. Minjun likes that you talk to her like a friend.”

“That’s what she is, no? A friend?”

“More than me?”

You flick water towards Heeseung. “Yes, if you keep teasing me.” 

“Seriously, though. Thanks for being nice to her. She complains that she’s the youngest out of everybody all the time.”

“I used to be like that.” You close the tap water and hand the last dish to Heeseung. “I hated being at the kids table when everybody else got to be an adult. Minjun’s at the age where she’s aware of it.” 

“God, we sound like her parents, or something.”

You bite back a smile. 

Caring for Heeseung is arguably the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He makes it simple when you receive a text from him hours before you wake up and just before you go to bed despite his busy schedule. You wonder at all how he manages to fit you into his life with all of his dreams and responsibilities, but Heeseung always tells you it’s because there’s room for you. 

Being so close to his family helps internalize the fact that you are a permanent fixture in his life. Mrs. Lee drops off baked goods on Saturday mornings most times because she knows your mother likes to eat a sweet treat with her bitter coffee. Mr. Lee goes out of his way to fix faulty ceiling fans or kitchen drains when he has the time to spare your income. Minjun gives you drawings from her art classes that sit on your refrigerator. Integrating their life within yours feels natural. 

Heeseung has always been somebody you’ve looked up to, poised for success after deciding he loved singing enough to make a career out of it. The eight-year-old boy who loved to choreograph dance numbers to famous songs carries this humble beginning when he talks about what life might look like for him when he’s crossed the threshold that separates his life from now. 

It seemed as though Heeseung’s dream of becoming an idol never seemed too far out of reach, even if he had his moments where he felt like giving up. Things always worked out for him in ways nobody could explain, like moving to a new city because of his mother’s job and making friends within an hour of transferring to a new middle school. Or the time when he’d auditioned to train under a management company and hadn’t heard back from them for weeks–Heeseung prepared to stop giving himself false hope for his future as an idol until the fateful email sat at the top of his inbox, welcoming him to the company. 

Life was always easier on Heeseung than it was for everybody else. 

You don’t see him much between classes because he’s on a special path created for people who are like him. People who are destined to debut as an idol are given certain exemptions to ensure quality education while having enough time to train in all areas of performance art. It took a while for Heeseung to get used to his new life and the new routine set in place for him but you were always there to remind him that this is what he wants more than anything in the world. All of the stress and frustration that comes with change, no matter how brutal or unnerving, will be worth it when he sees his dream to the end. 

You’re a young adult at this point in your life but it feels like you’ve aged beyond your peers because of circumstance. Spending time at the Lee residence when your mom’s at work or visiting her friends prevents you from feeling as lonely as you do in between four white walls that barely feel like home without someone else in it. Growing up quicker than your peers feels like something expected of you. Oftentimes, you wish you could maintain childlike innocence as Heeseung does, dreaming so big and far that everything seems like a possibility if you dreamed hard enough. 

Watching him dance and hearing him sing feels like a reminder that there’s more to life than what you know. Your best friend is your confidant and the person you see yourself in the most. The boys and girls who befriend him because of his good looks and potential stardom don’t matter much to either of you when the promise of lifelong friendship looms in the future. You can’t imagine Heeseung not being in it. 

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit at the dining table over a cup of post-dinner coffee while Minjun scrolls through her phone by the couch with a Netflix show you’ve never heard of on the television. Their soft murmurs have become a familiar background noise. You sit next to Minjun and peer over her shoulder. 

“I like these shoes a lot,” she tells you as she turns the phone for you to see. “All the girls in my grade are wearing these.” 

“Do you like them because you like them or because everyone else does?” 

She frowns. “What’s wrong with liking what other people like?” 

“Nothing, but if you’re going to buy flats just for them to sit in the back of your closet, that doesn’t seem like a good reason to have them.” 

Minjun has approached the age you’re all too familiar with. When you turned thirteen, the impending doom of fitting in hit you like a truck when you realized all of the girls in your grade had expensive clothes while you wore hand-me-downs from your cousins. Your backpack, which you had been using for three years because the straps weren’t broken, felt like a burden to carry when everybody else had pretty satchels. You felt juvenile in your too-worn sneakers and the two pairs of jeans you had sitting in your closet. But you were thirteen and your mother made enough money to make ends meet and put dinner on the table. Clothing and new school materials didn’t matter compared to eating before bed. 

Part of this insecurity has always followed you throughout childhood, especially when you were old enough to be aware of the fact that you were one of the few people in your grade who didn’t have a nuclear family. The kinds of families you’d see on the television didn’t exist in real life because while these programs taught its audiences the value of a good, stable home life, you’d been watching them alone while you waited for your mother to come home from work. There would be no dinner at the table with both of your parents because you knew there would be just her.

Watching Minjun grow up with two parents who dote on her feels bittersweet. It feels like watching a version of what could have been if only your father had chosen to stay in the picture instead of abandoning his family for a promising career in entertainment. Minjun’s petulance often reminds you that you were not privileged enough to have this kind of grace because of how rapidly your circumstances forced you to grow up faster than your peers did. 

There’s a small part of you that envies her life when you think about what yours could have been if he had stayed. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to watch your mother slave away at odd jobs to keep the lights on before finding a good, stable job after years of searching. Maybe you wouldn’t have felt so lonely in your adolescence because he’d take you to ice cream after school. Maybe the hollowness that remains inside of you would have been filled with joy and laughter on the holidays. 

“You’re right,” Minjun sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Seri told me my outfit would’ve looked prettier if I wore these.” 

“People should keep their opinions to themselves.” 

Minjun nods. “Agreed.” 

Heeseung emerges from the kitchen a moment later and sits next to you on the couch. The dip in the cushion and his thigh being pressed against yours isn’t a new phenomenon, but the heat that creeps up your neck can’t be helped when he looks like a model from the corner of your eye. You swallow until your mouth feels dry to keep both Lee siblings from asking why you look like you’re about to explode. 

It’s easy to fall in love with Heeseung. All of the girls fawn over him already, a promising sign that Heeseung will likely be just fine when he debuts as an idol. He’s always been good with people and speaks in a way that makes people root for his success even if it was unintentional to begin with. He’s charming in a way that seems humble. Heeseung has a skill for making you feel like you are the only person in the room when he talks to you. You’re sure it’s why people feel drawn to him and why everybody loves being around Heeseung so much. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way. 

Sometimes, you grow envious of how easy it is for Heeseung to get people to like him. Career prospects aside, it’s almost as if he can convince anyone he’s somebody worth being friends with. Cashiers love him because he doesn’t make small talk awkward. He’s not afraid to talk to strangers and strike up a conversation with somebody while waiting for his coffee order. Heeseung is bashful enough to come across as sincere and it seems to reel people in. 

He inspires you in ways that you can’t fathom but simultaneously reminds you that you’ve got no future or prospect. It’s unfair to compare yourself to your best friend, but being in such close proximity where people praise him next to you are constant reminders that your life hasn’t begun and you don’t know if it ever will. Your life feels stagnant compared to his exciting one. While Heeseung spends his days and nights perfecting his dance techniques and vocal skills, you sit in your room and wonder what life would be like if you could touch the moon. 

There are days where you wish you could be as suave and charming as he can be. You feel awkward around people you don’t know and limit yourself to new experiences when it feels too intimidating. You’re not somebody who’s confident enough to start a conversation, let alone with somebody you aren’t familiar with. Where Heeseung excels in the socializing department, you find yourself playing catch-up every time you see him befriend yet another person you aren’t familiar with. It’s a wonder how you two became as close as you are.

Meeting him had been by chance. You knew him from friends of friends and saw him in the hallways between class periods but never had a reason to talk to him until the two of you were partnered for a class project. The newfound partnership felt oddly comfortable from the minute Heeseung introduced himself to you with that same charming smile everyone knows him to have. His wit and humor brewed the perfect potion for you to feel like caring for him as deeply as you do would become inevitable. It wasn’t a bet on if you would fall for him as hard as you did, but when. 

You’re inclined to believe you keep it hidden well. Heeseung is far too oblivious most times to see you as anything other than his best friend. You’ve treated him like a friend far longer than you’ve liked him romantically, so acting as if you don’t have feelings for him is easy when you remind yourself that having him in your life would be better than the alternative. Still, you have moments where you yearn to hold his hand and kiss him before he leaves for practice. 

“Do you want to come to the next showcase this weekend?” Heeseung asks, nudging your side with his elbow. You pry your attention away from Minjun’s phone to look at him. “It’s gonna be a small one in the company theater. There’s going to be a bunch of important people in the industry. Allegedly.” 

“Of course I’ll come, Heeseung. This is you we’re talking about. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

The smile he gives you is blinding. 

“I really appreciate you supporting me, you know that? I don’t say it often, but I should. Thank you for always supporting me.” 

Your heart bursts. 

“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t do at least that,” you tell him. 

“My parents and Minjun are gonna be there too so you won’t be alone.” He smiles at you like he knew you were worried about who to sit with, let alone if there’s going to be important people that could determine Heeseung’s career. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, an overwhelming feeling of shyness overtaking you. “It’s silly that you have to look out for me all the time.” 

“No, not silly,” he says immediately, pushing his head to your shoulder. You don’t imagine this position is very comfortable for him, but Heeseung seems keen on staying in this position. “We’re kids, Y/N. You don’t need to have your life together. I’ll always look out for you and walk you through it if that’s what you need.” 

You sigh. “You know, one day, you’re going to become so famous that you’ll inevitably be too busy for me.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No I won’t. Who checks up on me every day after practice? Who do I come to when I need to cry? Who do I invite to my home when I’m not even here?”

“Technically, your parents invite me over when you’re not here.” 

Heeseung pinches your thigh. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not getting rid of me. It’s like, scientifically impossible to separate the two of us.” 

“Thanks, Hee.” You feel him nod against you before he lifts his head from your shoulder. “I just feel like I get in my own head sometimes. You know what you want to do for the rest of your life and I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow.” 

“We don’t always have to figure it out. I know saying that feels like bullshit because I’m training to become an idol but I’m serious. There are so many people we know who don’t know what they’re doing with their lives.” 

“It feels like my life could very well be over.”

“You’re being dramatic.” 

You make a face at him. “I know.” 

“You’ll find something for you, okay? You’re barely an adult anyway. You still have college and all of that shit to figure it out.” 

“You’re right.” 

“As always.” 

“Don’t push it, Heeseung.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you to the showcase. They pick you up and the four of you have a quick dinner before heading over to the company’s theater and you feel somewhat like an important industry person when you’re given a badge with ‘VIP’ on it to signify that you’re part of the family and friends entourage. You see a group of people with clipboards and pens at the ready, dressed like they’ve just come from important meetings that determine the futures of each trainee. Perhaps that’s who they are. Some of these well-dressed individuals have younger people standing beside them, presumably assistants or something as such. 

It feels very formal and you’re wondering if the long skirt and long sleeve top you’re wearing is too childish. Everybody who looks important seems to be donning suits or dresses that make them look like they stepped out of a drama show. It doesn’t matter how many times you remind yourself that you’re young and not here to mingle with corporate executives. You still feel like the floor should swallow you whole and spit you out with a new wardrobe that matches everyone else’s. 

Heeseung’s parents chat with a few people they recognize and leave you and Minjun to fend for yourselves (or, rather, it feels that way). The young girl beside you hooks her arm with yours when you’ve been quiet for a moment too long and starts to lead you down the aisles. 

“Everyone in here looks so stuffy,” she whispers. “People working in entertainment should look like they’re having fun.” 

“I feel a little silly in this skirt,” you admit.

“You look great,” Minjun tells you as she bumps your hip with hers. “My mom made me wear this stupid dress that I can barely breathe in.” 

“I happen to think you look very cute, Minnie.” 

“But I don’t want to look cute,” she whines quietly. “I want to look like an adult.” 

“Yeah, well you can look like an adult when you are one. For now, just be happy that somebody finds you cute enough to do things for you.” 

Minjun wants to argue but doesn’t. In the time that she’s known you, there hasn’t been a reason for her to distrust anything you say to her because you’ve never had a reason to lie. It’s why she’s likely to listen to you over her own brother, a fact that Heeseung holds a mild grudge over. 

“I guess you’re right. I can’t even drive. I need people to drive me places.” 

You stifle a laugh. “Yeah, driving can be a pain sometimes. Enjoy your youth while you have it, okay?” Minjun rolls her eyes in a way that lets you know she’s joking. Being outwardly affectionate doesn’t seem to run in the Lee sibling genes, but you’d like to think you know them well enough to tell when they’re being genuine.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” 

You try to tell yourself that, too. When everybody finds their seats and when the showcase begins, you’re in awe of how many talented people there are in the room when you hear their incredible vocal abilities and make performing in front of a crowd look easy. It’s easy to spot Heeseung when he’s dancing with a group of people you’ve never seen before. He always looks as if he’s floating on air, moving his body in ways you can’t fathom and he makes learning difficult choreography seem like a walk in the park. You’ve heard him sing before but not to this extent. The steady tone he delivers when he dances amazes you beyond comprehension and Minjun would later swear that she saw stars in your eyes when you watched her brother perform like this for the first time. 

What Heeseung neglected to tell you was that he secured a solo spot after months of impressing his coaches. He performs one of his favorite songs and moves across the stage like he was always meant to be dancing on it. From here, Heeseung looks like a celestial being with the lights cascading down his body. You hold your breath the entire time he sings on that stage and clap the loudest when everybody gives him a standing ovation. You peek to the side to see the same, stuffy executives nodding after his performance and write down things on their clipboards that you can only hope are praises and nothing but. 

Heeseung’s parents make their way to the front of the stage when the house lights turn on. They talk to people you don’t recognize and you find yourself following them instead of looking like an awkward mess, as everybody else has chosen to stand from their seats and greet the performers that have come out from backstage. 

Your best friend looks magnificent with his makeup and the outfit he last performed in. He looks like a real idol in this light and pride swells within your chest when people applaud him for his incredible performance before he reaches you. His smile turns bigger when he sees you and Minjun approaching him behind his parents and makes his way to engulf you in a hug. 

“You’re here,” he breathes. 

“I’d always said I’d be here for you, didn’t I?”

“I think this was the most important showcase of my life.” 

It would be hard to ignore Heeseung’s arm wrapped around your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before. It’s true that the two of you aren’t strangers to physical touch, but he never lingers on you like he is now. Still, you chalk it up to overflowing happiness and you can sense that Heeseung is genuinely pleased with himself. He isn’t pretending that he performed well like he does when he avoids going home after practice in lieu of spending time with you in your mother’s apartment. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” Minjun praises. 

“Language,” Heeseung chides, removing his arm from your waist to pinch her cheek. “Thank you for coming too. Where are eomma and appa?” 

Minjun points to where they are. “I think they were waiting for you to come out and started talking to the coaches.” 

“We should make our way there.” 

“You should,” you tell him, pushing Heeesung towards his parents. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

“Nonsense.” Heeseung shakes his head and grabs your wrist as best as he can with multiple bodies trying to squeeze past the three of you. 

When Heeseung pulls you away, you’re sure to grab onto Minjun’s hand so she doesn’t get lost in a sea of people either. Mr. and Mrs. Lee beam when they see their son approaching and Heeseung drops your wrist in favor of being smothered with affection by his parents. You can tell he feels embarrassed to be doted on in front of his peers because of how his ears are turning red, but you sit back and laugh with Minjun when she points it out loud. 

You let them talk and watch as people clad in business attire approach Heeseung and his parents. You're not sure if Heeseung knows them or not but he smiles and shakes their hands, going so far as to bow to their assistants as well. He talks to them like he’s been in this business for decades, making people laugh and remaining as humble as ever when people praise his performance skill. You’re not sure how Heeseung handles all of this attention and praise at the same time, or even what it must feel like to be talented enough to have people approach you. 

As you observe everybody else, it’s clear that Heeseung is the star of tonight’s showcase. The other performers did a fantastic job as well, but something about your best friend draws executives to him, and you’re sure everyone who hasn’t spoken to Heeseung is waiting for their turn. It feels exhausting to watch people socialize. You can only guess how exhausted Heeseung might be. 

Minjun joins her parents a little while later at their request, leaving you alone for the time being. You pull your phone out and text your mom that you’re still at the showcase and will let her know when Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you back to the apartment. You use this as an excuse to look busy, replying to a few friends that you didn’t have time to respond to before coming to the showcase. But those conversations are dry and leave you without a distraction. 

“Y/N, come here!” 

Heeseung calls your name and your head snaps to where he’s standing. He beckons you over with a wave and you awkwardly waddle to where he’s standing. His family aren’t with him and you wonder just how long you’ve been looking at your phone for. 

“This is my best friend, Y/N,” Heeseung says as he pulls you closer to him. “Y/N, meet Kim Namjoon. He’s the president and founder of Big Hit.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.” The bow is almost automatic and you’re sure to put on a good first impression to help any reputation Heeseung has with Namjoon. You bow at an angle that’s deeper than a common greeting but just shy of ninety-degrees. 

Namjoon returns in kind. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Heeseung’s a talented one, isn’t he?” 

“He’s the best at what he does,” you say earnestly. “I’ve never seen anybody work as hard as him in my entire life. Pardon if I’m overstepping, but I think Big Hit is incredibly lucky to have him.” 

He laughs at your politeness. “I feel the same. It’s not every day you come across someone who’s skilled at, well, everything.” 

“You know, when Heeseung and I were younger, we had this ongoing joke that he could master anything on the first try. I think it’s what makes him special, you know?”

“Guys, please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Heeseung whines. His cheeks are red but both you and Namjoon laugh in good fun.

“There’s a reason why I chose Heeseung to be tonight’s soloist,” Namjoon informs. “This showcase is meant for people in the industry and if I’m being honest with you, I think you’ll be getting good remakes on your review.” 

Heeseung beams. “Wow…I don’t know what to say.”

“He says ‘thank you,’” you answer for him. “I can’t imagine what training must be like but I do know that all of it has paid off. Thank you for giving Heeseung a chance to prove himself.” 

There’s a glint in Namjoon’s eye. 

“Have you ever considered working in publicity?” Namjoon asks you. 

“No, why do you ask?”

“I think you’d have a real talent for it.” Namjoon says it in a way that feels too casual for a showcase, especially if he’s the one in charge of the company Heeseung is training under. “You speak well for Heeseung.” 

“Oh…thank you.” 

He turns to Heeseung and claps him on the back. “There’s more to being an idol than training and performing. You need people who know you and know the business. It’s important to make your career thrive because you can be the most talented person in the world, but if you don’t have the right people around you, none of that will matter.” 

Heeseung nods. “Y/N’s always been my champion.” 

“I can see.” Namjoon smiles at you. “Entertainment is not for the faint of heart and there’s more to it than being photographed. You need to be in the right places at the right time and know the right people who can get you there. That’s what publicity does for you. Y/N’s already doing it and she’s not working in entertainment yet.” 

Somehow, his words feel comforting. “I haven’t thought about what I want to do with my life but that seems like something I could do.” 

“It’s important work. Heeseung can perform the shit out of his solo but it doesn’t mean anything if he has nowhere to perform it.” 

Namjoon smiles at the both of you before his name is being called from behind him. 

“Great job on your solo, Heeseung.” He turns to you. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He bows once more to the both of you before departing. 

“I feel like I’m buzzing,” Heeseung says as he puts an arm loosely around you. “It was like I was the only person in the room when I was performing, you know? The dance with the other guys was amazing and all of that but I feel like I was on another level when it was just me up there.” 

“You were incredible, Hee. I mean that. I don’t know a single person more talented than you.” 

Heeseung smiles down at you. 

“You know, it means a lot that you come to see me. Sometimes I wonder if people talk to me because they know I’m training to become an idol but you never make me feel like that. It feels natural and genuine. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, thanks.” 

You push him away from you, a giddy smile tugging on the edge of your lips. Heeseung is affectionate but less so in his vocabulary, choosing to tease you because it’s his way of letting you know he cares for you. Hearing him be so open and vulnerable tugs at your heartstrings and it makes you feel like you could achieve anything. 

“I’ll always be here for you, remember? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung’s life changes for the better after the night of the showcase when Namjoon tells him he’s secured a debut spot underneath their brand new label, Belift. Happiness flows within the Lee household and you’re nearly in tears when you realize all your best friend has worked for has finally paid off. 

But with it comes uncertainty and your fears are slowly becoming a reality when Heeseung stops talking to you as frequently as he used to. 

It comes with the job and you’re more than aware of how much Heeseung has on his plate between preparing for his debut and trying to fit in with the industry. You can’t imagine what life must be like for him now that his dream is just a few weeks away of becoming a reality but part of you wonders if it’s too difficult for him to keep you hanging on a leash. 

He calls his parents and Minjun as often as he gets. You know because Minjun swings by your mother’s apartment with Mrs. Lee on Saturday mornings to drop off baked goods, updating you on the latest she’s heard from her older brother. You try your best to quell your jealousy because they’re his family after all, but part of you feels like you have a right to call yourself his family too after all he said to you during the night of the showcase and all you’ve done for him. 

You’re sure Mr. and Mrs. Lee can sense it too. Heeseung no longer lives at home, having moved into his own dorm in the heart of Seoul, thirty minutes from you. You aren’t a stranger to their household without his presence but you’ve gradually stopped coming by unless Minjun calls you from Mrs. Lee’s phone to ask you to hang out. 

Texts and calls slowly diminish with his new line of work. You went from hearing from him every day to every other day, to nothing at all.

Seeing the blue delivered messages without any indication that he’s acknowledged you, makes you feel like a second priority. But you don’t know if you get the right to feel like this when you know how busy he is and the weight of his debut. Heeseung’s got one shot to make a good first impression and the last thing you want is to distract him from achieving his childhood dream of being a successful idol. 

Still, the silence stings.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung knows you’re waiting on him and ignores the pit in the bottom of his stomach that tells him to text you back. 

His new life has changed in ways he couldn’t fathom. When Namjoon told him the news about his debut and all of the details surrounding it, Heeseung felt as if the weight of the world was no longer a burden for him to carry, and that all he has ever wanted would eventually come to fruition. His new friends, namely the three guys around his age who have trained to become musicians, are people he gets along with more than he thought he would. Heeseung’s newfound excitement about the next chapter of his life takes him to new heights and he finds himself spending more time with Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon as they prepare for the debut showcase. 

Heeseung knows you’re waiting for him back at home but it’s so hard to focus on you when he’s wrapped up in his new life. Making time to see you is hard enough as it is and he knows you’re as patient as can be. In the years he’s been friends with you, Heeseung knows that your resilience knows no bounds and all that you’ve experienced in your lifetime has built the strong-willed, confident person he knows you to be. 

But his new life gets him caught up in the feeling of the present success. The three guys have known each other far longer than Heeseung has known them, only greeting each other in passing since all four of them were training in different areas of performance art. It wasn’t until they were living together that Heeseung started befriending them beyond practice and rehearsals. Jake’s the one who includes Heeseung the most on group outings or spending time playing video games in the living room. His entire life he’s been alone or with just you, seldom having a group of guys who just gets him. 

Heeseung tucks away the nagging feeling in the back of his head when he and Jay are preparing a meal for the four of them when he sees a text from you. 

hey hee, are you busy right now? it’s been a while since we hung out and i thought it would be nice to go get boba, or something. my treat !! <3

He shoves his phone in his back pocket before Jay can notice him staring at the screen. The message goes unanswered for the rest of the night as he basks in the company of his friends-slash-coworkers, the thought of getting boba with you far removed from his mind. Playing video games and getting to know the people he’ll likely be working with for the foreseeable future takes precedent. It’s what Heeseung keeps telling himself. 

After a while, the guilt no longer eats him alive. You’re busy focusing on graduating and preparing to attend university in the fall while he’s made his debut with his newfound best friends. It’s no surprise to anyone that Heeseung’s fanbase grows at a nearly alarming rate after he makes his debut. He grows popular with each day that passes and it feels like Heeseung has become the face of the newest generation overnight. 

He’ll wonder what you’re up to from time to time and let you know how he’s doing. Heeseung first sends a text to apologize, lying about not seeing your text sooner and that he’d love to get boba with you when he has the time. You tell him not to worry because you know he’s busy. He texts you pictures of his first performance and scenic pictures of the cities he visits because of his travel and promotion schedule. You update him on the end of the school year and how your mother is dealing with you moving away for college. 

The texts become sparse as the two of you resume your separate lives and Heeseung doesn’t realize that you don’t text him until the day of your graduation–the day that he was supposed to graduate if he hadn’t deferred to the trainee program–wishing him well and that you’re thinking of him. You send a video of yourself pulling your tassel over the graduation cap and he feels nothing for the lost time when he’s on his way to promote his first album overseas.

It’s for my career, he tells himself when he realizes how much time has passed since he thought of you. I’m doing what’s best for me and everybody else needs to get used to it.

It isn’t until Heeseung is permitted a few days off that he comes home per his parents’ request. He doesn’t tell them that he’s a bit homesick even though his dorm is a thirty minute drive, but it feels oceans away when his days are packed from morning until night. He tells his parents about his travels and what kinds of food he’s been eating when he’s overseas. Heeseung gifts Minjun all of the trinkets and souvenirs he bought from his time promoting his album, and what his future holds for him when he returns to his life as an idol. Mr. and Mrs. Lee applaud their son’s hard work, yet they can’t help but feel like there’s a piece of a puzzle missing because you aren’t here to celebrate with them. 

You make a visit at Minjun’s request. When you arrive, you’re stunned to learn that Heeseung is back at home and only has the evening until he needs to return to work. Heeseung can see the disappointment that festers in your eyes and the way your shoulder droops as you smile at him for his family’s sake, although he knows it’s false bravado because your grin doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

 He leads you upstairs to his bedroom when Mr. Lee insists that the two of you spend some time together after not having seen each other in ages. It feels awkward to be in his childhood bedroom with the door just slightly ajar at this moment, but it isn’t anything completely new.

What is new, however, is seeing that you’ve dyed your hair a different color and that you’ve gotten your ears pierced.

“You look good,” he says, lifting his hand to toy with the end of your hair. “It matches your skin tone nicely.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Did you do it recently? It looks fresh.” 

You don’t note that Heeseung also has a different hair color than his natural jet black. 

“Two weeks ago. My cousin did it for me.” 

He nods. “Nice. It looks good. I see that you’re wearing necklaces too.” 

“Yeah. I decided it was time to stop being a child and get it over with.”

“You know, you don’t have to do things if you don’t want to.” You throw a pointed look at Heeseung and it’s an expression he’s unfamiliar with. 

“I know. But I like earrings and that’s why I wanted to get them pierced.” 

Heeseung wipes his hand on his pants at the awkward tension in the room. He knows he’s to blame. His schedule and priorities have pulled him away from you and the life he’s built prior to debuting, but can anyone blame him? Can anyone blame him for not being able to balance his life when he’s been given the keys to a new empire? 

“Well, it was nice seeing you.” You throw a cheap smile in his direction and motion to open the door until Heeseung grabs your wrist, causing you to turn around. 

“You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “You have an early day tomorrow.” 

Heeseung sharks his head. “It’s fine. I don’t have to be back in Seoul until ten anyway. I’ve missed you and I want to spend time with you before I absolutely have to fall asleep.” 

You scoff. “That’s real funny, Heeseung. You missed me but all of my texts and calls go unanswered.”

He frowns. “You know that I’m busy most days.” 

“And nights?” 

“I’m with the guys back at the dorm.” 

You poke your cheek with your tongue. 

“See, I would know all of this if you bothered to talk to me at all but it sees that your new life is treating you just fine.” 

You make another move to leave his room but he closes the door, startling you with the loud noise. He apologizes quietly and uses his body to block you from leaving for the time being. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy between promotion and rehearsal that it’s hard to keep track of who I keep up with and who I don’t.” 

“You’re talking to me like I’ve never seen you cry before,” you say with a disappointed sigh. “You act like I’m somebody you once knew in a past life.” 

“Not true. You’re my best friend.” 

“Best friends would bother to talk to each other. You know that, right? I don’t exist just so you can pick and choose when you need somebody to talk to. It makes me feel like you don’t actually care about me, Heeseung. It makes me feel like you’ve ever cared about our friendship unless you needed a shoulder to cry on and I was the first person who would listen to you.”

“That’s not true. I’m just busy.”

“I get that, I really do. But it’s been months, Heeseung. I know that I can’t have your attention all the time and I know I can’t see you as often as I did. But would it kill you to let me know you’re alive? The only time I hear about you is when other people talk about you or when I see you on billboards. That doesn’t feel like a friendship to me.”

His fists ball at his side and his frustration surfaces. Heeseung is frustrated at everyone–himself for being unable to say ‘no’ to his new friends, you for expecting so much of him, and his company for keeping him as busy as he is. But he doesn’t know how to communicate that, not when you’re standing in front of him, looking like he’s the villain in your life when he feels like he’s not. 

“Well that’s life, Y/N,” Heeseung settles. “Sometimes we need to learn when to prioritize things over others.” 

You laugh humorlessly. “Is that the hill you’re going to die on? You’re too busy to send a simple text back or let me know that you’re, I don’t know, okay?”

“You can’t be a priority all the time.”

“I know that. I’m not asking you to drop everything for me just because I called you. I’m asking you to treat me like somebody you care about, Heeseung. Is that too much to ask?” 

The anger Heeseung feels within him feels misplaced, but your inability to hear him about makes him even angrier. It’s unfair for you to demand such things of him when he’s pursuing everything he’s ever dreamed of.

“Yes, it is too much to ask,” Heeseung bites back. “You don’t understand the gravity of what I do for a living and it’s hard to appreciate it when you’re breathing down my neck. God, when did you become such a clingy person, Y/N? The world doesn’t revolve around you and I don’t owe you shit just because you can’t handle that I’m busier than you are.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?” 

“I’m being dead serious.” Heeseung steps away from the door. “You of all people know how badly I want this and now it’s like you’re not letting me enjoy what I’ve worked for. What kind of friend does that make you?” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can catch them. His need to be the victim in an uncertain period of his life causes him to misdirect his frustration with adapting to his new life and the proof is written all over your face. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean–”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Just don’t.”

Frozen, Heeseung watches you open his door with such force that it nearly slams into him. He’s quick on his feet to follow you downstairs where he sees his family looking perplexed when you’ve opened the front door without saying goodbye. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it!” Heesueng yells when you’ve crossed the threshold of his household. “Please come back inside.”

“You made it very clear that I have no place in your new life. Congratulations, I hope you’re happy.” 

You walk away while the deep feelings of disappointment and uncertainty settles in Heeseung’s chest. He walks back inside and closes the door behind him to see Minjun and his parents in a deep stupor, trying to make sense of the scene that has just unfolded before them. 

“What happened?” Mrs. Lee asks. 

“Y/N and I…” his voice cracks. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore.” 

The room is silent, save for the ticking of the wall clock. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Minjun says without a smile. 

Heeseung wants to tell her that she’s wrong and whatever conversation they must’ve heard was a product of two friends having their first serious argument. Heeseung’s own frustrations towards his new life is something he doesn’t talk about often because he’s worked so hard to become the person he is, and it would be ungrateful to complain about what he has yearned for his entire life. It bottled up so much that hearing you accuse him of being a poor friend caused him to unravel and say things he doesn’t mean. 

Mrs. Lee beats him to speaking.

“Don’t say that, Minjun.” 

The young girl remains quiet and refuses to meet Heeseung’s eye.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In the few years that follow, you resist rolling your eyes when you see Heeseung’s face in magazine ads and billboards across the city. Life takes you to university where you spend the next four years deciding on the rest of your life before you settle on something everybody said you’d be good at. 

Graduation approaches far sooner than you’d like and it becomes bittersweet when you see the Lee family, sans Heeseung, in the stadium next to your mom, who are all equally shedding tears as your name is called. Heeseung being absent feels hollow, like another reminder that people choose to leave your life without a moment’s notice but for the sake of keeping up appearances, you smile at the camera when you accept your diploma. 

It’s not a surprise to you when you find yourself working in entertainment like Kim Namjoon said you could all those years ago. 

A job is a job, but he was right when he told you this would be something you’d excel at. Day in and day out, your responsibilities differ as you begin working at Hybe, formerly Big Hit, to manage the profiles and public appearances of idols and other public figures alike. 

Heeseung doesn’t hear from you much. His parents update him on your coursework and send him photos of you at graduation. He cries every so often when he feels the urge to call you and tell you about his day, but doesn’t know whether he has the right to do that anymore. The years in his position has taught him what true life balance is, especially with the media and paparazzi taking an interest in his personal life. 

It feels so exhausting to have nobody you can depend on. These days, it’s just him and the three boys he met at the beginning of his career. Heeseung’s popularity has grown so much that he can’t tell up from down. It drowns him in a way he never anticipated and the politics of fame and the industry wasn’t something he accounted for when he began dreaming about a career in the performance space. 

Perhaps it’s why he spends his days feeling listless, like he’s got no real potential after achieving his dream. He knows his managers worry for his health and that the other trainees in the building can sense something has been off for a while. Maybe it’s why he roams the halls with headphones on to drown out the noise that’s become his everyday life, with talks of meetings and promotions and everything Heeseung wishes to get away from, if for only one day.

When Heeseung bumps into somebody on his way out of the company elevator, his first instinct is to lean down to collect the papers that have fallen haphazardly on the floor. He pushes his headphones until they rest around his neck and stands to hand them back to the person he bumped into. Only, he feels his body freeze when he sees who it is. 

Like Heeseung has always believed, if you really love someone, they will always come back to you. 

“Y/N?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ 

potential part two ft. the rest of enha … this was a therapy piece lol

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ 

taglist: @enha-stars @karinasbaby @baevsxii @lillotus17 @syzavxy @mrmld @nikilvrfvr @luvyev @notevenheretbh1 @wvnkoi @seungiesgf @kgneptun @judeduartewannabe @iheartjayke @wonsbubble @ilyjxdz @foggysfrog @oddracha @haechansbbg @tobiosbbyghorl @ryunjin0 @sharksandminhos @jungwoneez @alex-is-sleeping @minjaexvz @woninluv @engeneeee-168 @friendlyuser57 @moony-mari @trdhgg @sleepyhoon @sunghoonsgfreal @i02hoonz @riksaes @021894s @zeeloveshee @jwnghyuns @vhuteryh @cloudiesblog @awsome209 @fleurixzs @xiaoderrrr @marshwatz @aeripark0703 @bambangan @papichulomacy .

apologies to all tumblr wouldn't tag. :)

[wonies-crocs]

ANGST WAS ANGSTTINGGG HELLO T-T this was so well written i enjoyed reading it sm, i love how detailed and lovely your writing was to read, i cant even describe how much i enjoyed reading this,, the pacing of the plot and how you wrote heeseung and the readers friendship (and her relationship w his family) was so lovely for read   (˵ˊᯅˋ˵) genuinely think this was one of my favourite reads tysm for writing this !

sorry if this was a bit of a ramble but i hope everything works out in your current situation with your friend <3

[wonuuism]

puppy love - 심재윤

in which jake makes the most if his (expensive) visit to the vet.

tags: fluff, vet!reader, layla’s not overweight irl but for the sake of the plot let’s say she’s been eating a little too well;;

author’s note: idk i wrote this in like an hour bc of a sudden burst of motivation. no proofreading bc it’s 3am LOL. first fic woo!! enjoy!!!

—

jake’s worried. panicking, even.

layla’s laying down next to him in the back of the taxi, her eyes shifting around nervously. jake’s leg is bouncing up and down as anxiety courses through his veins. layla had slipped and fallen down the stairs while he was home and her sharp whining whenever she walked afterwards made him uneasy. so, he was quick to call up the nearest vet clinic and book the soonest appointment for a consultation.

he’s really, really worried though. layla’s never had any bad scares like this one, so he’s not sure what to expect. what if it’s worse than he thinks? what if they tell him layla’s broken a bone? what if layla has to go through surgery? oh god - jake thinks he might throw up.

he’s interrupted from his thoughts as the taxi driver stops the car and announces they’ve arrived. thanking the driver, jake exits the car and gulps nervously as he surveys the exterior of the clinic. it feels ominous.

a bell rings as he pushes open the door, and the girl at the front desk looks up from the computer screen. “welcome in! how may i help you?”

“uh… i have an appointment at 11:30. for layla.” jake responds.

“awesome, i see you in our calendar. please hold tight while i let the vet know you’re here.” she smiles kindly, but it does little to ease jake’s nerves. still, he manages a tight-lipped smile and curt nod in response.

—

jake watches as someone emerge from the back, looking at a clipboard in their hands. “layla?”

he stands up right away, prompting layla who had been laying by his feet to do the same. “yes, that’s us.”

you look up at the source of the voice and send him a pleasant smile. walking towards him, you reach out your hand and he shakes it, but not before quickly swiping his palm on his jeans. “nice to meet you. i’m dr. l/n, and i’ll be taking a look at layla today. how about we head inside so i can take a better look at her?”

jake nods earnestly and gently tugs on layla’s leash to have her follow him into the consultation room in the back. once inside, you ask if he could kindly place layla on the table - a request he readily complies to. you’re impressed at how little he struggled given the fact that layla is a fairly big dog. clearly, he was strong. and maybe kind of cute, too.

“so,” you begin, “what seems to be the issue?”

“she had a bit of a bad fall and she’s been limping and whining a lot since then… i’m worried she might’ve broken a bone or something like that?” jake explains as he runs his hand comfortingly through layla’s fur.

you nod as he speaks, reaching over to assess any damage. after checking her heartbeat with your stethoscope, you flex her hips, gently press on her legs, and check on her paws.

as you do so, layla’s continuously making noises of discontent. initially, you had believed that her right front leg was causing her discomfort since she’d barked sharply when you touched it. however, she’d done the same thing for every other limb you’d touched as well. smiling, you turn your attention to her owner.

“i don’t see anything wrong with layla. her legs are fine, i’d say the shock of the fall is probably what made her respond like that. us people tend to coddle our pets a lot when they get injured, and dogs especially like that attention so they exaggerate it to make it seem worse than it is.”

jake is dumbfounded. “so you’re saying layla was just being dramatic?”

you smile apologetically. “yes… i know it’s not the news you were expecting, but that’s a good thing! means she’s not injured.”

you’re right, jake supposes. but that means i brought her all the way here because she’s a drama queen?!

you note the way jake sighs heavily, and it makes you want to try and console him by making his trip to the clinic seem somewhat worthwhile with basic medical advice.

“however, i would recommend putting her on a bit of a diet. she seems to be just a little bit over the ideal weight, and that can cause unnecessary strain on her joints.” you explain and jake nods, hanging on to every word coming out of your mouth. “after all, we want layla to live a long and healthy life, don’t we?” you coo, reaching out to ruffle her neck.

jake smiles. cute.

wait, what?

he takes this chance to finally look at you. he’d been too occupied previously with worry that he hadn’t been able to actually register what you looked like. now, he can see that you are, in fact, cute. you look around his age, and he’s impressed that you’re a vet this young. you suit the scrubs, but he wonders what you’d wear outside of work.

you pull away from layla and jake snaps back to reality. he’s glad layla’s okay. still, he sternly faces her and points his index finger toward her snout. “alright missy, you’re going on a diet starting today. consider it punishment for scaring me like that.”

chuckling, you turn to face him and he mirrors your action. there’s not much left to say, so he thanks you quickly and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. you stay since you have to log layla’s information in your computer. as you’re wrapping up, you add one more thing in layla’s “additional information” section.

additional information: super cute, looks exactly like owner

—

jake silently mourns on his way back home. again, he’s glad layla’s okay. he really is. but he had to pay an extraordinarily large amount of money just to be told that she’s fine. and a little fat.

he glares at layla, who looks back at him with sparkling eyes. his heart melts at the sight, and he sighs as he pets her. jake thinks of you and the fondness in your eyes as you petted the same fur moments prior. maybe something good did come out of his visit to the vet.

suddenly, he gets an idea. he paid a lot of money for this consultation, so he could be a little greedy. as a client, he could ask for your number, right? after all, what if something truly serious happened next time? he’d rather skip the formality of booking an appointment through the website and speak directly with you instead.

so, he pulls up the clinic’s information and calls the number on their website. a girl — likely the same one who welcomed him in — answers and asks what she could do for him.

“hey, i was just at the clinic for an appointment with my dog layla. i hope this doesn’t sound weird, but do you think it would be possible to get the number of the vet who saw layla today? just in case anything happens to layla again. you know?”

jake physically cringes as he speaks. way to not sound weird.

“uhm… one moment please.” the girl responds. jake hears whispering on the other side of the call.

what he didn’t know was that you were right next to the girl on call, sorting through some paperwork before you saw your next patient.

“doctor! layla’s owner is calling and asking if he can get your number..?” your secretary whispers.

you whip your head towards her, not believing what you heard. layla’s owner? the cute, fluffy hair guy?

she looks as giddy as you feel, giggling as she raises her eyebrows suggestively. laughing at her, you give her a thumbs up and she’s quick to bring the phone to her ear again.

“hello? yes, the doctor said there’s no problem. do you have something to write with? okay. her number is…”

you smile to yourself as she recites your personal number. a bell rings throughout the clinic, notifying you of your next patient’s arrival. you greet them and lead them to your consultation room and as you close the door your phone buzzes.

unknown number: hi, this is jake. layla’s dad. thanks again for the help today. if you don’t mind, i’d like to take you out sometime?

you bite your lip to suppress your grin. quickly, you reply.

you: i’d love that. date and time?

[wonies-crocs]

OH MH GOSHHH this is so cute the way jake referred to himself as laylas dad 🥹🥹 this was such a wholesome read i feel like i could imagine everything so clear on in my head ur writing is so lovely to read !! thank you for this :DD

[bokkura]

I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAD TO . p.sunghoon

synopsis :: lee heeseung was your first love, if you could count a ghost as a love. he made you feel adored, he made you feel special. all despite the barrier between your worlds. but this all comes crumbling when your death day rolls around, and it’s revealed heeseung had toyed with your heart. being in love with another on the other side the entire time. now you’re stuck heartbroken in the land of the dead, with only a few newfound friends to help you.

and a really beautiful dead ice skater.

pairings :: park sunghoon x fem!reader, brief lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre :: ghost!au, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

started 010824 | ended tba

taglist open, comment or send an ask to be added.

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. tba.

[dollyyun-deactivated20240928]

𝐮𝐩𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐰𝐢𝐩)

PAIRING: cold ceo!jay x beauty influencer fem!reader SYNOPSIS: seeing your older brother's best friend in real time again after many years brings back bittersweet memories you buried deep in the wreckage of your mind and evokes a familiar yet forbidden attraction for the man who is out of your league. just as you have every intention to steer clear of him, the universe pulls a reverse uno card, and thus, your fate seems to interweave with his. the tension between you two grows thicker and thicker, and you wonder if he still sees you as his best friend's younger sister or as a real woman. GENRE: 18+ (mdni), adulthood, 6 years age gap (jay is 28, reader is 22), grumpy x sunshine, angst, slow burn kinda, jay calls reader 'sunshine'. WARNING: profanities, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex (no!), harddom!jay, sub!reader, oral (f & m rec), manhandling, breeding kink, degradation, edging, overstimulation, (more to be added....) WORD COUNT: est 9k-11k RELEASE DATE: july (tbc)

PAIRING: jake sim x fem!reader x lee heeseung SYNOPSIS: almost everyone on the team knows that park sunghoon's sister, aka you, is off limits, to which your brother made it annoyingly clear, but that doesn't deter you from developing forbidden attractions for two specific individuals, just as they do to you too. with each encounter, their desire for you amplifies, and it doesn't help when your attempts at seducing them under the innocent pretence of yours have been nothing short of obvious. shameless, that's what you are. after putting their differences aside, they have had enough and decided to show you how utterly shameless you are and give you what you strongly desire - them. GENRE: 18+ (mdni), smuts, college au, pinning, tension, forbidden romance, ice hockey, brother's rival heeseung, brother's best friend jake, fluffs. WARNING: profanities, jealousy, possible violence, alcohol consumption, dom!heejake, degradation, mild bondage, manhandling, blowjob, edging, crying, overstimulation, threesome (more to be added....) WORD COUNT: est 20-30k RELEASE DATE: july (tbc)

PAIRING: mafia!lheeseung x assassin fem!reader SYNOPSIS: the mafia princess ─ oh, how you absolutely despise the moniker accorded to you simply because your reputation entails you being the youngest in your clan and who is merely there for pretty decoration, but little do they know that beneath your pristine, angelic facade is a cold-blooded killer whose skills are impeccable. After having enough of the mistreatment from your father, your vengeful spirit propels you to prove him and those who underestimated you wrong by assassinating your father's number one enemy ─ lee heeseung, the leader of lee clan. however, you have underestimated heeseung, and thus, things no longer work in your favour at this time. naturally, you expect heeseung to eliminate his enemy's daughter after the assassination attempt, but his intention clearly shows that he wants to keep you around him for as long as he wants to. as time passes, feelings shift and clothes are discarded, but you remain at the crossroads of choosing your clan or the only man who makes you feel more seen and powerful. GENRE: 18+ (mdni), smut, adulthood, mob world, sci-fi(ish) concept, dark theme, angst, enemies to lovers. WARNING: profanities, violence, blood, murders, smoking, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, forced close proximity, unprotected sex (no!), meandom!hee x sub!reader, name calling(slut, princess, darling), rough/hate sex, slight bondage, creampie, overstimulation (more to be added....) WORD COUNT: est 17k-20k RELEASE DATE: july (tbc)

PAIRING: enha hyung line x fem!reader SYNOPSIS: being the only human who has been miraculously and specially invited to enrol in the elite academy for vampires, you have long since struggled to fit in due to the discrimination you often face. for the first few weeks, you hated this place and everyone in it, but as time passes, you have grown rather fond of the academy, despite the fact that the place is cluttered with superior beings who view you as nothing but a walking blood bag. although you want to be thankful that none of them have tried to get a taste of your blood, it can't be said the same for the four vampires, who come from distinct yet esteemed clans. you have been made aware that you ought to steer clear of their path, but it is as though there is a magnetic pull in you that often draws them to you. despite experiencing pain and humiliation from your four tormentors, you can't deny that you, too, feel a sense of magnetic attraction towards them that only seems to amplify with each moment filled with unspoken yet palpable tension. GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, dark themes, vampire au, fantasy romance, soulmate kinda concept, smuts. WARNING: explicit themes, profanities, violence, blood, murders & deaths, manipulation, corruption, mild bullying, humiliation, alcohol consumption, vampire sex, hard&mean!doms, voyeurism, degradation, markings, biting(drawing out blood), lots of manhandling, crying, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, eventual fivesomes (more to be added....) RELEASE DATE: august (tbc)

TAGLIST: OPEN (comment below which fic you wanna be tagged)

[flwrstqr]

— HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS ! an advice writer, you, starts on a bold new project for an article aiming to explain how to drive a man away in just 10 days. your editor is supports, so you set out to find a suitable man for her experiment. meanwhile, executive heeseung is equally confident in his ability to make any woman fall in love with him within 10 days. when you and heeseung cross paths, things slightly go off plan.

THE CAST heeseung x writer! fem reader

GENRE s2l, fluff, comedy, romance

WORD COUNT 5k+

WARNINGS parties, kissing, small grammar errors, yn kind of playing with heeseung at first, swearing, angst, crying

DANi NOTEZ hii this is for my liz's new event!!! this i based the rom com, how to lose a guy in 10 days. i kind of changed up scenes but the main idea and plot is based on the iconic 2000s movie. i've been writing this for abt 2-3 days? i thought it was good enough for liz' event so here i am. anyways i hope u enjoy it ><

BEING A WRITER HAS BEEN YOUR NUMBER ONE GOAL EVER SINCE HIGH SCHOOL. Now, at age 23, you were finally standing at the gates of the biggest magazine company ever. The sight alone sent chills down your spine, filling you with exhilaration.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The bustling activity, the hum of the printer, and the aroma of bitter coffee greeted you. You made your way to the elevator and anxiously pressed the button for the 17th floor.

Upon arrival, you awkwardly walked into the office. Your heart was pounding, and your knees were slightly shaking. You approached the manager's office and opened the door, finding yourself sitting in front of your section's main manager.

"YN LN?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am," you replied stiffly, nerves evident in your voice.

"Welcome to our magazine company," she greeted, shaking your sweaty hand.

"Thank you," you responded with your usual sweet smile.

"Well, why don't you get to work?" she laughed. Your eyes widened, and you quickly stammered an apology, rushing to find your new desk and start brainstorming ideas.

For nearly two hours, you gazed out the window, feeling empty. No ideas were coming to you. It always seemed that the best ideas came at the worst times, and now, when you needed them most, your mind was blank.

"YN, just think…" you whispered to yourself, running your fingers through your hair. You glanced around the office, hoping for inspiration. Your eyes settled on a young man and woman engaged in a flirtatious conversation. Watching them smile and laugh together made you wonder if they were a couple or just interested in each other. (happy couples really did give you an ick.)

Then, it happened. The perfect idea. An idea that could possibly get you promoted and shake the whole world.

Quickly scribbling on your paper, the title snapped into your mind: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING, how do you even lose a guy in 10 days? Easy—just find a guy and drive him away by doing stereotypical “girl things.” Sounds like a piece of cake, right?

“YN, that is one of the BEST ideas I’ve ever heard!” your editor, Yeseo, exclaims.

“Really?” you ask, eagerly smiling.

“It’s perfect! It would catch everyone’s attention!” Yeseo explains, her eyes lighting up as she imagines the situation.

“So, how are you going to write this?” Yeseo raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll try it out myself and document my experiences. That way, it’s more authentic,” you shrug.

“That sounds great. Just journal your experiences each day,” Yeseo nods, agreeing with your plan. “I’m so excited to see the final product, YN. Email me once you’re finished, and we’ll get it published within weeks.”

You give her a quick smile before leaving her office, ready to start your new adventure.

PARTIES. USUALLY ONE OF THE THINGS YOU ABSOLUTELY HATED. The noise of couples kissing, people screaming, and music blasting through the speakers was just not your thing. The way sweaty bodies brush against each other as they chug alcohol. Parties are truly the thing you hate the most.

“So you’re telling me your new article for the magazine is about how to get a boy to dump you in 10 days?” Karina raised her eyebrow.

“In other words, yes,” you smiled. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Possibly it not working,” Giselle interjected.

“Well, it will. I’ve planned the whole thing,” you grinned with a hint of pride. “My editor was impressed. I’m sure it’ll work.”

“If you say so,” Karina laughed at your confidence.

“So basically, YN will get a boyfriend before me?” Ningning asked, shocked.

“Well, he’s not gonna be my boyfriend. He’s more like a test,” you replied uncertainty. As you continued to explain your plan, you felt a gaze fixed on you from across the room.

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend,” Jake joked.

“I can,” Heeseung rolled his eyes.

“Wanna bet on it, then?” Jake's eyes glinted with playfulness.

“Deal,” Heeseung confirmed.

“If you get that girl over there as your girlfriend, then I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” Jake smirked, pointing at you across the room.

“Her?” Heeseung raised his eyebrow as he checked you out. You were pretty to his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to approach you.

“Yup, her,” Jake grinned.

“Deal, I’ll have her in my arms within a day,” Heeseung winked before walking over to ask for your number.

NOW

“No way my plan will fail–” your voice stopped as Heeseung approached, tapping your shoulder lightly.

“Hi,” he greeted you with a welcoming smile.

“Uh, hi?” you replied, confused.

“You’re kind of cute. Can I get your number?” Heeseung asked, the words not quite rolling off his tongue as he had never done this before.

Your cheeks burned slightly as you stared. “Sure?” He was quite cute, with his sweet smile and perfectly styled hair. You gave him your number, and he mentioned he would text you later before walking off.

“YN, you know what that means?” Giselle raised her eyebrow.

“Huh?” you looked confused.

“You can use him as your test,” Winter recalled. Your eyes then widened. Perfect! He would be the perfect subject for your new article. Now, how were you going to make him yours?

YOU SIT ON YOUR BED, staring at your phone, debating whether to text Heeseung first. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside you. Finally, you take a deep breath and type out a message.

YN: Hi, it’s YN. We met at the party earlier, you asked for my number. :)

You hit send and immediately feel a rush of anxiety. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he thinks you’re weird? You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, but the minutes feel like hours. Suddenly, your phone buzzes.

Heeseung: Hey, of course I remember. How's your night going? 

YN: It’s going good, just relaxing now. How about you?

Heeseung: Same here. Just got home. That party was a bit too much for me, tbh

You smile, feeling a little more at ease.

YN: Agreed, not rlly a party person lmao

Heeseung: Really? Me neither. I actually prefer a quiet night with some good music.

YN: Same, what kind of music do you like?

Heeseung: I listen to a lot like R&B and indie ig

YN: oh rlly? Same w me 

Heeseung: oh that’s cool

Heeseung: also wanna meet up one day?

YN: That would be amazing. I’m totally up for it.

Heeseung: Cool, it’s a date then. :)

You can’t help but smile at his message, feeling a flutter of excitement.

YN: Sounds like a plan.

Heeseung: It’s getting late. I should probably get some sleep. But I’m glad we got to talk tonight.

YN: Me too. Sleep well, Heeseung. Talk to you tomorrow?

Heeseung: Definitely. Goodnight, YN. :)

You set your phone down, a smile still on your face. This might just be the start of something interesting.

YOU TAKE A DEEP BREATH, smoothing out your outfit one last time before stepping into the restaurant. Heeseung is already there, waiting at a table near the window. He spots you and waves, a warm smile spreading across his face. You give a small smile back. 

“Hi,” you greet him as you sit down.

“Hey,” he replies, “You look great.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The waiter comes over to take your orders, and there’s a moment of awkward silence as you both look at the menus.

“So, uh, do you come here often?” Heeseung asks, attempting to break the ice.

“Actually, it’s my first time,” you admit.

“I see,” Heeseung awkwardly laughs. 

AFTER DINNER, you both step outside into the cool evening air, feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence.

“That was really nice,” Heeseung says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, feeling a sense of relief that the awkwardness from earlier has faded.

You walk side by side down the quiet street, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

“Do you live far from here?” Heeseung asks, breaking the silence.

“Not too far. Just a few blocks away,” you reply, glancing at him.

“Oh I see,” he says, smiling.

As you continued walking, the two of you began to chatter off. The conversation flows effortlessly, and you find yourself laughing at his jokes and sharing your own stories.

“Did you see the sunset earlier?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the sky, which is now painted with shades of orange and pink.

“Yeah, it was beautiful,” you say, smiling at the sight.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Heeseung says, looking at you with a soft smile.

“Me too,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you reach your street, you both come to a stop.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways,” Heeseung says, looking a little reluctant to leave.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

“Thanks for tonight, YN. I had a great time,” he says, stepping closer to you, “Maybe another time we can hang out again.” 

“Thank you too, Heeseung. That sounds great,” you reply, feeling a rush of happiness.

 YOU DECIDE IT'S TIME TO PUT YOUR PLAN INTO ACTION. You’ve thought through every detail, determined to see if your article concept works in real life. Step one: find an ugly dog and some hideous clothes. You’ve got the perfect ideas in mind.

You meet Heeseung outside his apartment, holding a small, scruffy dog with a face only its owner could love. You flash him a bright smile as he opens the door.

“Surprise!” you exclaim. “I got us a dog!”

Heeseung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the dog. “Uh, wow, YN. That’s…unexpected.”

“Isn’t he adorable?” you gush, ignoring the bewilderment on Heeseung’s face. “I named him Snuggles.”

“Snuggles, huh?” Heeseung says, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Yeah, he’s…something.”

You place Snuggles in Heeseung’s arms, watching as the dog licks his face with an enthusiastic, slobbery tongue. Heeseung grimaces slightly but manages a strained smile.

“Let’s take him for a walk,” you suggest brightly, grabbing a garishly colored leash from your bag.

Later that evening, you bring out the next part of your plan: an outfit so hideous that it should be impossible for Heeseung to bear. You hand him a neon green tracksuit with orange polka dots and a pair of mismatched shoes.

“I thought we could match!” you say, revealing your identical outfit. “Isn’t it fun?”

Heeseung looks at the clothes, then back at you, clearly unsure how to respond. “Wow, YN. This is…unique.”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, pouting slightly.

“No, no, it’s great,” he says quickly. “I’ll just, uh, go change.”

When he returns, you both look like you’ve stepped out of a bad 80s workout video. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity, but Heeseung seems to be struggling to keep a straight face.

“Let’s go grab dinner,” you say, linking your arm with his. “I made reservations at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

At the restaurant, the two of you turn heads as you walk in, dressed in your eye-searing outfits. The hostess tries to maintain her professionalism as she leads you to your table, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

Throughout dinner, you do your best to be as irritating as possible. You chew with your mouth open, talk loudly, and insist on ordering the strangest items on the menu.

“Are you sure you want the pizza?” Heeseung asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“Absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “And I think you should try it too!”

Heeseung hesitates but eventually nods. “Sure, why not?” 

Here you were, sitting on your bed as you write your story. Typing away and zoning out, it had to be working right? He obviously would be over you by next week. All you needed was one more shove to drive him away soon as possible. Just 5 more days..

YOU PUSH YOUR CART THROUGH the aisles of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the items on your list. As you reach for a box of cereal, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“YN?”

You turn to see Heeseung approaching, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh, hi Heeseung,” you say with a smile.

“Nice to see you here,” he says, falling into step beside you.

“Yeah, I just needed to grab a few things,” you reply, feeling a bit flustered by his presence.

Heeseung nods, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence as you both continue browsing. Suddenly, you realize you can’t reach the item you need on the top shelf.

“Um, Heeseung, do you think you could help me with something?” you ask, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Of course, what do you need?” he replies, stepping closer.

“I just need to grab that box up there,” you say, pointing to the top shelf.

“Sure thing,” Heeseung says, reaching up to grab the box.

But as he stretches, you accidentally bump into him, causing him to lose his balance. In a split second, you reach out to steady him, but instead, you end up stumbling backward, crashing to the ground on top of him. Your face merely inches from each other. 

“I’m sorry about that!” you exclaim, your face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, his cheeks also flushed as he helps you up.

“Um, we should probably get up,” you say, feeling flustered.

“Yeah, definitely,” Heeseung agrees, scrambling to his feet.

You both straighten your clothes and try to regain your composure, but the awkwardness lingers in the air.

“Well, um, thanks for trying to help,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Anytime,” Heeseung replies with a sheepish smile. You exchange a quick awkward glance before awkwardly walking back to do your own things.

YOU AND HEESEUNG STEP INTO THE DIMLY LIT MOVIE THEATER, the smell of popcorn filling the air. You’ve been looking forward to this night out, hoping it will help end your plan to drive him away. As you settle into your seats, the lights dim, and the movie begins.

The film is a romantic comedy, and as the story unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in the plot. But when the characters share a kiss on screen, you feel a sudden tension between you and Heeseung.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and you can see that he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You both look away awkwardly, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

As the movie progresses, the tension between you only grows. You can feel Heeseung’s eyes on you, and you struggle to focus on the screen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly, as another kiss happens, Heeseung leans in closer to you. You freeze, unsure of what to do. Is he going to kiss you? But then, almost as if on cue, Heeseung leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. His breath mingles with yours, his warm exhales tickling your skin as he leans in, his lips drawing closer to yours. You can feel the gentle brush of his breath against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. And then, in a heartbeat, he closes the gap between you, his lips pressing softly against yours. It’s a gentle kiss, but hesitant at first, but soon it deepens. You can’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

You melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours.  When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and your mind is buzzing with emotions. You meet Heeseung’s gaze, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the movie.

“Yeah,” you murmur, at a loss for words.

As the movie comes to an end, you both sit in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. But despite the awkwardness, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

As you leave the theater, you can’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, feeling a sense of warmth and longing that you can’t ignore. And as you walk hand in hand with Heeseung, you realize with a start that maybe, just maybe, you’re falling in love.

AS YOU LIE IN BED THAT NIGHT, the events of the evening replay in your mind. The gentle touch of Heeseung's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace—it all stuck in your head. 

You stare up at the ceiling, think to yourself.  Love? It's a word you're not ready to utter, a feeling too intense to comprehend. You try to push the thought aside. 

You roll onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you. You couldn’t be in love? All that effort you put in to get rid of him. It was your 8th day, just two more days. You couldn’t do it anymore. As you drift off to sleep, the question echoes in your mind. Are you falling in love with Heeseung? 

THE REALIZATION HITS YOU like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling breathless. Could it be true? Are you actually falling in love with Heeseung?

The thought consumes you as you go about your day. By the time evening arrives, you can't shake the feeling that you needed to end it.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you pick up your phone and dial your editor's number. When she answers, you get yourself together for the conversation ahead.

"Hey, it's me," you begin, "I need to talk to you about the article."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the curiosity in her voice as she responds. "Sure, what's up?"

"I… I can't write it," you admit, the words feeling like a confession. "I just don't feel right about it anymore."

There's a moment of silence before your editor speaks again, her tone firm."No, you're writing it," she says, leaving no room for argument.

"But—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off before you can continue.

"No buts," she insists. "We've already agreed on the topic, and you're the best person for the job. I expect to see the first draft on my desk by the end of the week."

You sigh, feeling defeated. It's clear that your editor isn't going to budge on this issue, and you know that arguing further would be a waste.

"Okay," you say reluctantly, resigning yourself to the task at hand. "I'll get it done."

AS YOU SIT ON YOUR COUCH, trying to make sense of everything that's happened, until you hear Heeseung pick up a call. 

“ Heeseung!" Jake's voice crackles through the phone, filled with excitement. "So, have you sealed the deal yet? Win YN over?"

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of your name and you instinctively lean in closer, eager to hear his response. But as you listen, the color drains from your face, and a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

"The bet that I could get YN in 10 days?," Heeseung's voice comes through the phone, his words cutting through the air, "I thought I could, but…" 

Your heart shatters. Your knees started to shake. How could you have been so blind? How could you have let yourself fall for someone who was playing a game with your feelings?

Before you can hear the rest of his sentence, you leave the room silently. "I thought I could, but…" The words replay in your head.As the reality sinks in, you realize that you may have just broken your own heart, listening in on a conversation that was never meant for your ears.  He played with you. He was using you. You feel like a fool, blindsided by the truth that's been staring you in the face all along. 

You walk yourself to the nearest taxi before coming back to your empty apartment. You lie on bed, your palms on your eyes, sobbing quietly. Why should you care? I mean he was just an experiment — right? 

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the curtains as you sit on your bed, thoughts rushing through your mind. The wounds from last night were still raw, as you feel tired and sick. You kew what you have to do. You began to type your last paragraph of the article before submitting it to your editor. 

With the article sent, you feel a mix of anxiety and relief. You know the revised piece is honest and raw, reflecting your own experience. But there’s one more thing you need to do to truly move forward.

To: Editor Yeseo

Subject: Resignation Letter

Dear Yeseo,

I am writing to formally resign from my position as a writer, effective immediately. I appreciate the opportunities I have had here and the support from the team, but I must prioritize my well-being at this time.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely, YN

You hit send, feeling an overwhelming amount of pain. Being a writer had been your dream job, but now, it feels like a chapter you need to close. As you sit in your now-quiet apartment, you feel a pang of sadness. The memories of the past few weeks with Heeseung linger, but you push them aside. 

You start with your closet, pulling out clothes and sorting them into piles: keep, donate, and toss. You take down the photos and posters from the walls, each one a reminder of the life you’re leaving behind.

Next, you move to the kitchen, packing up dishes, utensils, and small appliances. You wrap everything carefully, methodically, as if each item represents a piece of your heart that you’re trying to protect. 

Your phone buzzes with messages from Heeseung, but you ignore them. Making them be left on delivered. You move to the living room, packing up books, DVDs, and mementos. You’re not just packing up your belongings; you’re packing up your old life, preparing to move on and start new.

IN HIS DIMLY LIT APARTMENT, Heeseung sits on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face. His heart pounds in his chest as he opens the email attachment—a document titled "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days—And Fall in Love in the Process" by [Your Name].

As the page loads, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to read. The cursor hovers over the first paragraph, and with a trembling hand, he begins to scroll down. 

Heeseung sits at his desk, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads the article that has just landed in his inbox. With each word, his emotions spiral into a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

"When I set out to write this article..."

He reads the opening sentence, his brow furrowing in confusion. What article is this? And why does it sound so familiar?

As he continues to read, the pieces start to fall into place. The description of the article, the unexpected turn of events—it's all too familiar, too painful to ignore.

"I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject..."

Heeseung's breath catches in his throat as he realizes what he's reading. This is about him. About the bet, about the article he overheard, about everything.

He reads on, his heart pounding louder with each passing sentence:

When I set out to write this article, the plan was simple: follow a set of steps to make a guy dump me in ten days. It was supposed to be a fun, light-hearted challenge—a piece to entertain our readers. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject. But as the days went by, something unexpected happened. The more I tried to push him away, the closer we became. Every awkward moment, every forced argument, every silly plan to drive him away only brought us closer together.

I found myself laughing at his jokes, looking forward to our time together, and, against all odds, feeling a connection I hadn't anticipated. What started as a challenge turned into a journey of discovery—not just about him, but about myself.

I realized that love isn't something you can plan or control. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, breaking down the walls you've carefully built around your heart. And sometimes, the person you're trying to lose ends up being the one you can't imagine living without.

So, dear readers, this isn't the article I set out to write. It's not about foolproof ways to make a guy dump you. Instead, it's a story about how, in the process of trying to push someone away, I found myself falling in love. It's messy, it's unexpected, and it's beautiful.

Life has a funny way of turning our plans upside down. And sometimes, the best stories are the ones we never meant to write.

He closes the magazine, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you how he feels. He can't let this opportunity slip away, can't let the chance to be with you slip through his fingers.

With a sense of determination, Heeseung rises from his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he has to find you, to tell you how he feels, to see if maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way too.

HEESEUNG'S HEART RACES AS HE RUSHES THROUGH THE STREETS, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you everything.

As he rounds the corner, he sees your apartment building looming ahead. His steps quicken, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He's so close now, so close to finally telling you how he feels.

But as he reaches your building, his heart sinks at the sight before him. He sees movers loading boxes into a truck parked outside, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that you're moving away.

Heeseung's chest tightens with panic, his mind racing as he searches for a solution. He can't let you slip away, can't let this chance to be with you slip through his fingers. He rushes toward the building, his thoughts jumbled all up. 

As he bursts through the door, he sees you standing in the hallway, a suitcase at your feet, tears streaming down your face. His heart breaks at the sight of your sadness, and he knows he needs to act fast.

"Y/N!" he calls out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. You turn to face him, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him standing there.

"Heeseung?" you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

Heeseung takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I need to talk to you," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "There's something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago."

He steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I was part of the bet," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it was never about winning a thousand dollars or proving anything to Jake. It was about proving something to myself—to prove that I could be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his confession, your heart aching with a mix of sadness and hope. "Heeseung…" you whisper, reaching out to touch his hand.

But Heeseung doesn't wait for you to say anything more. With a surge of courage, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, pouring all of his love and longing into the kiss. 

As Heeseung's lips meet yours in that soft, tender kiss, his hands gently find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, the closeness intensifying the sensation of his lips moving against yours. His touch is gentle yet possessive, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as if memorizing every curve of your body.

You pull away, staring and laughing for a moment. 

"I love you," you whisper softly. 

"I love you more," he smiles back, quietly leaning his forehead against yours to quickly catch his lips on yours again. Maybe writing that article wasn't so bad after all.

[wonies-crocs]

ROMCOM VIBESS TBHH ,, i loved this it was so cute :( honestly such a wholesome read it feels so different to the other works ive read, defo has become a favourite 😋😋

[soobnny]

after hours — athlete!nishimura riki. strangers to lovers. university au. fluff.

synopsis. when practice gets overwhelmingly exhausting, nishimura riki finds that staying at the field after hours can be such a calming past-time. apparently, you go there when you need to think too. an awkward friendship ensues. (7.5k words)

note. i’ve missed writing long fics in general so i hope this satisfied!

Over the years, Nishimura Riki has come to learn that there was something serene about a football field without any players practicing, playing – without an ear-piercing audience, without the pressure of winning. 

Everything is instantly calmer, grass bathed in the moon’s glow, the air peaceful. At this time, the sun would’ve just been traitorously chased away by the moon, taking over the skies, and stirring crickets awake.

Back in high school, Riki would never admit the thrill he got from football, choosing to hide behind straight faces and unfazed facades, but now he’s given himself a break.

He finally allows himself to recognize that the field is filled with potential from promising players who poured their heart out into the sport. What he convinced himself as merely a club back in high school has become a huge part of his life (though he isn’t sure he’s ready to fully admit that yet).

So naturally, staying late for practice wasn’t anything new for the boy. It’s how he came to find out about the serenity of the field. And what stemmed from late practices became a routine for Nishimura Riki. It’s one of the few appeals to signing up for added hours after university.

Playing football was a commitment, but he’s grown to actually enjoy it - as long as he gets to witness the calm after the storm, the same serenity that explains why he’s currently standing in the middle of the field, eyes scanning the empty seats and trying to be engulfed by the solace that surrounded the empty space. 

He liked how it felt, as if the entire world had stopped spinning for a moment and time wasn’t chasing after him, even though he’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be in the university field this late at night with the amount of homework he has to do the next day. 

And on most days, he’d feel embarrassed to be caught in the field in the middle of the night (he was too prideful to admit he has passion for something for the fear of failure and disappointment). He supposes it’s alright though, as long as he comes prepared as to not be caught by—

“Hello?”

Keep reading

[jakesaverse]

ECHOES OF YESTERDAY | JAKE SIM CH.2

Synopsis: On her 21st birthday, Y/n wakes up overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. It’s not just her birthday; it’s also the third anniversary of her high school boyfriend Jake’s tragic death. Surviving the accident that took Jake’s life, Y/n is haunted by memories of their love and the future they lost. In a moment of desperate longing, she makes a wish to see Jake again and is miraculously transported back in time to when Jake was alive. However, she finds that Jake now hates her, adding a new layer of pain and confusion. Determined to change his fate and earn his tolerance, she resolves to do everything in her power to ensure he escapes death this time.

Reader: Jake x reader

Author’s note: Hello! This is the second chapter! Hope you guys like it 💛! Also, I can’t thank y’all enough for all the support and comments I have received even with only one chapter out!! I truly appreciate all the support and I sincerely can’t thank you enough 🥺

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

The clamor of the high school hallway seemed to mute as you spotted Jake leaning against a row of lockers, his presence like a storm cloud amid the bustle of students. The animosity in his stance was palpable, a stark contrast to the affection that once colored your interactions.

Without hesitation, driven by a force you couldn't explain, you darted towards him, your arms wrapping around Jake in a desperate embrace. Tears streamed down your cheeks, sobs wracking your body as you buried your face in his chest.

Jake's reaction was immediate confusion, his body rigid under your touch. "What the hell, Y/n?" he spat out, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and disdain. He tried to peel your arms away, his eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of what might have prompted this unexpected display.

"I don't know, I don't know," You managed to say between sobs, your words muffled against his shirt. "I just had to see you, to be here with you."

Students passed by, throwing curious glances their way, whispers already weaving through the air. Jake's confusion deepened, a frown etching his features as he looked down at the girl who seemed to be falling apart in his arms.

"Why are you doing this? You know I can't stand you," he muttered, his voice a harsh whisper meant only for your ears.

Your grip on him only tightened, your heart aching with a sorrow you couldn't articulate. You had no explanation for your actions, no reason for the pain that seemed to bridge the gap between them. And Jake, he offered no answers, his silence a riddle wrapped in a mystery that only drove the wedge deeper.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the moment, but for you, it felt like the end of the world. You released Jake, stepping back with a shaky breath, your tear-stained face a testament to the raw emotion you could not hide.

As you turned to leave, Jake remained still, his mind racing with questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to. The image of your tearful embrace would haunt him, a puzzle piece that didn't fit, leaving him more bewildered than ever.

You stand there, in the solitude of the bathroom, the door closed firmly behind you, shutting out the world and its judgments. The harsh fluorescent light above flickers, casting a stark glow on the stark white tiles. You lean against the cool metal of a stall, your heart racing, your mind reeling.

It hits you like a wave, the realization that you're not just reliving memories; you're walking through the past itself. The rejection from Jake wasn't just a replay of old heartache; it was happening now, all over again. The acceptance you once felt, the warmth of unity and the thrill of mutual understanding, had evaporated into a cold, stark rejection.

The thought crosses your mind, absurd as it seems, that maybe you didn't survive that night. Maybe this is all a dream, a hallucination your brain concocted to cope with the guilt of being the one who made it out. The guilt weighs on you, a heavy chain around your neck, suggesting that Jake's disdain is nothing more than a reflection of the self-hatred you've been carrying.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the sobs shaking your frame as you replay the scene over and over. The way his body had stiffened, the way he'd pushed you away, the laughter and whispers that followed—it cuts deeper than any knife could.

"It's like I'm dead," you whisper between sobs, the pain so intense it feels like you must be. But then you pinch yourself, and the sharp sensation brings you back to the harsh reality. You're very much alive, and this agony is yours to bear.

Time slips away as you sit there on the cold tile floor, lost in your misery. The sound of the bell jolts you back to the present, a stark reminder of the world moving on outside your stall. You've missed your first class, but that seems insignificant now.

With a shaky breath, you stand up, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You can't hide forever. You exit the stall and make your way to your second class, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As you enter the classroom, you're greeted by the sight of Jake and his friends. Their laughter cuts through the air, and even though you can't hear the words, you know the joke is at your expense. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, your cheeks burning with humiliation.

You slide into your seat, trying to become invisible, but you can feel their eyes on you, their amusement at your pain. It feels like karma, a cruel twist of fate for surviving a night you're not sure you wanted to survive.

"Why do you even bother showing up?" you hear one of them sneer, and it's all you can do not to break down again.

You don't respond, you don't look up. You just wait for the moment to pass, for the class to start, for anything that will drown out the sound of their laughter. Because right now, every chuckle feels like another crack in your already shattered heart.

The classroom buzzes with the sound of shifting papers and whispered conversations as your teacher clears her throat, drawing the room's attention. "Alright, everyone, we're going to start a new project," she announces, and a collective groan rises from the class. "You'll need to find partners. Please write down the name of the person you would like to work with on a piece of paper."

Your heart races as you scribble down a name without a second thought: Jake. It's instinctive, almost as if your hand moves of its own accord. You know that Jake is not the most popular guy in class, often keeping to himself, which means your choice might just pair you together by default.

As the teacher collects the papers, a quick tally confirms your hopes: an odd number of students and Jake's name standing alone on your slip of paper. The teacher has no choice but to pair you with him, and though your heart aches with a mix of fear and excitement, you can't help but feel as if fate has handed you a lifeline.

The bell rings, signaling the end of class, and you're gathering your things when Jake approaches you. His eyes are hard, his jaw set. "You're a stalker, you know that?" he accuses, his voice low and harsh. "Just leave me alone."

As you stand there, the raw emotion in your eyes is unmistakable. The tears that stream down your cheeks are a testament to the turmoil inside you. You reach out to Jake, hoping to bridge the gap between you with your earnestness.

"Why are you doing this?" Jake asks, his voice tinged with a mix of incredulity and annoyance. "What's all this about?"

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you muster all the courage you have. "Because I feel it, Jake," you say, your voice quivering with emotion. "I know it sounds insane, but I believe there's something more between us, something that defies logic."

Jake takes a step back, his eyebrows raised in skepticism. "You think there's some cosmic connection between us?" he asks, the disbelief clear in his tone. "That's... that's just crazy talk."

You press on, driven by a feeling you can't ignore. "It's more than just a feeling. It's like our lives are intertwined, like there's a reason we keep coming back to each other," you insist, the intensity of your conviction not wavering.

But Jake just shakes his head, a half-laugh escaping him as he looks at you like you've lost your mind. "I'm sorry, but that's just not rational. You're talking about fate and past lives as if they're real. It's... it's too much."

You can see the judgment in his eyes, the way he's already dismissed your words as the ramblings of someone unhinged. Despite the sting of his reaction, you know your truth, even if you can't exactly share it.

"I know it's hard to believe," you admit, your voice a whisper now. "But I had to tell you. I had to try."

Jake's demeanor softens just a fraction, not with understanding, but with a hint of pity. "I think you might need some help," he says, not unkindly. "This isn't healthy."

The words hit you like a physical blow, tears springing to your eyes unbidden. Despite the pain, you step forward, arms open, driven by a powerful sense of deja vu. It's as if you're reaching across time, trying to bridge the gap between this life and the one where you saved him, where you fell in love.

For a moment, you're frozen, his accusation echoing in your mind. But before you can even process it, Jake is already turning on his heel, his footsteps a rapid retreat down the hallway.

You're left standing there, a statue amidst the flow of students. Your heart hammers in your chest, each beat a mix of hurt and urgency. You can't let it end like this; you can't let him walk away not understanding.

With a surge of determination, you break from your paralysis and start after him, your voice rising in desperation. "Jake, wait! Please, just listen to me!"

He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, and so you chase after him, catching up just as he's about to push through the exit. You reach out, grasping his arm, and the physical contact finally makes him halt and face you.

"Jake, I'm not trying to be a stalker. I'm trying to save you," you plead, your voice earnest, your gaze searching his for any sign of understanding.

He jerks his arm away, his expression a mix of fear and frustration. "Save me? From what? You're talking about past lives and destiny. Do you hear yourself? You sound crazy!"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I know it sounds out there, but I have these dreams, these visions of us. We were together in another life, and something bad happened. I can't shake the feeling that it's going to happen again, that I'm supposed to prevent it."

Jake's face softens for a moment, the fear in his eyes battling with a reluctant curiosity. "This is... it's too much. I don't believe in that stuff. And you coming at me with these stories, it's freaking me out!"

"But we have to work together on this project, Jake," you remind him, bringing the conversation back to the immediate reality. "We don't have to believe the same things, but we do have to pass this class. Can we at least agree to work on that?"

He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Fine. We'll do the project. But that's it. No more talk about past lives or saving me. We focus on the work, and that's all."

You nod, the disappointment heavy in your chest, but you recognize the concession for what it is—a chance to at least remain in his orbit. "Okay, just the project. We can do that."

Jake gives you a long, hard look before nodding curtly and walking away, leaving you to grapple with the chasm between your realities. You know what you believe, but for now, the project is your only bridge to him, and you'll have to tread carefully.

The weight of the confrontation with Jake sits like lead in your chest, each breath a laborious task. The classrooms, once a haven of learning and growth, now feel like walls closing in, suffocating you with their stifling air of normalcy. You can't stay here, not now, not with the turmoil churning inside you.

With a resolve that trembles as much as your hands, you gather your things in a hasty scramble, the clatter of your belongings barely registering over the loud hammering of your heart. You can't be here, not another minute, not another second. The exit beckons, a narrow escape from the prying eyes and the whispers that might as well be shouts in your ears.

You burst through the doors of the school, the open space outside offering no solace to your troubled mind. Your feet pound against the pavement, a desperate rhythm that matches the racing of your thoughts. You run, each step an echo of your frantic heart, each gasp for air a silent plea for relief.

The world blurs past you, a smear of colors and shapes that hold no meaning. You take stops, your body protesting with sharp stabs of pain that cut through the fog of your determination. Your condition, often a mere whisper at the back of your mind, now screams at you with every labored breath. But you push on, driven by an urgency that goes beyond physical limitations.

Home looms before you, a familiar structure that hasn't changed, that doesn't know the chaos of your inner turmoil. You stumble inside, the door closing behind you with a finality that seals you away from the world outside. Your room greets you with open arms, everything in its place, everything as it should be.

You should be panicking, should be lost in the whirlwind of your encounter with Jake, but instead, a strange sense of calm settles over you. Here, in your sanctuary, you can breathe. Here, you can think. The nightmare that haunts you, the dark premonition of Jake's fate, is yours to alter.

A twisted dream or a cruel reality, it doesn't matter. Your home, and in the silence of your room, you find a sliver of hope. You will change his fate, no matter what it takes. The determination that fuels you is not just a fleeting spark but a raging fire. You will save Jake, and nothing will stand in your way.

Jake slumps against the door of his room, the weight of the day's classes and the intense encounter with y/n pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. His mind is a whirlwind of confusion, the echoes of y/n's rants about past lives and the intensity of her tears still vivid in his memory. He's barely had a moment to collect his thoughts when the door bursts open.

Sunghoon and Jay stride in, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. They've always been the type to get straight to the point, and today is no exception. "What's the deal with you and y/n?" Sunghoon asks, his eyes searching Jake's for answers.

Jay nods in agreement, leaning against the wall with a look that says he's not leaving until he gets the full story. "Yeah, she's been acting really weird around you, man. What's going on?"

Jake runs a hand through his hair, the frustration and exhaustion of the day seeping into his voice. "I'm just as confused as you are," he admits, his brows knitting together. "I always thought y/n was a bit strange, but now... I don't know, she's acting like a creepy stalker or something."

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the unease that has settled in his chest. "She's talking about past lives and crying and hugging me out of nowhere. I just wanted to get through the day without any drama, but that seems impossible now."

Sunghoon and Jay exchange a glance, the unspoken agreement clear between them. They're here for their friend, no matter how bizarre the situation. As they settle in, ready to listen and offer whatever support they can, Jake feels a slight easing of the tension within him. With his friends by his side, maybe he can figure out this strange puzzle that y/n has become.

The mood in Jake's room lightens as Sunghoon and Jay shift the conversation to the band practice they had earlier. "Not to make this about us," Sunghoon says with a playful smile, "but you missed a killer session today."

"Yeah, and we're already behind because someone," Jay chimes in, nudging Jake with his elbow, "has been too busy with the books to rock out."

Laughter fills the room, and for a moment, Jake's worries seem to fade into the background. The banter, the easy camaraderie, it's a welcome distraction. They crack jokes, each one more ridiculous than the last, and Jake finds himself genuinely smiling despite the chaos of his thoughts.

But as the laughter dies down, the image of y/n's tear-streaked face and her desperate words return to him. She had said she was trying to save him. The phrase echoes in his mind, a haunting refrain. Save him from what? Himself?

The question lingers in the air, unspoken but heavy. Jake feels the weight of it, a puzzle that he can't quite solve. Who or what did y/n believe was threatening him? Was it his own self-doubt, the academic struggles, or something else entirely?

His fingers tap a restless rhythm on his desk, the need to understand, to make sense of y/n's actions, growing more insistent. Sunghoon and Jay watch him, their expressions turning serious as they recognize the shift in their friend's demeanor.

"We're here for you, man," Sunghoon says, his voice firm. "Whatever this is about, we'll figure it out together."

"Yeah," Jay adds, "and if y/n thinks she needs to 'save' you, we'll be your backup. No one messes with our bandmate."

Their words are meant to reassure, to strengthen, but they also serve as a reminder that Jake isn't alone in this. With his friends by his side, perhaps the answers he seeks aren't as far out of reach as they seem.

Jake's breath comes in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal desperate for escape. The room is dark, the shadows stretching across the walls like sinister specters, and for a moment, he can't distinguish where his nightmare ends and reality begins.

He claws at the sheets, a silent scream lodged in his throat as the remnants of the dream cling to him—a visceral fear of death, a terror so profound it shakes him to his core. And there, at the edges of his fractured thoughts, is y/n's face, her words echoing in his mind, a haunting melody that now feels like a curse.

"Why did you have to say that?" he chokes out, the accusation hurled into the emptiness of his room. "Why did you put that idea in my head?"

But the silence that greets him is a stark reminder that y/n isn't there—that this fear, this gut-wrenching panic, is his alone to bear. He's trembling, fingers digging into his palms as he fights to regain control, to push back the tidal wave of panic that threatens to engulf him.

The world feels too big, too oppressive, and Jake is suddenly, painfully aware of his own vulnerability. The thought of mortality, once an abstract concept, now looms over him with a weight that is suffocating.

It takes time—minutes or hours, he can't be sure—for the panic to recede, for his breathing to slow and his heart to steady. But the fear lingers, a bitter aftertaste, and Jake knows that when morning comes, he'll have to face y/n. He'll have to confront the reason her words have the power to unravel him so completely.

taglist: @belovedsthings @en-chantedtomeetyou @syazzzlisa @k1ttylvr @jaeyunpinkyring @dreamiestay @soobs-things @capri-cuntz @beomgyusimp @heelariously @thinkinboutbin @jyunsgf @lwavander @chaewonshoney @maliakealoha @addictedtohobi @likeemi @shaniandme @chocminteu @lilyuwon @kgneptun @dojaejunging

[acestuffs]

I miss his long hair 🥹

[acestuffs]

Currently CRYING

He's so cute. His smile is still the same 🥹

[hwanchaesong]

okay i see this is the sign that i was praying for the whole time

[jaysng]

confessing to his mute crush | pjs

pairing: jay x deaf!reader

genre: complete fluff

summary: jay and deaf reader both seem to like each other, just when he thinks that his confession was a pure failer the reader does something surprising.

“i. hope. i. am. not. late”  jay signed and chuckled as he fixed his cross body bag standing nervously infront of you which got out of place while he was running to the stop you had asked him to be at.

you smile at him, knowing he recently had learned sign language just to be able to communicate with you and so he was, a little slow and not so clear. 

you loved cycling alot, and bought this brand new bicycle and you had asked him if he wanted to spend a day out riding it and then go off to the beach and sit there. 

jay and you met through the same animal care shelter you guys volunteered to work at, his charming smile immediately caught your attention. however it was hard to communicate with your muteness, you only knowing sign language and him knowing none of it.

however within a span of few months, jay started learning it to be able to communicate with you. 

it made your heart flutter, i mean it’s the effort and dedication. still you asked yourself ‘does he even like me back?’

“is. this. the. new. cycle. that. you. bought?”he asked as you nodded and got off it, you touched the cute basket decorated with a small miffy teddy and a pink bow, it also had the dirty wrapper of chocolate you ate earlier. 

embarrassed, you took it out and threw it somewhere on the ground.

“i decorated it” you signed as he looked at you and smiled, making you blush as you looked away, anywhere but his eyes. 

“예쁘다” he said, even though you obviously didn’t hear him you read his lips quickly anyways. signing a quick thank you you sit back on your cycle and signal him to sit. 

he sits behind you hands on your shoulder as you begin to hit the pedal and ride around the city. 

some moments later you feel jay’s hand shifting from your shoulder to your waist now that you’re cycling in a well pace. 

the wind blows on your face blowing your hair back at his face too, you hit the break for a moment and turn around and give him an apologetic look. 

he smiles at you taking your hair and putting them to one side of your shoulder and keeping his chin on the other, staring at you the entire time he does so.

you squirm and try to get used to the feeling of his charp chin on your shoulder as it’s digging through. 

you shove the feeling off as you start riding again, this moment was really perfect for you, everything was so good. a nice cloudy, windy weather with your favorite person  friend hugging you by the waist and face on your shoulder, what a dream really.

you guys rode the cycle around the city, stopping by a store to get ice cream, as you parked your cycle near the store you guys stood on the footpath and he bought some ice cream.

you looked at him to see if he finished his and you caught him staring at you, he pretended to look around and controlled his cheeky smile but then something else caught your attention wired headphones connected to his phone in his pocket.

you grab them and gain his attention as he looks back at you “you like music?” he nodded and took his phone put of the pocket searching for something. 

curiously, you stared as you got closer to see his screen “this. is. my. favorite. song” he signed enthusiastically as you widen your eyes giving him a cheering gesture.

you stopped as you looked at him “i wish i could listen to it.. it must be nice” silence filled the space between both of you as you stared deep into you while smiling “it is.”both of you finished the ice cream before it melted.

after cycling and strolling around the pretty city here you were sitting on the rocks of the beach as the wind blew every once in a while.

jay had this thing forever in his mind, he loved you he loved you so damn much. everything you did got him screaming internally to wife him up.

“it’s fun being with you, you know?” you signed as jay felt his heart racing a million times in a second what could she mean by that? she probably meant as a friend right? or am i letting my stupid thoughts take over. 

“thank. you.” he says as you close your eyes and give him the widest smile. 

being with him made you feel full, it made you feel like finally you had a friend. but you quickly fell in love with him because of his mannerisms.

even though at school no one really bullied you, but there wasn’t something big for someone to  findi you interesting. emptiness fill inside of you, as for others you were just there, not enough things to be interesting for someone. or atleast for the people around you. jay knew these very well that’s why he hated the fact he fell in love with you so fast and was worried that you might reject him because of how fast everything would happen.

but little did he know that your feelings were pretty.. mutual you can say.

there was a wooden stick in your hand with which you were doodling on the beach sand with, jay was observing each and every move.

with that lavender sundress you were wearing it made everything 10 times cuter in his eyes. the way the wind slightly blew back your hair but you kept on fixing it.

you started moving the stick and you wrote your name’s inital with did adding a unfilled heart after it and looked at jay “want to try?” you ask bringing the stick closer to him as he accepts it. 

he looks at you for a second passing you a lovestruck look. 

J +

he writes before your names inital as you shoot him a confusing look with a nervous smile. 

he looks at you as his smile drops, emotions very visible in his eyes. 

=

he adds an equals to sign between your inital and the unfilled heart, following with filling the unfill heart that you drew. 

your smile drops as you stare back at him, completely in shock and he stares back with a regretful look in his eyes. 

you watch him take a big breath after looking at your reaction, not quite promising is it.

“i. like. you.” you sit there, puzzled. you don’t know whether to do something or cry, the moment feels unreal. 

it all felt so quick that you didn’t realise you haven’t responded to him yet for about past five minutes atleast. 

his hopeful looks now dies as he apologizes and stands up, “i am sorry, i am sorry, sorry i should leave i should probably leave.” he says as you try to read his lips “sorry…. should leave” you could pick up some of the words not many because of how rapid and low his mouth worked. 

you watch him stand up quickly wearing his bag not even sparing another glance at you as he starts walking away.

you felt your cheeks getting warm as everythinf starts getting blurry due to the upcoming tears.

you shake and get up dropping your own bag on the floor. 

“stay” 

did i say it right? you swore you heard the vibrations in your body of your own voice. not fully hearing what you said or if you said it right or no. 

breathing heavily, jay stops in his tracks as he turns around and stares at you in disbelief as you break down. right on that spot you were standing at. 

the word wasn’t clear and mix of broken and light cracks of course, a very weak one because of the vocal chords.

you felt bad for making him wait for so long or making his excitement go away for taking your no response as rejection.

you were just shocked, he actually liked you back? your entire life you felt so neglected and behind just because you were deaf, but now some thing good is finally.. happening?

now standing in a distance both of you staring at each other as he watches uncontrollable tears flow down your face as you sign a ‘i like you too.” while lowering your head and start sobbing. 

jay runs back to you and closes the distance, both of you hug like losers. 

because of the closeness you can feel his body vibrations and shivering, as you realise that he is crying you push him back to see his eyes now your eyes widened “why are you crying silly i should be the one crying..”

he just shrugs while trying to give you a smile and crying.

you bring your hands to wipe his tears off as you hold his face. his hands naturally rest on your waist. 

for a short moment you guys look deep into each other’s eyes as you lean in signaling for a kiss.

you felt him giggling like a teenage boy as he leaned in and pressed his soft lips to yours. 

he could taste the strawberry ice cream you ate earlier on your lips, your scent filling his nostrils and working as a hypnosis.

you pull away taking a long breath, “wasn’t it too long for a first kiss?” you sign while wiping away your own tears now and laughing.

once again complete silence fills the beach as the only thing playing if only you could hear, was the sound of the waves. both of you completely lost in each other’s eyes, it was like your eyes are speaking it all for you. 

but you noticed it, you noticed he was holding back a reply so you hit his chest “say it. say what you want to say.”

he broke the eye contact looking away at the sea, the waves coming and hitting the shore as his stupid smile came back on his face. 

he looked back at you and fixed your hair, brought his hands back to himself and signed at you. 

“i. could. kiss. you. for. an. eternity.”

[wonies-crocs]

WHAT IF I SOBBED AND CRIED 🥹🥹🥹🥹 this was so wholesome and cute the way jay is so soft spoken and kind :(( i love this sm

[simleez]

Moments that made Jake stans (tris) insane....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @bandzboy 🥳

[wonies-crocs]

so real, jake is so 💖🩷💕💕💖💘

[acestuffs]

OH MY GOD, HE'S UNREAL

[amakumos]

plum blossom ― kim sunoo.

― synopsis: you had never wanted to become a royal consort in the palace, the duty being pushed upon to you by your father, forcing you to give up on your lifelong dream of becoming a painter. during one of your late night strolls around the palace, you meet kim sunoo, the newest painter at the royal painting bureau with undeniable talent. after spending more time with sunoo, you’re more sure than ever that you want to leave the palace and start a new life - preferably with him in it. ― genre: angst, fluff, historical romance ― pairing: painter! sunoo x fem royal consort!reader ― word count: 7.5k ― warnings: execution is mentioned a couple times. this story is fictional, and all characters, organisations and events are unrelated to historical events. ― author’s note: just a small detail to note, eunho (the king) has just been newly crowned. i’ve been obsessed with watching historical kdramas lately, which is why i’ve written this fic. please give me some more recs, i need more stuff to watch T_T lovers of the red sky is my current favourite… i literally love ahn hyoseop <3 also the ending was kinda rushed… ive got a lot of schoolwork n i just wanted to finish this lol.. anyways! enjoy <3

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[wonies-crocs]

cutest sunoo fic i am melting (꒪ˊ꒳ˋ꒪)