âĘáȘàŒâ â DONâT SHOOT THE MESSENGER â chapter four: iâm so fucking cooked.
SYN. you and your online friend decide to finally trade numbers, but thereâs one problem. she typed it in wrong! you wind up talking to a stranger, and for some reason, heâs weirdly chill about it.
or youâre talking to one of your favorite artists⊠and you have no idea.
CONTENT. martin edwards x fem!reader, smau + maybe some written parts, crack (my attempts at humor), fluff, angst?, friend!oc (nana), please ignore time stamps.
NOTE. i didnât even try with the time stamps this time. last slide is martinâs pov if you couldnât tell gng.
extra! extra! read all about it! đïž mars is in his feelings and he canât get out of it đ”âđ«đ°
đ HEART TO HEART â a martin edwards smau ( love letter 06. )
in an attempt to prove he does know how to talk to a pretty girl, martin edwards needs a date to keonhoâs valentines-birthday party by friday. with his charming personality and gorgeous smile like no other, it wonât be hard for him to twirl someone into pretending to be his plus one â the actual challenge lies in making sure he doesnât catch genuine feelings, so that all his firsts are saved for the real thing.
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#đ«: see the series masterlist for all notes && tags â€Žïž ! the cute photo of martin at the cinema dropped AFTER i wrote their goat date đđ way to pmo @ cortis (ignore that i changed his contact pic to it only now đ) this chapter is set on feb 17th - 19th đ see u in the next part for KEONHOâS PARTYYY
SYN â bf texts with your boyfriend martin ><,, WARNINGS â established relationship, fluff, cursing, mention of baby and babe, kms jokes, reblog pls >< divider by @/dollywons! ,, â SHELF
hi its lesbian again sending another snack just here to sah om youre number one fan and if someone tries to put something between us daddys gonna get angy đĄ
yes lesbian â€ïžâ€ïž aint nb gon compare to you đ
a lil thing i wanted to make since iâm currently working on an ask!! (HIM WITH THOSE GLASSESSSS ugh my heart)
Before you could even jump out of his bedroom to surprise him, his eyes locked on yours and he tackled you onto the soft cushions of his bed with a fit of giggles that made the tension on his shoulders melt away. The rose petals on the bed ruffled lightly around you two.
âYouâre so good to me.â He mumbled before pressing soft kisses all over your face. You didnât protest, finding your boyfriendâs behaviour adorable and didnât stop him until he was done.
Eventually, he noticed the small box of chocolate near your hand from where it appeared you dropped it after being suddenly tackled and grinned. âFor me?â He asked, getting tugging you up to sit in front of him while he grabbed it.
You nodded, âyeah.â You watched him take the box and unwrap it, taking a piece of chocolate and gently halved it to feed you a piece before eating the other in satisfaction.
âMm.. This is good.â He mumbled before eating another with a silly smile on his face. You watched him with affection, glad that he seemed cleared of his worries. He noticed your expression and smiled wider, plucking a rose petal out your hair.
âWhat was this all for anyway?â He asked, licking his lips. You shrugged, âjust because. Plus, I havenât been able to visit you lately.â
He grinned, leaning in to press another kiss on your lips, tasting the sweet chocolate on his tongue and kissed you deeper before pulling away.
âYouâre the best, y/n.â He said softly, his smile melting into something sickeningly sweeter than the chocolate itself. âI really missed you.â
âI do this because I love you.â You murmured lowly, pecking his nose. He pressed his forehead to yours.
âiâm on tour and youâre not cominâ along,â - malcolm todd ; rockstar boyfriend
heâs on his way to be a global rockstar, years of dedication and practice evident in the work he pours in. james is already famous at school because of his distracting good looks and slim fingers that could play anything on his precious electric guitar. the week before him and his band perform for the school concert in summer, his enemy does something unforgettable. in a frenzy, he shuts down but ends up with a brand new guitar and a stunning girl who stands in the front row by the stage, looking at him like he hung the moon.
[đ€] wc: ~5.8k // rockstar x timid, fluff, angst, slow burn, teasing, pet name (dove), hs seniors, heâs in a band, the others are dorks LOL
†a/n: aaaa first cortis fic đ i love james sm it isnt even funny
(GOT A BIT LAZY AT THE END IM SORRY, i hope u still like it eheh)
Zhao Yufan, better known as James, is part of a boy band he and his friends made. He spends his time working out, practicing his guitar skills, shredding every face card he sees and winning girls' hearts (especially yours).
You went to middle school with him and he hasnât really changed much. Grew taller, handsome, but still a dork by heart. You could say you were friends, texting here and there by sending memes or asking about homeworkânormal stuff.
But despite all of that deemed ânormal,â he was a little closer ever since you two were in high school. Heâd invite you to his band practices, ask if he sounded flat when he sang, give you snacks if you were to stay with him for a while.. It was a subtle change but very noticeable with how much you two hung out.
ây/n.â You heard a voice say beside your ear, making you jolt and nearly hit the side of your head against your locker. You heard his soft chuckle before he stepped around you and came into view. James, picture perfect despite coming to school at 7 in the morning, his guitar case slung over his back and a laid back expression on his face. âGood morning, slept well?â
You looked up at him, pushing your glasses up the slope of your nose. His eyes flicked to your fingers and back to your eyes, his teeth catching his bottom lip slightly before licking it. I need to get my head out the gutter.
âI slept fine,â you mutter, hand falling down to your side. A low hum left his lips before he leaned down, âyou gonna come to our practice session or be a nerd and study?â He asked, quivering with a brow. âItâs been a while since you came, y/n. I miss hearing you cheer me on.â
That sentence made you pause, staring into his eyes. You couldnât read him, not really, but there was this distant glint, hope maybe?
â..fine.â You sighed and James smiled, that same soft smile that suddenly made you aware of the blood rushing through your veins.
âGood. Iâll see you at the music room after school.â He ruffled your hair, silently taking in the way your hair felt against his fingers. You swatted his hand, earning a chuckle from him as you fixed your hair. âYeah, yeah.. see you.â He nodded, brushing his shoulder against yours as he walked past you, presumably to his friends. You sigh, âthat tease.â
â
After a long day of trudging to classes, feeling unbearably hot in the hallways, the washroom smelling fruity when you entered since there was always a group vaping in the corner, the bell rang and the last period finally ended.
Packing up and swinging your bag onto your shoulders, you walked to the music room with your heart in your throat. Knocking once, you turned the door handle and stepped in.
Cluttered music stands stood in the corner, the soft crackle of the amp flickering to life, and James with his electric guitar sitting on a stool and looking beautiful.
For context, James received that guitar from his parents back in Taiwan, keeping it close and treated it like something sacredâto him it was. It was his pride, countless songs were played with those strings, the fretboard accustomed to his fingers. It felt right to him, perfect.
He looked up, pocketing his guitar pick before making his way to you, his soft dark hair falling over his eyes. ây/n. You came.â
âYooo, itâs y/n!â Martin exclaimed. One of Jamesâ friends, the leader of their band, is taller than the doorframes at our cramped school and louder than a speaker. He walked over, patting your shoulder. âIâm glad you could make it. James has been praying for thi-â James slapped his arm, Martin cutting himself off with a chuckle.
Keonho and Seonghyeon came over, smiles on their faces. Itâs a wonder how theyâre not actually twins. âhey, y/n.â Keonho said, smiling at him in return.
âWeâre glad you came.â Seonghyeon said, âitâs nice to have you around.â These guys were genuinely sweet, and you laughed in response. âJames made me.â You murmured, nudging the boy next to you. A soft scoff left him but there was a twitch in his lips, a subtle smile.
âWell.. make yourself at home. Weâll be here for an hour or so, and weâre still waiting on Juhoon.â Martin said before walking back to his bag, grabbing a notebook and his phone, presumably to write lyrics. The two nodded and also went back to what they were doing.
James sighed, glancing at you before grabbing your hand and gently dragged you over to where he was, taking an extra stool and putting it beside his before sitting down. He took his guitar pick back out of his pocket, silently going back to practicing.
You set your bag down, watching him. His brows were furrowed in focus, swiftly strumming and nodding his head to each beat. You hummed softly, the atmosphere calm and comfortable.
Soon, Juhoon arrived, saying how he was held behind because of homework help before shutting the door and tossing his bag to the pile of the others before stretching and preparing for a practice session.
âOkay everyone, letâs go!â Martin said, getting up from the wall and grabbing a mic, tossing one to each of them. âLetâs make this special for our special guest.â He said, all 5 boys glancing at you. You suddenly felt shy but James gently nudged you, nodding. Right, heâs here. Heâs got you.
After an hour of practicing, everyone had to go home. Wishing everyone goodbyes, you all went your separate ways. Except for James. He trailed behind you, quiet.
âWhat?â You finally asked, glancing back at him. He took two long strides before matching your pace beside you, just watching.
âThank you for coming.â He said. You nodded because what else were you supposed to say without making it awkward? It went quiet again and you two continued walking. Thoughts raced in your mind as you reached your neighborhood.
âAre you gonna walk me to my door too?â You finally asked, slowing down. He glanced down at you, shrugging. âIf you want.â
You two continued walking and he took it as a yes. Your house came into view and he dropped you off at your porch. You both stared at each other, not moving. He curled up a brow, tilting his head towards the door.
âYou gonna go in?â He asked, a subtle smirk on his face. âOr are you worried about me getting home safe?â
You huffed, taking your keys out from your pocket. âYeah.. I know youâll be okay.â You said, putting your key into the keyhole but not turning it. He watched you, quiet, before leaning down. His mouth was near your ear and you worried he could hear how hard your heart was beating.
ây/n.â He said softly. You shifted, slowly turning your head towards him. His face was so close to yours you could feel the soft exhales from his lips. â..yeah?â you asked tentatively.
He paused before standing back up straight, shaking his head. ânothing. go inside or youâll ask me to warm you up.â He said, a soft smile on his face.
You reluctantly turned the key and opened the door, looking back at him. â..get home safe.â You said and he nodded. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and say something else, something cheesy, but didnât.
âYeah. See you tomorrow.â He said before taking one last look at you and turned, walking away.
You watched him walk and turn the corner before you shut your door.
After briskly changing out of your uniform and freshening up, you walked to your desk, your jacket hung over your chair. You grabbed it to put it away but something fell out the pocket.
âHuh?â You bent down, picking it up before pausing. The light caught the edges, a guitar pick. Your face heated up and you shook your head, tossing your jacket back onto your chair, forgetting about putting it away.
dumbass.
â
It was lunch, you were sitting with your two friends, Cal and Nari. You were a trio, best friends since second grade. You three met during recess at the nearby park after being told not to. After Nari fell off the swingset and you died laughing, Cal helped her up and from then, you were inseparable. Often found together like a flock, you inherited the nickname, dove, since you were typically the peacemaker of the group.
The thing is, James eventually caught wind of that nickname too. Day by day passed and heâs been calling you more frequently.
âhey dove,â âyou hungry, dove?â âdove.. come watch our show.â
Itâs not like you didnât mind, but you DID mind that stupid flutter in your chest. How hard your brain shut off, how much more aware you were of your breathing. It was irritating in the most stupid way.
A nickname from childhood. Thatâs all it was.
So why did it affect you so much?
SNAP. SNAP. âY/N!â Cal whisper-yelled, snapping her fingers in front of your face. âGirl, what the hell is wrong? Youâve been blanking out a lot.â
You blinked, suddenly conscious of the loud cafeteria, the smell of stale pizza and soda cans being popped open, distantly a group of boys were flinging peas off their plastic spoon like a catapult.
Right.. right.
âSorry.â You mumbled, picking your fork at the mashed potatoes on your tray that were too mashed. With a stifled groan, you tossed your entire tray into a garbage bin.
ây/nnnie⊠talk to us.â Nari said, her lip gloss glistening under fluorescent lights that buzzed too quietly for anyone to notice. "Is it about James?â
You nearly choked on your water, almost slamming it on the table. Almost.
âJ-Jamesâ? Dude, obviously not.â You muttered, obviously a lie. Cal and Nari noticed it immediately, not buying it.
Cal pointed her spoon at you, chewing slowly. âWe know you have something towards that guy.â She said, swallowing her bite of pizza before setting her spoon down, her eyes gaining that intense glint where she was about to go full detective-mode.
âFess up. Whatâs with you?â
A groan left your lips and you let your forehead collide with the table, a few students nearby glancing in temporary interest before going back to talking. âI donât know!â You admitted, slowly raising your head.
âHeâs just been on my mind for days, itâs so stupid!â Cal and Nariâs eyes widened but didnât stop you as you kept talking.
âHis stupid smile.. Did you ever notice he has dimples?â You asked, rubbing a hand down your face. âHis stupidly soft hair that he styles himself. Himself! Most of the boys here canât even pull their pants up or put on deodorant! He actually takes care of himself!â You babble, slowly becoming more animated.
You went on and on about what was on your mind. His gorgeous good looks, his fingers playing the guitar, the way he clenched his jaw when he was mad, how passionate he was for music, the nickname. The nickname.
âHe even calls me dove.â You said, ending off your rant with a deep breath. You stared at the table before realizing the silence of your friends and you slowly looked up at the two sitting across from you.
â..What?â
You felt a figure slowly lean down, his face above your head. âboo.â
You jumped, your head smashing with his jaw. A groan left both of you and you clutched your head before you whipped around, seeing the one and only James.
âWhat the hell, James?â You watched as he rubbed his jaw with his perfectly slim fingers, gazing down at you. For a second you thought he was mad before a smirk formed on his lips.
âFeisty. Doesnât really fit the description of a dove, hm?â
Oh my god.
He didnât hear your rant.. right? He couldnât have. You glanced at your friends, the two staring at both of you. James slid into the seat beside you, tilting his head.
âYou were really talkative. What happened?â
Just kill me.
â
âAttention students!â The PA system crackled to life.
It was a Monday. Everyone dreaded Mondays except for psychos. Your English teacher, Mrs. Stevens, paused in the middle of talking about adjectives since she was ranting about how some of us donât know what verbs are, and the principal kept talking.
âOur annual summer concert is near! We have one week and a half to prepare. Those who are interested in performing, only juniors and seniors, please visit room 204 after school.â You heard some students mumble amongst themselves, but this group of girls behind you were particularly loud.
You heard snippets, âjamesâ âbandâ âhotâ⊠Right. James and his band were most likely going to perform. Something churned in your stomach, like something was going to happen. They say to trust your instincts, but like a dumbass, you brush it off.
âThank you to the interested students! Weâre looking forward to a day of cheering and talent. Please proceed with lessons.â You heard the announcement end with a clack and students immediately chattered louder.
âClass!â Mrs. Stevens yelled, clapping her hands. Conversations slowly came to a stop and eyes turned to her. âI know youâre all excited for the summer concert, but please keep your conversations on hold. Lunch is in 20 minutes.â
Some students groaned, this kid in the back pulled his hoodie up over his eyes despite him being iconic for breaking dress code.. wait. Juhoon.
Sometimes you forget Juhoon is in your English class, better yet the band James was in. CORTIS.. was it?
Eventually, the bell rang and students began chattering again and rushed out into the halls. You packed your things and instead of leaving, walked over to Juhoonâs desk and tapped him with your finger. âHey.â
He glanced at you, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he stood and grabbed his bag, taking out an earbud.
âYo. Whatâs up, y/n?â He asked. Initially, you didnât know why you went up to him. You were close, not super close, but enough to be comfortable. You two have crossed paths enough to not be awkward.
Taking a deep breath, âuh.. Are you and the others gonna perform? At the summer concert?â You asked, Juhoon taking a moment to think.
âYeah, we did last year. It went well so why not again?â He responded, shrugging. âYou gonna come?â
You blinked, not expecting him to continue. A slow nod followed and he smiled. âCool. Jamesâll be thrilled.â
He waves at you and you nodded back, muttering a soft âbyeâ as you both left class.
â
After school, you lingered around room 204. James had approached you, his friends following behind him. They were surprised to see you there, and after telling them you were just curious, nodded and went inside.
A couple minutes passed before the door opened and they, along with a couple more students, left the room.
Jamesâ eyes immediately went to you and he walked over. âHey. you waited.â
âobviously.â you murmur, noting the way he seemed a bit brighter. Excited maybe. The sight made your heart flutter and you had to cough into your elbow to hold back the squeal you wanted to let out. âDid it go well?â
James nodded, taking a piece of folded paper out of his pocket and showed it to you. Signed with his name along with some other information in his handwritingâ damn, even his handwriting is prettyâOH MY GOD, i gotta shut up.
âNice, you guys got it?â You asked, crossing your arms. James shoved the paper back into his pocket, mirroring your arms. âYep.â
You mentally noted the way his muscles flexed under the school blazer, following the vein trailing down his arm before snapping out of it from the sudden hand on your head. Martin.
ây/nnn, Juhoon told us youâll come see us perform. Iâm so excited.â He said, smiling at you. You smiled back, his hand lightly ruffling your hair before pulling away. âYeah.. I am too.â You responded.
After a while of talking, a vice principal spotted us and told us to go home. Reluctant, we shuffled down the stairs, passed the atrium, and out the front. Martin said heâd drive the others home.
âJames, you cominâ?â He asked, leaning against his car as Seonghyeon muttered something about Martin acting cool without anyone to impress, a soft chuckle leaving Keonho as they shut the door. Juhoon lingered, waving at me before entering the car.
You glanced at James, quirking up a brow. He looked down at you, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, tugging you close. âNah. Iâll walk y/n home.â
Martin chuckled, âAlright. See yaâll tomorrow.â You watched as Martin entered the car, the engine whirring to life. You could hear the loud bass from Milkshake by Kelis from outside. Martin rolled down the windows, and sang to us whilst waving his hand around, Seonghyeon and Keonho singing in the back while Juhoon nodded along, the boys laughing as they drove off. The music faded, and eventually it was just you two.
Alone. Again.
â
It was getting warmer, especially since summer was rolling around. As you two walked, James broke the silence first.
âSooo.. You better not change your mind about coming to our concert.â He said, nudging you. A scoff left your lips, feeling the wind bite at your skin.
âI wonât.â He laughed, that soft unguarded laugh you love. He subconsciously leaned a bit closer, the faint smell of his cologne meeting your nose. It wasnât suffocating like the dudes in the hallways that practically dumped it all over their body. It was light, like vanilla and sweet and him.
âYeah?â He murmured, quirking up a brow. You swatted at him, looking the other way so he couldnât see the slight tinge of red on your cheeks.. but the soft chuckle that left his lips told you he was always 2 steps ahead.
You two kept walking until you made it to your house, standing at the porch like last time. The thought made something come to mind.
âJames.â You said, shifting your bag in front of you as you struggled to grab something. He stepped forward, gently prying the bag from you and holding it towards you, tilting his head.
You paused for a second before scrummaging through your bag, taking out the guitar pick. You put it in a small plastic bag, showing it to him.
âYou snuck this in my jacket.â You mumbled, watching the expression on Jamesâ face shift from calm and confused to recognition.
âAh.. Yeah.â He said.
Ah.. Yeah? Thatâs it?
â..Was it on purpose orâ?â He slowly slid your bag over his shoulder and stepped forward, backing you up until your back hit your porch railing, his hands holding the railing on either side of you.
âWhat do you think?â He asked softly, his cologne stronger. Not overwhelming, it just made his presence more known. Your heart lurched up into your throat as you met his gaze, his dark orbs darker than before but still held patient warmth.
You were stunned to silence, clutching that guitar pick like your life depended on it.
âIâ I.. Uh.â You wanted to kill yourself right there. Stuttering in front of James. Really? He smiled, that knowing smile before one of his hands came up to gently poke your cheek. He leaned in closer just a fraction, almost feeling his breath on your lips.
Your lips tingled, holding your breath. His nose lightly brushed yours, the tension crackling back to life tenfold. Your hands trembled and his eyes flicked to your lips for just a second. His lips parted just slightly, his eyes half lidded before a soft huff left his lips.
âSilly girl.â He mumbled, pulling away and handing your bag back to you. âIâll see you tomorrow, dove. Maybe youâll have an answer by then.â He took a step backwards down your porch steps before slowly turning, his eyes on you the whole time before his back was faced to you and he walked away.
But you caught it. The way his legs moved slightly faster when he thought he was out of vision, the slight tint of pink at the tips of his ears.
Were you hallucinating? You groaned, shoving the memory into the back of your head before unlocking the door and shutting it with a soft click.
â
A week before the summer concert.
Students were getting more excited as time passed, especially since people caught wind about CORTIS performing again after their huge success last year. It was normal for people to be thrilled, especially you.
But after lunch? People were mumbling quieter. The air was thicker.
You were walking to the fourth period before Cal stopped you abruptly, dragging you aside.
ây/n.â Her face was panicked, like something big happened. âDid you hear?â She asked, alarms immediately blaring in your head.
âW-What, no? What happened?â You asked, worried. Did someone get hurtâ
âSomebody got hurt.â She said, completing your thought. It was written all over her face.
James.
You tore yourself from her, Cal following behind you. The hallways were suddenly empty and you could hear yelling. Loud yelling.
âEUN GEUM-HOââ Someoneâs name echoed. You paused. That name was familiar. As you approached the huge circle of people and pushed yourself past, the sight was heart breaking.
(note: the meaning of geum-ho, specifically âgeumâ, is a korean term for âblackâ or âswordâ which you could correlate with him having a black heart and âslicingâ something precious to James. if this isnât accurate, please lmk! I pulled it from google lol.)
Laid there, a shattered mess. A fretboard was broken in half, metal scattered on the floor. A peg dropped near your foot. Strings snapped.
You looked up and there stood Eun Geum-ho. One of Jamesâ enemies. He was envious of his talent for years.
Back in middle school, Geum-ho had torn one of Jamesâ music sheet books because âhe sounded awfulâ despite our teacher praising him right there. He was constantly breathing down Jamesâ neck about him not being good enough and as the insults thinned out when we reached high school, everyone thought it was over. You thought it was over.
James was kneeled on the ground, his jaw clenched so tight you worried his canines would snap. Martin had to physically hold him back, Juhoon ran off to grab a teacher and Seonghyeon and Keonho went back and forth with Geum-ho.
âWhat the fuck is your issue?â Martin spat, anger in his eyes. It was the first time you saw them all get genuinely angry. Some people stood in shock, others gazed at the mess, others looked at Geum-ho, but your eyes were on James.
Nari appeared beside you and Cal, shock on her face. She grabbed my hand, shaking her head. You were shaking. That gut feeling back in English class, you shouldnât have ignored it.
Eventually, a teacher came as well as the principal. They rushed everyone back to their classes whilst a nurse stayed near James, quietly asking questions. The principal took Geum-ho away, Keonho and Seonghyeon retreating to James.
Juhoon lingered near a teacher, telling her what happened whilst Martinâs eyes landed on me. Nari and Cal silently patted your shoulder and hugged you before they left for class. Martin walked over, as tense as you were.
â..Talk to him, y/n. He wonât respond to the nurse.â He said quietly, worried in his voice. You nodded once, your legs frozen solid as you inched my way to James.
The nurse glanced at you, âare you his friend? If you arenât, I suggest to go to clasââ
James raised his hand, glancing at the nurse and at you. âPlease go.â He said softly to you, the expression on his face burned into the back of your mind. The nurse slowly stood, walking to the teacher. You stayed close, sinking to your knees in front of him.
âJames..â You mumbled softly. âIâm not going.â You held your hand out, leaving it there as an open invitation. Martin sighed softly and rubbed Jamesâ back as James reluctantly grabbed your hand, squeezing it so tight the tips of your fingers went pale. His breathing was shaky and you could see the way he held his tears back.
You gently brushed his hair away from his eyes, your heart squished to the ground as you shifted closer and hugged him. He paused before letting go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you, his eyes pressed into your shoulder. You met Martinâs gaze and he nodded, a small smile on his face as he went with Juhoon.
âthat fucking prick.â he said into your shoulder, breathing shaky. he held onto me so tight you worried your bones would crack under the weight of it, but you just rubbed his back, your other hand stroking his hair.
âHe really is a prick.â You said softly, feeling his tears begin to soak my shirt. You didnât care. You heard the soft sniffles and the way his body trembled with each heavy sob that wracked his body. You frowned, mumbling soft things that you thought would comfort him, making him only cry harder.
â
The day passed unbearably slowly. People chattered about what happened. Geum-ho was temporarily suspended and James went quiet. Not in the silent charm he always held, like the scary kind of fear that people worried about. His eyes were hollow when you passed him in the hallway and he didnât even glance up.
When you waited for him at the gate after school, he never came out. You saw Martin and the others leave the school, their expressions glum. They looked up and saw you approaching.
â..James isnât okay.â Seonghyeon mumbled. Keonho nudged him, âobviously, idiot.â We all laughed but it was weak.
âHow could that little shit do that?â Martin said, his hands clenched. âEspecially a week before our concert? Is he okay?â
âI hope not. That twink deserved to be suspended.â Keonho muttered, staring at the floor.
âHe left early by the way, y/n.â Juhoon said quietly. âHe left and I saw the expression on his face, it.. wasnât good.â
You nodded slowly and we went our separate ways. The only thing on your mind was James. How was he doing? Was he okay?
You missed the warmth next to you as you walked together, his soft chuckles, that silent affection in his eyes. All gone in one day.
â
James didnât come for the next 2 days. It was worrying, of course, and the band was getting stressed.
They pulled you aside after school into the music room. Martin was pacing, Keonho was blankly drinking from his water bottle. Seonghyeon tapped the floor with his foot and Juhoon was staring out the window like a solution would appear.
âWhat do we do? We have 4 days and we need James here.â Martin mumbled. You watched them contemplate, the air in the room equivalent to wet socks and empty energy drinks.
Then an idea popped into your head.
âGuys?â
All 4 heads snapped to you. Keonho stumbled over, landing on his knees and grabbing your hands. âPlease tell me you have a solution.â
The others walked to surround you, and their gazes were intense. Desperate.
You squeezed Keonhoâs hands, suddenly determined. Then you began telling your plan.
â
Two days left. It was Saturday at the beautiful lunch hour of 12 pm on the dot.
âKeonho, shut up!â Seonghyeon whisper-yelled as we all shuffled to Jamesâ apartment. Nearly tripping out the elevator, we reached his door and rang the doorbell. DINGDONG!
Waited once.. then twice..
DINGDONG! DINGDONG! DINGDONG!
âBro, Martin, stop, you're gonna break his doorbell.ââ You reasoned, ây/n, shush! This guy needs to come out or my back will break.â
Juhoon stumbled slightly and Keonho mumbled, âDude can you stop moving so mucâ?â
James opened the door so abruptly we nearly dropped it.
âFuckââ James gasped so loud we all stopped.
âWhat the hell?â He finally said after a moment of staring.
Yeah.. Iâve been stalling. On Martinâs our back was a bunch of stuff. A huge backpack and another bag that suspiciously looked like it could fit a..
âDid you guys buy a guitar?â He asked softly, something flickering to life in his eyes.
âJust let us in.â
â
James stared at the bag on his coffee table while we stared at him.
â..guys Iâm fine.â He mumbled quietly, finally meeting our gazes. He met mine first, something softening in his expression. âAre you okay, y/n?â
You scoffed, not realizing tears filled my eyes. âI should be asking you that.â You said, gently slapping his arm before hugging him, the tenseness in the air thinning. He laughed softly, a bit weak but real. âIâm okay, my eyes just feel shitty.â
You pulled back and stared at him. His hair was a bit messier than usual, the rims of his eyes were a puffy red and his frown lines were a bit more prominent; he was still stunning in your eyes.
âSeems like it.â Keonho said softly, a small smile on his face. Everyone was relieved to see he was fine though.
Martin gestured towards the bag first that was near Seonghyeon. He took it and zipped it open and inside was a bunch of snacks, preferably Jamesâ favourite. Most of it was chocolate milk though and his eyes lit up, taking one.
Popping in the straw, he took a long sip of relief. âIâve been needing this.â He muttered, finishing the rest in a few gulps. Juhoon offered him a napkin and James took it gratefully, mumbling a âthanksâ and wiped his mouth before tossing it away.
He scooted closer towards the edge of the couch, his arms resting on his knees as he reached for the zipper of the guitar case. No one stopped him as he slowly zipped it open.
Inside, his breath hitched.
It was a beautiful electric guitar with personal add-ons. A sleek body made of dark wood and jade, blue chalcedony glittered across the body in gentle sparks of light. On the side of the guitar, âCORTIS + y/nâ was carved into the wood, covered with resin and sanded down. A custom design. He exhaled shakily, staring at it like it was sacred.
âHow expensive was this?â He asked breathlessly, stunned.
ây/n pulled some strings.â Keonho said and James looked at you, eyes piercing into your own as if asking really?
For context, my grandfather owned a small instrument shop back in the day. He had a bunch of instruments that were really valuable and hid them in our basement. The first born was supposed to inherit it, it being me. After begging my parents to take it, even showing them a video that circled around the destruction, they agreed.
In a second, Jamesâ arms were around you, hugging you so tight it almost hurt. He was crying happy sobs and before we knew it, we were all crying too.
âThank you guys.â He said after a while, sniffling. He pulled away, looking at every one of us. âLetâs practice now, yeah? Gotta make sure we have the crowd scream their heads off.â
â
The day of the summer concert was perfect. It was sunny, people were having soda and dancing around as people played on stage.
You were in Jamesâ dressing room. The stylist had already left and it was just us.
âCORTIS, youâre on stage in 5 minutes!â One of the sound guys said and we heard the others and their sounds of affirmation before our eyes landed back on each other.
James had the guitar slung over his back, the one you gave him, his expression glowing in a way you havenât seen since the day we became friends.
ây/n.â He finally said, taking a step towards you. âYou're amazing, yâknow that? He murmured, that boyish smile back on his face.
âAm I?â You asked, a soft smile on your own face.
âYou better go back to the crowd or youâll get squished without a spot.â He laughed and you shook my head.
âDonât deflect. I know youâre nervous.â You glanced down at his outfit, it being perfectly him. A black tee with rolled up sleeves, baggy jeans and silver cross earrings. Simple to appeal to our principal, but perfect.
He rubbed the back of his neck and his smile softened. âCheer me on the loudest.â He said softly.
You smiled then shifted, grabbing something from your pocket. A four leaf clover hairpin. You stepped forward, âmay I?â
He paused, nodding while he bent down slightly, letting you put it in his hair. Once it was on, he stood back up straight and glanced into the mirror. He smiled, looking back at you.
âFor me, dove?â He asked and you rolled your eyes.
âNo, for Keonho. Yes, you.â He laughed at your retort, suddenly wrapping an arm around your waist. You didnât resist as you watched his face inch closer.
ây/n..â he murmured softly, the air around us holding its breath. âplease.â
You blinked, hearing the way his breathing picked up slightly. Before you knew it, his hands squeezed your hips and your lips were on his.
He groaned into your mouth, his lips tasting like cherries and what youâve been craving. Your hands went into his hair, carding through his locks while his hands caressed your body in gentle, featherlight touches.
âmmh..â you hummed against his mouth and he opened his mouth slightly, your tongues intertwiningâ
âONE MINUTE, CORTIS! COME OUT NOW!â A director banged on all our doors and walked off, making us break from each other.
You panted, a flushed mess with your lips kiss-bitten and cheeks burning. His expression matched yours, longing and satisfied.
âCheer for me.â He rasped out, swiftly kissing your forehead before opening the door. He glanced back, nodding towards the hall. The others were already there, Martin sensing it first and smirked.
âLetâs go, James.â He said, patting his back with a chuckle. As they all began heading to the stage, James looked back and winked, mouthing something Iâve been waiting for.
âI love you, my dove.â
Their stage presence was insane and everyone was cheering, watching as they sang and completely overthrew the competition.
You were at the front, like you belonged, and James lingered near you the most, his eyes meeting yours with smiles and winks that nearly made you faint. Cal and Nari had to hold onto you as they screamed and yelled, you matching them.
In your pocket was that same guitar pick he gifted you those couple days ago while walking you home. The hairpin in his hair shimmered under the lights and all you thought about was how gorgeous he looked.
âThatâs my Yufan!â You yelled and James almost messed up his verse, his cheeks flushing slightly as he performed even better, all for you.
All for the girl that he wanted to keep by his side forever because as long as she was there? Sheâd hold him up until he learnt how to breathe again.
âmy first with him, he already had his with her,â â to all the boys I loved before
⊠You didnât mean for the letter to send, but it somehow didâand now, he slipped into all the little corners of your life where no one else ever stayed. Unfortunately, you canât shake the feeling that âyou canât be mad at someone for breaking your heart â it means they loved you in the first place.â Every moment with him feels like something new, something real, something dangerously close to a first youâll never get back. But falling for him means risking everything⊠including the parts of yourself youâre scared to show. || pairing: soccer!player James x reader âïž wc: 14.9k
âŒïž warnings: emotional conflict, jealousy, slow-burn romance, miscommunication, teen angst, mild language, relationship tension, harsh language, making out, pet names
đ a/n: requested! thank you so much for this idea. I actually didnât watch the movie so I had to reinstall Netflix and binge watch the first two đ„Č.
James has you pressed against the wall before you can breathe, his body hot and solid against yours like heâs been dying to get his hands on you.
He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion. Muscles flexing, stomach tightening and the second he catches the way your eyes linger, his mouth curls into a dirty, knowing smirk.
âYeah?â
His voice drops, low and cocky.
âYou like that donât you?â
Your thighs clench without permission. You nod, helpless. He slides a hand down your waist, fingers dipping under your waistband, brushing heat, barely there, just enough to make your breath hitch.
âFuck,â he laughs softly, lips dragging along your jaw. âLook at youâso pretty.â
His thumb presses against your clothed pussy, firm enough to make your hips jerk forward.
You gasp, a quiet, desperate sound, and he eats it from your mouth as he kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your back hits the wall again.
His hips grind into you, slow and deliberate, the thick shape of his cock rubbing exactly against the spot that makes your knees buckle.
âThought youâd break for me this easy,â he mutters against your mouth. His fingers slip lower âLet me hear it.â
âJ-James.. I-â
You jolt so hard the pen flies out of your hand.
Youâre instantly pulled back from your fantasyâheat to ice water in a heartbeat.
âY/n?â your dad calls, voice muffled through your bedroom door. âDinner will be ready in ten. Your sister will set the table today.â
You slap your palm over the letter like youâre hiding a crime scene. âIâIâll be down in a sec!â
Your voice cracks. Horribly. Clearing your throat, you try again. âYeah! Justâuhâfinishing something!â
Footsteps retreat down the hallway. Silence drops. Then the fright hits you. You stare down at the paper. At the graphic, thirsty disaster you apparently wrote while possessed by a sex demon.
âOh my fucking god.â You grab the paper in both hands, crumpling it so fast it practically crunches like aluminum foil.
âWhat is wrong with you, Y/n?â You fling the balled-up letter toward the overflowing trash can. It bounces off the rim and lands on the floor like itâs mocking you. Of course it misses. Even your garbage has better aim than your life. A waste of paper and your time. You bury your face in your hands and groan into your palms.
âHe doesnât even know you exist,â you mutter, pacing once, twice, like that might shake the embarrassment off. âHow stupid do you have to be writing porn about James!â
James, the schoolâs most popular student who also happens to be in the soccer team. James who probably doesnât know you exist and has a girlfriend. Or situationship. Or whatever the hell Amy counts as.
You drop back into your desk chair, heart still racing from the stupid fantasy. A mixture between wetness and heat still clings to your skin in places you wish it didnât.
âThis is insane,â you whisper to the ceiling. âActually insane.â
You grab another sheet of paper, intending to write something normal. Something sane. Something not involving walls and grinding and his stupid smirk.
The page stays blank. Your hand trembles slightly. You shove it away and stand up.
âDinner,â you tell yourself. âFood. Air. Brain reset. No⊠horny⊠writing.â
You take one step toward the door. Then stop. Then glance at the trash pile, the paper mountain you swore youâd never let anyone see.
One of them shifts from the movement of your fan. A small, sinking feeling hits your stomach. You really need to get a better trash can. Or maybe a shredderâno! Therapy. But first: dinner.
You yank open your bedroom door before you can psych yourself out again. And somewhere in the back of your headâthe part you hate the mostâJamesâs voice from your imagination lingers like smoke:Â Yeah? You like that?
You swallow hard.
âShut UP,â you whisper to absolutely no one. You go downstairs anyway.
You drift down the stairs the minute the kitchen smells like something worth living for again. Your sister Annie is figuring out how her new phone works that she got for her thirteenth birthday recently. Your dad has his elbows on the counter, the kind of casual that says heâs trying to be chill but actually means business.
âYou okay?â he asks between ladles of sauce. He always asks when you look a little too quiet.Â
You shrug and grab a roll. âYeah. Fine. Hungry.â
Heâs stirring the pot and watching you like someone trying to read the news in a window reflection. âYouâre eighteen, Y/n. That means you should try opening up to people a little. Join a club, meet someone new. Donât close yourself off to the same circle forever.â
You give him the eyebrow. âYou mean Bella?â
âBellaâs great,â he says, tone is deliberately even. âBut reliable isnât everything. You have this⊠tendency to tuck yourself away. Try something that rattles you.â
âBella is the most reliable person one could ever know,â you scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. Suddenly, the words slide into the hollow place where your thoughts live and rattles something loose. Open up. Rattle. Shake. Itâs stupid, obvious, and for reasons you canât quite explain, it feels like the exact sentence you needed to hear.Before your dad can say anything else, you quickly get up from your seat.
âHoney- whereâre you going?!â Your dad asks, your sisterâs gaze following his. You donât answer him. Thereâs no time for that. Sitting at your desk with your lamp low, you carefully grab another slip of paper.. Youâve always been the type to catalogue everything. Feelings, small humiliations, the way your chest tightens when you see James in the hallway, into the soft, safe pages of your diary. But you ran out of pages two days ago. You didnât throw the journal away; you just taped the spine and pretended that was a solution. Now the spine is a Band-Aid and your life is still leaking.
So you do something slightly insane. You write a letter. A letter to James that youâre obviously not going to send. But youâre not going to send itâfuck no. You might be crazy but not to that extent. Instead, this letter will just fulfill your delusions, knowing youâre too much of a pussy to actually go talk to him.Â
Plus, James as Amy. A girl thatâs ten times prettier than you. Even if the letter was sent, it wouldnât do anything but humiliate her. You sit down and you write like the instruction are pressed into your ribs.Â
Dear James,
I donât know what kind of courage is even required to put this into paper and not just into the soft pulp of my diary where it will sit forever and never hurt anyone but me. Iâm out of pages. I like to pretend thatâs why this is happening, but really itâs because your face keeps crowding the edges of the life I think I should lead and I am tired of pretending nothing has changed.
Iâm writing this because my dad said something tonight about opening up, and for once his advice didnât annoy me. It lit the part of my chest that likes to tell the truth. Usually, I tell myself the truth in tiny, private scribbles. I tuck things away in notebooks and call it safety. But safe is starting to feel smaller than the way my thoughts about you try to grow.
So here it is: I like you. Not the kind of like thatâs polite and fits into a yearbook quote. The kind of like that rearranges the soundtrack in my head and makes dumb songs sound like they were written for mornings when youâre still asleep beside me. I like the way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the field. I like the way your that little pout you make when you miss your shot during your soccer practice. I like the scar on your thumb. I notice the ways you look at nothing and I wonder if youâre keeping a private joke with yourself.
I donât expect anything. Iâm not asking you to change your life, and Iâm not asking you to break anything open to fit me inside. Iâm just telling you the shape of my heart as honestly as I can. If you look back and you donât feel anything close, thatâs okay. Iâll make more pages. Iâll close my hands around the feeling and let it be pretty and lonely and mine.
If by some impossibility you feel even a fraction of this, if you ever want to talk in the quiet and not for show, Iâd like that. If you want to laugh and make terrible jokes and steal fries off my plate, Iâd like that too. If you want to touch me and find out how the rest of me holds together like how you do with Amyâwell. I want that too, but more than anything I want you to be honest with me the way Iâm trying to be honest with you now.
â Y/n
You read it back and feel twelve whole things at once â proud, mortified, relieved, as well as questioning your life decisions. You fold it carefully like it itâs an explosive and slide it into an envelope. You address it with your own hand: Zhao Yufan, his legal name. Under his name, you scribble the address you only learned after realizing he lives six houses down. You seal the flap, press it flat like a bandage, and set the envelope on your nightstand.
You think about putting it in the diary, or a secret drawer, or burning it in the tiny metal box you use to store old receipts, but something about the whole open up thing makes you stubborn. This one you want to feel like it could be sent. So you tuck it under a small stack of textbooks on the nightstand, slide a pen across it like youâre filing it into safety, and tell yourself youâll shower, youâll calm down, youâll decide tomorrow whether you actually post it or not.
You strip and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin in a rhythm that slows the part of you that wants to panic. Steam climbs the glass and you lean your forehead against the wall and breathe. You imagine the envelope still on the nightstand where you left it, protected by the textbooks like a little fort.
You shampoo and rinse and think of nothing and everything and finally step out, towel-wrapped and lightheaded. You cross your room, expecting the envelope to be exactly where you left it. But you donât see it.
You assume you put it somewhere elseâunder a different stack, in a drawer you forgot about, safe. That makes you breathe easier. You make a mental note to check after you put your hair up. Only thing is you donât get the chance. As soon as you lay down on your bed, youâre fast asleep.
â
Morning punches you in the face the moment your alarm shrieks. You bolt upright with that weird post-shower fog still clinging to your brain, and then the memory hits you like a shovel: The letter.
âShitââ You stumble out of bed, hair a disaster, sleep shirt twisted around your waist as you lunge toward the nightstand.
Textbooks: check. Pen you left on top: check. Envelope? Not check. You flip the books. Nothing. Just kill me.
You yank open the drawer. Receipts, scrunchies, a rogue stick of gum. Ohâthereâs your favourite lip gloss you lost in eighth grade. No envelope.
You drop to your knees and check under the bed like the letter might be hiding out of spite. Nada.Â
âOkay, no. No no noââ Your voice rises, scrapes, breaks. You tear through your desk. Under the lamp. Behind your laptop. In your laundry basket like youâre truly losing it.
Itâs gone.
You freeze so hard your breath forgets what itâs supposed to be doing. For a full five seconds you just stand there, staring at the nightstand like it personally betrayed you.
âY/N! Youâre gonna make Annie late!â your dad yells from downstairs.
Jesus Christ. Of course the universe picks today to make you a missing-letter fugitive.
You slap on makeup with the precision of a maniac, yank on loose jeans, absolutely forget deodorant, and sprint out the door with Annie trailing behind you.
Sheâs eating a Pop-Tart like nothing is wrong in the world. âCan you walk faster?â you hiss.
âYou woke me up late,â she mumbles around strawberry filling. âThis is your fault.â
Sheâs not wrong, and it only makes you want to scream into a pillow. âActually, you could have set an alarm on your phone,â you say defend yourself. âWhatâs the point of having a phone if you canât put it to use?â Annie rolls her eyes. The whole walk to her school, your brain is doing a full Olympic-level panic routine.
You drop Annie offâbarely hearing her byeâand then youâre speed-walking toward your school like your life depends on it. Which, honestly? It kind of does.
Inside the hallway, itâs the usual teenage circus. Lockers slamming. People laughing too loud. Someone aggressively spraying Axe body spray like theyâre trying to fumigate the building.
And then, you see him. James. Heâs leaning against his locker, talking to Jihoon and some really tall guy, hair falling over his forehead in that stupidly soft way that makes your chest squeeze. He wipes his bangs aside with his knuckles and you swear your soul leaves your body like youâre some Victorian child witnessing the beauty of art for the first time.Â
Your feet keep walking but your eyes stay glued to him as youâre now walking backwards somehowâhey, is it just you or did he bleach his hair blondish orange?
âOuch! Watch where youâre going.â
Your shoulder ricochets off a wall of person, and a sharp, irritated gasp snaps you back to reality. âHi Amy.â
Believe it or not, you and Amy were best of friends back in middle school until popularity took over her. Her brown wavy hair is perfectly glossy. Her skin is so flawless it looks like someone airbrushed her in real time. Sheâs applying a swipe of lip gloss with one hand and glaring at you like you just stepped on her dog with the other.
âOh, itâs just you,â she snaps, pursing her lips as she caps the gloss. âSome of us actually care about how we look in the morning.â
Heat floods your cheeks, crawling up your neck. You mutter, âSorry,â but it comes out thin and squeakyâhumiliating.
Her eyes flick over you, slow and critical, before she glances past your shoulder toward Jamesâher whole expression softening instantly, like flipping a switch.
You try your hardest not to look. It would be very embarrassing to do so. But you do.
James is watching. Not glaring. Not smirking. Just watching with that unreadable, calm expression he always gets when heâs trying to figure something out. His friends are waving their hands in front of his face to catch his attention.Â
Your stomach drops to your toes. Because for one terrible, dizzy moment, you wonder if that letter got somewhere it shouldnât. You swallow tightly.
This day is already hell. And itâs only 8:07 AM.Â
You donât even get three steps down the hall before Bella materializes beside you like she teleported straight out of loyalty. Her ponytail bounces while her iced latte sloshes, eyebrows already raised. âI saw that, by the way,â she says.
You groan into your hands. âPlease. Please, Bella. Donât.â Bella wiggles her brows. âYou full-on stared at him like he was Michelangeloâs David, and then youâwhat was that? Moonwalked into Amy?â
âLetâs. Not. Talk about it.â You want to crawl inside your hoodie and never come out. Bella laughs so hard she snorts. âOkay, fine. But holy crap, youâre lucky she didnât claw your face off.â
You donât tell her about the letter. God, no. Bella is your ride-or-die, but even she doesnât deserve to carry that radioactive emotional grenade.
The day crawls by at the pace of a wounded snail. Class, class, pretend to take notes, class. After school, you follow your usual routine: cut through the side field, slip past the bleachers, and make your quiet little trail toward the soccer field.
Itâs stupid. SO stupid. But watching the practices has always been⊠calming? Or maybe masochistic. Hard to tell. Theyâre already running drills. Cleats thudding. Shouts carrying.Â
And there he is, James, wearing the neon-pinnied version of perfection. Heâs quick. Controlled. Focused. The way his legs move is ridiculous. He spins the ball like itâs attached to him by secret magnets.
Usually Amyâs on the bleachers, cheering him on with her friends. But today there were no signs of her being no where near this field. Strange. You wonder where she is. That should make you feel relieved. It doesnât.
For once, James isnât playing like youâre invisible. Because suddenly, he sees you. Actually sees you. His brows knit. His chest rises, pauses. And before you can process whatâs happening, he jogs off the field. Then heâs running. Running toward you.
Panic detonates in your ribcage.
No. No no no noâ
He stops way too close. Close enough that you smell himâclean, sharp, expensive. Something like cedar and citrus and everything you absolutely should not like.
âHey,â he says, breath still catching from the run. âY/n? Is that your name?â You freeze. He rubs the back of his neck. Looks down for a second. Then back at you.
âI see you watching the games sometimes and I, uh⊠got your note.â
Your heart stops. Literally stops. If a doctor checked you right now, youâd be declared clinically dead. âI justââ he swallows hard. Heâs awkward. Heâs never awkward. âI didnât want you to think I was ignoring it.â
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Not even a squeak. He shifts his weight, eyes flicking toward the field like he wishes someone would rescue him.
âListen⊠I just got out of a breakup. Like. Recently.â He laughs once, dry and not very funny. âAnd⊠I donât even know you. So I canâtâit wouldnât be fair. Or right. You know?â
âThen get to know me.â Thatâs what you want to say. Instead you nod slowly. Or maybe you physically malfunction. Hard to tell. He gives you this tiny, apologetic half-smile that somehow hurts worse than being stabbed.
âIâm sorry,â he says quietly. And then he jogs back onto the field like he didnât just smash your chest open with his bare hands. You stand there frozen long enough that a stray soccer ball rolls by your foot and you donât even flinch.
James looks even better up close. And yeah he smells like something expensive. Something that makes your stomach twist. You were never supposed to know that. You swallow, throat tight. Itâs the start of the new school year and this day was- well... Youâre not sure thereâs even a word for it.
The next few days are awkward as hell.
You avoid his locker like itâs a landmine. You walk a little faster in the halls. How the hell did he get his hands on your letter in the first place? If your brain had a mute switch, you wouldâve used it. Bella notices and gives you the exact look that says tell me everythingwithout actually making you talk.
You donât tell her anything. Not about the letter, and about how your stomach clenches when he passes.
One afternoon you cut across the field and freeze halfway, because there they are, the once infamous couple arguing in that tense whisper that looks loud from a distance. Amyâs hands are animated, her face flushed in that way people get when they think theyâre right and are also angry. James is calm but tight; his jaw works like heâs chewing on something heavy. You donât hear words. You only see the body language: Amy stepping closer, James stepping back. The rest of the team keeps practicing around them like itâs normal to be emotionally shredded in the middle of drills. Maybe this happens a lot? Expect this time, theyâre arguing as exes, not as a couple.
Three days later, youâre sitting with Bella like every other lunch school-dayâsalad in front of you, two conversations happening at once. âHey,â Bella starts, âyou think that I could fit three French fries up one nostril?â
You barely get two fries into your mouth before a shadow falls over your lunch table. Bella freezes mid-sip of her iced latte. Her eyes go huge. âUm⊠incoming.â You turn slowly, like your neck is rusted, praying it isnât who you think it is.Â
James. Hands in pockets. Hair slightly damp from gym. Looking like a walking problem. You could recognize his cologne from miles away.
âY/n,â he says, voice low. âCan we talk?â Bella nearly breaks her own neck nodding. You shoot her a warning look, but she just winks. Or tries to. It looks more like a seizure. You follow James out to the side courtyard, heart punching your ribs like itâs trying to escape. Did he see you eves dropping on him and Amyâs argument? Or even worseâhe somehow got a hold of that piece of paper you wrote a whole entire smut scene of you and him on. No. Thereâs no way thatâs possible. But the letter- shut up y/n.
Finally, he stops by a bench and shifts his body awkwardly. You brace yourself for whateverâs coming.
âOkay, so⊠about what I said a few days ago.â Deep breath. âI changed my mind,.â
You blink. Not once. Not twice. About twelve times. âIâm sorryâwhat?â He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. âAmy found out I talked to you the other day.â His eyes flicker to you. âAnd sheâs⊠not handling it well.â You say nothing. Your brain is buffering like bad Wi-Fi. âSo,â he continues, âsheâs convinced Iâm into you. And sheâs trying to make me jealous by flirting with every guy in our grade. Which isâŠâ He grimaces. âAnnoying.âYouâre staring at him, blank-faced, because what else are you supposed to do? âSo if she thinks you and I are together,â he finally says, âsheâll calm down. And maybe sheâll want to get back together. Itâs just⊠easier this way.â
Ah. There it is.
Itâs not because he suddenly sees you. Itâs not because your face lives rent-free in his mind the way his does in yours. Itâs because youâre convenient and somehow read the stupid love letter you were going to keep to yourself and through away after a few days.Â
You swallow, throat scraping. âSo you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend⊠so your get back together?â He nods, relieved you understand. âYeah. Exactly.â
You take your time thinkingâway longer than necessary, honestly. But youâre not stupid. Fake dating James? James, whose face makes your brain glitch? James, who already thinks you confessed some weird crush? Why the hell wouldnât you?
âFine,â you say eventually. âIâll do it.â His whole body loosens like heâs been holding tension since August. âThank you. Seriously. Okay, uh⊠we should follow each other on Instagram.â
Shit.Â
He pulls his phone out. You do the sameâhesitantly. âItâs @y_notn?â He repeats, typing the username into Instagram, then clicking onto your page. You see his lips form a smirk. âYouâre already following me I see.â You cheeks match the color of his shoes.
He types fast. âIâll tag you in my bio. You can tag me in yours too.â Your pulse jumps but you nod in agreement anyways.
He pockets his phone again. âMeet me after practice today. Same field as always.â He gives you a small smile thatâs entirely too soft to be legal. âI assume you know what time that is.â Like you havenât literally watched every practice heâs had since school started.
You nod, trying not to implode. âYeah. I know.â
âCool.â He steps back, gives you a once-over that feels like a warm hand on your spine. âSee you then, Y/n.â When he walks away, you realize youâre not breathing. Youâre not sure youâll ever breathe normally again.
Bella ambushes you before you even sit down. Sheâs practically vibrating with questions, textbooks forgotten in her hand.
âSo spill. What did you two even talk about? Why is he talking to you when he has aâwhat is sheâAmy? What the freak is going on?â Her eyes are all sharp curiosity and that ridiculous, fierce-protective thing only best friends get. You do the only mature thing you can think of: play it cool. âItâs nothing,â you say, which is still a lie and also technically not. You havenât explained anything to anyone, not even to yourself.
Bella doesnât buy it for one second. âNothing? Y/n. Youâve been crushing on that guy ever since Iâve known you. Do you know how dramatic that was? Spill.â
You fold your fork over your lips. âHe said some stuff. Nothing huge.â You focus on making your voice flat, unimpressed, as though your heart didnât vault into your throat and refuse to come down two hours ago. She leans in until her face invades your space. âDid he⊠break up with Amy?â
You stare at her. The question feels like a live wire. âYeah,â you say before you can stop it. âTheyâhe said they broke up.â
Bellaâs jaw drops so hard youâd think she swallowed a stone. âAnd you didnât tell me? Am I not your best friend anymore or what?â She half-pleads, half-accuses. You laugh because panic tastes weird and small. âI didnât know until this week, B. Chill. I didnât tell you because I didnât want you to be the person who screams and jumps on him or whatever you do when youâre extremely dramatic.â
She pouts, not actually mad. âWaitâso was he talking to you because he likes you or something and wants to move from Amy?â
It takes you a moment to respond. âItâs⊠complicated,â you say, and she deflates into a theatrical sigh. âIâll keep you updated for sure.â
Later, after classes pretend to move slower than molasses. You go to the side courtyard like you promised. Heâs there early, hands in pockets, looking like he walked out of a billboard and then stole your ability to breathe. He waves you over like heâs practiced casualness in a mirror.
âSo,â he says, hands folded like heâs bracing for feedback as you two settle down on a nearby bench. âAbout us.â
You swallow. âAbout us.â Something you thought youâd never hear come out of his mouth, This is ridiculous. Then you remind yourself why youâre here in the first place.
He exhales. âI should makeâuhâparameters. Boundaries. Whatever you want to call them..â He looks earnest. Which is both disarming and scalding.
âOkay,â you say. âNo kissing. No⊠anything farther.â You say it like youâre filing a restraining order against your hormones. Your cheeks heat up right after you say it, like youâve exposed your soul in public.
He gives you a genuinely confused look. âWhatâs so wrong with kissing?â You look at him and feel stupid and stubborn and painfully sincere. âI want my first kiss to mean something. I donât want my first kiss to be a prop in someoneâs plan. I want it to be because of⊠feelings. Real ones.â
He studies your face. For a second you think heâs scoffing. Instead he looks surprised, like he expected something else out of you entirely. âSo youâre saying youâve never kissed anyone? You donât seem like a first-kiss kind of person,â he says, like itâs an observation, not an accusation.
You donât know if thatâs supposed to be a compliment. âIâm not,â you say. âI just⊠want one that matters.â
He nods slowly, and shockingly, he takes it in. âOkay. No kissing,â he repeats. âNo making out. Noâanything. Got it. I was looking forward to that part though.â That last sentence makes you look up immediately. He lets out a âoh look at you, you feel for it,â laugh. Of course he didnât mean it.
âAnd pet names? Like, are we team âbabeâ or are we staying sane?â
You sigh. âPet names are allowed but No PDA that crosses boundaries. Hand-holding okay. Quick pecks on the cheekâfine, but only if itâs not humiliatingly dramatic in front of Amy.â
He snorts at that, and for a moment the tension loosens. âDates?â he asks. James going on a date with you? You want to poke yourself to make sure this isnât all just a dream.
âSure.â
You actually grin, and it feels like a defect in your usual composure. This is insane. Youâre literally negotiating love like itâs a group project. He hesitates, then asks, âCan Iâuhâpick you up to school? Like, to drive you? Make things look⊠convincing.â
Your brain short-circuits. âI walk my younger sister to school,â you say. âSo no.â He brightens, thinking on his feet. âI can drive her too. Drop them both off. Make it seem legit.â
You gape. âYouâd drive my twelve-year-old sister to school?â He shrugs like itâs nothing. âYeah. Less awkward than you explaining a fake boyfriend every morning.â
âWow,â you say, simultaneously mortified and oddly touched. âThatâs⊠actually kind. Okay, maybe.â
âAndâif you wantâI can drive you home now,â he adds. âMake it easier. Practical.â You almost laugh because this feels exactly like a dream for someone else and not like your actual life. But then you see his eyes dartâjust for half a beatâtoward the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. Amy.Â
He looks back at you and, without missing a beat, pulls you closer. His hand rests on the small of your back, which feels equal parts possessive and protective. His other hand ghosts over your arm, fingers light, claiming. âSmile,â he whispers into your ear, breath hot and soft and ridiculous.
His hands wander like theyâre memorizing the geography of youâover your shoulder, along your ribsânothing obscene, just bordering on intimate enough to make your teeth ache.
âCome on, baby. Letâs get you home.â He makes sure to emphasize on the baby part so itâs loud enough for Amy to hear. The pet name lands heavy in your chest.
He slides his fingers into yours and leads you toward the parking lot. Your sneakers scuff the concrete. Maybe the letter getting sent out wasnât as bad after all. But then you remember this is all an act. James doesnât actually like you. And once heâs back with Amy? You donât even want to think about it.
You find the car before you recognize it. Low, polished, the kind of car that hums quietly like it was born rich. Leather seats. Chrome that catches sunlight like itâs showing off. You knew he was from money, but youâd never actually seen it up close like this.
He opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical little bow that somehow feels oddly considerate. âHop in,â he says, and for a second the world narrows to leather and the faint plastic smell of air freshener and the rapid, stupid beating of your heart.
You climb in, and as the engine starts, you wonder which part of your life is a fever dream and which part, if any, is real.
James pulls up in front of your house like heâs done this a hundred times, like this is just routine for him now. The car quiets, he taps the steering wheel once, and turns toward you.
âThanks for driving me,â you say, suddenly shy for no reason except heâs looking at you like that. You try to keep your smile contained, but it still slips out, tiny and embarrassing.
He catches it immediately. âCute,â he says under his breath, like he didnât mean to say it out loud. He clears his throat, hoping you didnât hear him slip.Â
âSo this is where y/n lives? Didnât know you lived a couple houses down from me.â You smile and reach for the door handle, trying to act like a normal functioning human being, when he stops you with a soft, âY/nâwait.â
You blink at him. âYes?â He holds up his phone. âCan I take a picture of us holding hands? For my Insta so Amy can see.â You swear you felt something real between you two until he snapped you back to reality. âLike⊠right now?â
âYeah.â He extends his hand, palm up, waiting. âCâmon.â
You place your hand in his because what else are you supposed to do? Say no? Die? Teleport? His fingers lace through yours, warm and soft, and your whole bloodstream turns into electricity. You feel your body heat up. This is your first ever physical contact with him.
He lifts his phone with the other hand and pulls your joined hands closer to the console where the lighting is better. Of course he knows his angles; heâs literally James.
âLook at me,â he murmurs. You do. He snaps the picture the moment you meet his eyes, like he wants you in the frame even if youâre only visible in the reflection of the screen.Â
After the photo is taken, he stares at it for a quick second. Call yourself delusional but you swear you saw him holding back his smile. After tagging you, he uploads it instantly. Your heart legitimately forgets how to beat.
âGreat,â he says, dropping your hand slowly, almost reluctantly. âText me when youâre inside.â
âS-sure,â you mutter, stumbling over your own voice like a clown. You climb out of the car. He waits until youâre at the porch before he pulls away, tires rolling smooth and silent like he didnât just flip your entire life upside down.
You walk in, still clutching the warmth of his hand like an idiot whoâs never known happiness before. Your dad glances up from the kitchen, eyes narrowing with that suspicious dad-squint. âSomeoneâs smiling.â You almost choke. âIâm notâIâm literallyâI wasnâtââ
He laughs. âAlright, alright. Iâm not interrogating you. Howâd you get home so fast?â
Panic rushes through your veins. âUh. Bellaâs brother drove us. We were going the same way.â
Lie. Instant lie. Horrible lie. Bella doesnât even have a brother. You want to fistfight yourself.
âHuh,â your dad says, not looking convinced but not digging either. âAlright, wellâoh! Before I forget.â He stands, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and smiles like heâs about to tell you something wholesome. Instead he says the single worst sentence youâve heard in your entire life. âI forgot to tell you this but I saw that letter on your desk last week and helped mail it for you, honey.â Your stomach hits the floor. You swear your vision goes white around the edges.
âWhatâwhat letter?â You hear your own voice crack like a broken flute.
âThe envelope under those textbooks on your desk thst was addressed to one of our neighbours? I figured itâd save you and I less time because I was stopping by the post office anyways,â He beams, proud of himself.
You cannot breathe. So thatâs how James got your note. The letter that was literally your unhinged, handwritten, half-fantasy confession about James. The one you should have burned. âThanks,â you whisper, voice tiny and hoarse.Â
You bolt up the stairs the second youâre free, close your bedroom door with the gentlest click ever because of course tonight is the night you suddenly care about door volume, and just⊠collapse. Face-first into your bed. You donât even bother turning the lights on.
Your body is still buzzing, like Jamesâs handprint is burned into your skin. Your heart keeps replaying the whole car scene at 8K resolution, IMAX, Dolby Atmos, every upgrade possible.
James and Amy? Over. James talking to you? Actually real. James fake dating you? Also real. You? Completely malfunctioning.
You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Because the thing is, itâs fake. He asked for to take the picture for Amy, not because he wanted it for himself. Heâs James. He dates girls who look like they stepped out of a perfume commercial. You literally tripped over air in homeroom last week.
Still⊠your chest squeezes around this tiny, dangerous wish. You wish it wasnât fake, how he meant the way he looked at you in the car, and the warmth in his hand wasnât just acting. But whatever. Thatâs not your life. Guys like him donât like girls like you. You know that. Youâve always known that.
Next morning starts off painfully normal, which is honestly rude given the way last night cracked your brain open. You drag yourself out of bed, brush your teeth while half-asleep, pull on a hoodie that still smells vaguely like laundry detergent and despair, and braid Annieâs hair while she wiggles like a caffeinated squirrel.
âHold still,â you mutter, trying to tame the last strand. âI am holding still,â she says, not holding still. You finally get her ready, grab your bag, and step out of the building with her hand in yours. Itâs quiet outside, cool enough to wake you up a little. The walk to her school is familiar, easy, predictable.
Your brain needs predictable right now. Youâre three blocks down before a car honk breaks the morning calmâone sharp, deliberate beep.
You and Annie both turn at the same time.
Jamesâs car is parked at the curb. Leaning slightly toward the window, one hand on the wheel, raising his eyebrows in a âReally? You forgot?â kind of way.
âOh shit,â you whisper. Annie gasps dramatically and sprints toward the car like sheâs starring in her own movie. âDid you just say a bad word?â she calls out over her shoulder. âAlso whoâs that?â
âMy⊠uhâŠâ You have nothing. No explanation. Just panic. âJustâwaitâAnnie!â But sheâs already yanking open the passenger door. âDid you forget about stranger danger?!â
âHiiiiii!â she beams at him. James grins back, all sunshine and dimples. âGood morning.â He looks cute when he smiles.  You stumble up behind her, cheeks burning. âSorryâshe justâuhââ
âItâs fine,â he says. âSheâs cute.â
Annie giggles like he handed her a scholarship. âMy sister thinks cute! Her face literally turned red when sheââ You quickly slap your palm on top of her mouth, nearly choke on your own tongue. âAnnie! You canât justâsay thingsâ!â
James laughs. âI can see that.â Fuck you. He nods toward the backseat. âYou riding or walking?â Right. The whole fake dating thing. You climb in, mumbling, âI totally forgot you were picking us up.â
He shoots you a look in the rearview. Teasing. âKind of figured.â Annie, meanwhile, is already telling him her entire life story. âSo my sister woke me up late again, and Y/N didnât let me have candy in the morning, so can you convince her tââ
âAnnie,â you hiss, âpersonal space!â James glances at you, amused. âYour sisterâs very bubbly.â
âYeah,â you sigh. âRuns in the family.â He raises an eyebrow. âReally? Havenât noticed much of that in you.â You look out the window so he canât see your face fall and combust at the same time. âWell⊠it takes me a while to open up.â
Thereâs a beat of silenceâsoft, not awkward. Then, quietly, he says, âI donât mind that. Your breath trips.  Annie thankfully interrupts you before your brain melts. âAre you Y/Nâs boyfriend?â You and James say entirely different things at the exact same time.
You: âNOâno no noâheâs notâdonâtââ James: âSomething like that.â
You whip your head toward him so fast your neck protests. âWhat?!â He smirks. âRelax. Just keeping the story consistent.â âThatâs not consistent, thatâsâ thatâsââ
âConvincing,â he finishes, winking. You swear your pulse jumps like itâs trying to break out of your body. By the time he pulls into the school parking lot, your nerves are shredded.
âWait.â His voice stops you again. You freeze halfway out. He gets out too. Walks around the car. And then extends his hand. Palm up, a silver ring on his index finger.Â
âCome on,â he says. âTheyâre already staring.â Your stomach drops to your knees. You place your hand in his, because apparently youâve lost all brain function. His fingers lace through yours. Firm. Warm. Familiar already in a terrifying way. You wonder what if he uses hand creamâand if so, what kind?
You walk side by side, hands joined, through the courtyard. Every. Single. Person. Looks. Someone literally whispers, âAre you kidding me?â as you pass. Another girl stares like you committed a war crime. You try to keep your face blank, but your heart is doing parkour. Even his friends look at him weird. James leans toward you just slightly. âYou good?â
âIâmâfine,â you lie. He squeezes your hand. A tiny squeeze. You nearly short-circuit. Then you turn down the hall. And there she is. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. Leaning against her locker with her friends, scrolling through her phoneâAmy.
Until she sees you and James. Her entire expression freezesâthen sharpens. Expression goes from neutral to knives-out in half a second.
It hits you so hard your stomach does a full gymnastics routine. You instantly look away, like youâre gonna be burned alive if you make eye contact for more than a microsecond. James actually glances. Quick, sharp, assessingâlike heâs checking if she saw. And apparently she did, because he gives the smallest nod to himself and keeps walking.
Your palm is sweating in his, which is honestly humiliating, but he doesnât comment. Doesnât squeeze or slow down or look at you twice. Heâs just walking. Playing the part. Cool. Unbothered. Like this is all just logistics. People are still staring, whispering, straight-up gawking as you pass.  You keep your face forward. Try not to shrink⊠or die. All three are failing.
When you reach his locker, he drops your hand casually like heâs turning off a light switch. He spins his combo, grabs a book, and says, completely normal, âI saw her staring.â
Your heart is still in your throat. âItâs progress, I guess.â He nods once, satisfied. âThink itâs working.â
James doesnât look at you againâjust shuts his locker with a quick clack and tosses his bag over his shoulder like he didnât just nuke your nervous system in the hallway.
âSee you later,â he says, already turning away. And youâre left standing there, trying not to look like youâre about to dissolve into mist.
The rest of the week doesnât calm down â it just mutates into this weird fever dream where James keeps doing things that make your brain short-circuit.
Like Wednesday morning, when youâre trying to open your locker and the stupid thing jams for the eighth day in a row. You mutter under your breath, âI hate this place,â and kick the bottom corner. Out of nowhere, James appears behind you, lean and warm and annoyingly tall.
âMove,â he says, voice low like heâs about to break into a safe.
âIâve tried that,â you snap, not even looking up. âIt doesnâtââ He slams his palm against the top left edge with one clean, confident hit. The locker pops open like itâs scared of him. Hot. âAre youâwhat? Howâ?!â
He shrugs, smirking. âYouâre welcome.â
You roll your eyes way too dramatically, but youâre pretty sure your soul floats out the back of your head when he taps the top of your hair and says, âIâll be here if you need help with anything else.â
You stare after him like a malfunctioning Roomba as he walks off.
Then thereâs Thursday, when youâre walking through the courtyard with James and trip over absolutely nothing. Like, genuinely nothing. A single leaf. A shadow. Air. You go stumbling forward like a newborn deer. Before you can fall, James catches the back of your hoodie and pulls you upright by the hood like youâre a cat being relocated.
âI swear to God,â you wheeze, face on absolute fire, âthe ground attacked me.â
âYeah,â he deadpans, âthe ground looked really hostile.â
You shove his shoulder because you canât come up with a good comeback and also because youâre mortified. He lets out a quiet chuckle and it unlocks something sweet and dangerous in your chest.
Next itâs Friday morning. You and Annie are waiting for him outside, and your sister is bouncing around talking about how she wants to get a hamster named Bean. James comes out of the car, leans over the passenger seat, and gives Annie an exaggerated thumbs-up.
âBeanâs a great name,â he says, like heâs taking her dead seriously. âVery strong. Very intimidating.â
Annie giggles like sheâs met a celebrity. You can tell that your sister likes him a lot. Too bad it might all end soon. Youâre standing there blinking because why is he being sweet when no one is watching? Thereâs no audience at 7:53 AM on a suburban sidewalk. No reason to impress anybody. He looks at you for a beat too long. âWhat?â you say, defensive because your nervous system is fried.
âNothing,â he says, that tiny smile tugging at one corner.Â
Later that same day, youâre at his soccer practice again, this time on mandatory fake-girlfriend attendance, apparently, but this time you donât sit on the bleachers. Youâre late, so you stand awkwardly by the fence, hugging your bag.Â
James sees you. Mid-scrimmage. Heâs literally making it past two guys and still looks over like youâre a lens flare he enjoys catching. Amyâs on the far side of the field glaring daggers, and thatâs probably why he does it, why he pushes a bit harder. For some reason, she started showing up again.Â
But then he smirks. And itâs not aimed at Amy. He jogs up after scoring, out of breath, flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. The kind of sweaty that shouldnât be attractive but absolutely is.
Before you know it, his practice ends, the sunâs low, and the field looks like itâs glowing. Youâre standing by the fence scrolling your phone, pretending youâre not waiting for him even though obviously you are.
They scrimmage one more play. James gets the ball. The field actually erupts. He slips past two defenders, cuts left, shootsâGoal. The boys yell and explode like he just cured cancer. And then he does something so stupidly cinematic you almost faint: He runs straight toward you. Like youâre his checkpoint.
He stops right by the fence, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jersey sticking to him â black and green, drenched in sweat, clinging to every muscle that should not legally exist on an 20-year-old.
âDid you see that?â he breathes out, grinning like heâs half-drunk on adrenaline.
âIâI meanâyeah,â you say, but it comes out more like a squeak because you are absolutely staring. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his neck glistening, jaw sharp enough to slice your willpower in half. He smirks when he notices.
âWhyâre you looking at me like that?â he teases, voice low. You immediately snap your eyes away. âI wasnâtâlooking. I wasâblinking.â
âI didnât know blinking took that long,â he murmurs, leaning a little closer to the fence. You nearly dissolve into the grass.
By the time he drops you off, your brain is a puddle. He taps the steering wheel, looks at you with that same unreadable-soft expression youâre starting to recognize. âSame time tomorrow?âÂ
Before you could answer, your dad comes out on the porch at the worst possible moment, holding a mug and squinting into the driveway. âIs that the handsome guy Annie keeps talking about?â
Why oh why. âWhaâdadâIânoâ?â James, traitor that he is, just smiles and waves like this is a barbecue and not the crumbling of your sanity. âYes I am!â
Your dad lights up. âWell! Why donât you stay for dinner?â You see James glance at you like heâs asking for permissionâlike youâre the deciding vote before he says, âSure. If thatâs okay.â Okay?? Youâre already having an out-of-body experience. Inside, Annie is THRIVING. She pats the couch between her and James like sheâs the host of a reality show. You sit, fully preparing to be normal. You fail immediately.
Halfway through the movie, James shifts closerâcasual, smooth, evilâand drapes an arm behind you on the couch, feeling himself at your home. Not even touching you yet, just⊠there. Warm. Heavy. Loud in your peripheral vision. Your heart is trying to escape your ribcage with a crowbar.
Then, out of nowhere, he reaches over and slides the scrunchie out of your ponytail. Slow. Deliberate. Like heâs unwrapping a present. Your hair falls down your shoulders and you swear the air temperature spikes 40 degrees.
âLooks better like this,â he murmurs, barely audible over the TV.
Youâre going to combust. Annie is too invested in the movie to notice you dying.
He loops it around his wrist, then pulling out his phone to check something. You assume heâs going to post something on his Instagram for Amy to see, but he checks the time instead. Strange
Your dad comes in once to ask if you all want snacks. James answers politely. You stare at the wall like youâre seeing God. He grabs a piece and feeds it to you. Even morestrange.
Eventually it gets late, and he stands, gives Annie a little salute, thanks your dad for the evening, and looks at you with this unreadable softness that makes your stomach flip.
âSee you tomorrow,â he says.
â
The night air is cold enough to bite, but he doesnât feel it. His whole skin is still warm from your house, your couch, your hair brushing his shoulder.Â
As he hopped into the car, shouldnât be thinking about that. It wasnât supposed to feel like that. Getting out, he walks up his front steps, keys halfway out of his pocket, when he freezes.
Amy is sitting on his porch. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Wearing that perfume he likes.
âJames,â she says, chin tilted, voice honeyed she knows works on most people.
He exhales, slow. âAmy. What are you doing here?â
She stands up, taking a step closer. âI wanted to talk. We havenât reallyâyâknowâprocessed everything. And IâŠâ She lets the sentence trail off, fingers brushing his arm like muscle memory. âI miss you. We were good together.â
He should want this. He knows that. This was the whole point, wasnât it? Proving he could move on, making her jealous, getting her to come back.
âWe were,â he says quietly. It comes out flat. Even he hears it.
Amy leans in, confidence flickering back. âI mean⊠moving on to someone like her?â She smirks. âConvincing. Iâll give you that.â
He doesnât say anything. She slides her hand down his arm like sheâs done it a thousand times â because she has. Her voice drops. âYou couldâve just talked to me, James. You didnât have to pretend.â
Her eyes glint. She steps closer again, enough that her breath hits his collarbone. âWhat do you say? Are you up for a redo?â Amy reaches for his wrist, then stops at a certain spot.
âOh.â Her voice shifts â sweet turning sour. âWhatâs this?â Her fingers brush the scrunchie. Your scrunchie. Still warm from your hair. She looks up at him, eyebrows lifted like sheâs caught him with a crime weapon.
âIs that Y/nâs?â she asks, sickly sweet. His voice is small, quieter than he expects. âIt is.â
Amy lets out a low, humorless laugh. âWow. Youâre really committing to the bit.â He doesnât correct her.
She slips it off his wrist and ties her hair with it, steps back, arms folding. âWell,â she says, lips curling, âIâll see you at school tomorrow, James.â
She walks away without waiting for an answer. Her perfume lingers. But his wrist feels heavier than everything she tried to imply. He stands there a long time after sheâs gone. And the scrunchie stays exactly where it is.
â
James picks you up like nothing happened, acting like he didnât stand on his porch last night looking existential with your scrunchie on his wrist while his ex tried to crawl back into his life.
âMorning,â he says, voice warm, as you hop into the car.Â
âGood Morning.â
He glances over, tapping the steering wheel. âTired?â You scratch your neck, letting out a soft groan. âNot at all.â
He actually laughs under his breath. âLiar.â Ugh. Of course he knows.
He drives for a bit, a comfortable quiet settling between you â or, well⊠almost comfortable. Then he says it. Soft. Almost shy. âI really like spending time with you.â
You freeze. Brain: 404 error. âWhy?â you say before your filter can save you. He looks over. âWhy not?â
âNo, likeââ you wave a hand, âyou donât have to do the whole⊠nice boyfriend act right now. No oneâs looking.âÂ
His brows pull together, confused, just a tiny bit hurt. âI know.â Itâs nothing. Itâs everything. You donât know what to do with it, so you shove it into the mental junk drawer and slam it shut.
â
After your second class, Bella picks you up and you two walk to your lockers, minding your own business, when Amy appears like a horror movie jump scare, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes on you like target practice.
âYou know James doesnât actually like you?â She says sweetly.
Itâs not like you didnât know that. The thing going on between James and you is all for show. Bella stiffens beside you. You close your locker and keep walking.Â
Amy clicks her tongue. âY/nâyou forgot something.â
You turn just in time to see her toss your scrunchie. It hits the floor at your feet like a punchline. Bellaâs eyes go HUGE. âUm. Whatâ?â
âIâll explain later,â you mutter, scooping it up with fingers that are absolutely trembling.
You donât go to his practice after that. Screw that. Screw all of it. You go home, burrow under your blanket, and try to convince yourself you donât care even though you obviously care so much it feels like a bruise.
Around six, thereâs a knock downstairs. Please donât tell me itâs who I think it is.
You hear your dad open the door.
âOh! Hi James!â
âIs Y/n home?â he asks, and his voice is nervous. Nervous? Since when does James get nervous? âYes, sheâs upstairs in her room, doing whatever you teenagers do.â
âCan Iâ uhâ can I talk to her?â
ââŠSure, come in.â
You want to sink into the floorboards. Your dad calls up the stairs, âY/n! James is here!â
Yeah, you heard.
A moment later, thereâs a soft knock on your door. âCan I come in?â You donât answer, and quickly pull the cover over you. He opens just enough to peek inside. âHey.â You sit up, knees tucked to your chest. âHiâ
He steps inside, closes the door behind him, runs a hand through his hair like heâs trying to hit CTRL+ALT+DEL on his own life. âWhy didnât you show up to my game? You always show up.âÂ
You look at him for a long second, then ask the question thatâs been chewing through your ribs all day.
âDid you⊠meet up with Amy last night? And then give her my favourite scrunchie?âÂ
His head snaps up fast. âNo.â
âNo?â
âI meanâyes and no. Itâs not what you think.â
You raise an eyebrow. âThen what happened?â
He sighs, shoulders dropping. âShe just spawned in front of my house as I was driving home. I never asked her to comeâ Your chest tightens, but you keep your voice steady. âRight. And when she took my scrunchie⊠you just let her take it?â He flinches a little â just barely, but you see it.
âYeah, thatâs my bad,â he says quietly. âBut hey, at least you got it back.â
You stay quiet, jaw set as you look down at the scrunchie on your wrist.
âAnd itâs not a big deal,â he adds quickly. âItâs just a scrunchie y/n.â He stops himself. âWell â not just a scrunchie. Yours.â Your lungs betray you with a small inhale. He moves a little closer, hands in his pockets. âIâm sorry,â he says softly. âReally. And⊠I wanna make it up to you.â
You tilt your head âHow?â And because heâs him â chaotic, dramatic, inexplicably confident â he smiles.
âYou heard of âSki Slopes Nation?â The ski trip party my friend hosts every year. Itâs, uh, kinda big. And really fun. I want you to come with me.â
You look down at yojr hands, unsure what to say. Strange, wouldnât he have asked Amy? âJames, I donât even know anyone there.â
âOkay,â he says, shrugging, taking one small step closer. âSo what? Youâll know me.â
âThatâs not enough. Youâll be distracted by you know who.â
He sighs, walking towards your bed as he puts his finger under your chin, turning your head to face him. He tilts his head, smirk creeping back. âYouâre the only distraction I need.â
Your stomach flips so hard you have to look away again. How can he say this when he doesnât even like you?
âThink about it,â he murmurs. He reaches for the doorknob, pauses, glances back at you with that soft half-smile. âAnd for the record, Iâll buy you snacks for the whole time weâre there.â
Then he leaves you alone with your heartbeat trying to set a new world record.
âWait⊠it was fake?!â Bellaâs voice is a cartoon of betrayalâhalf screech, half wounded martyr. Youâre sitting across from her at your usual greasy-spoon table, regretting your life decisions, and sheâs dramatically clutching her phone like youâve personally stolen her childhood.
âI thought he actually liked you,â she adds, scandalized. âI mean, everything! His stories, the way he looked at youâGod, I practically had a panic attack of joy.â
You shrug, because what else do you do when your life is embarrassing and baffling at the same time. âIt was the plan. To make Amy jealous. To get her to get back with James.â
Bella pokes your forehead with the end of a fry. âSo you were a pawn? That is actually a geniuâhorrible!â
You let out a sigh and then tell her about the ski thingâJamesâs invitation that felt suspiciously like a peace offering. Bella immediately goes into PR mode.
âWhy arenât you going?â she asks, all business now. âThis could be huge. Honestly, go. Iâll totally come with you if thatâll change your mind.â
You almost say no. You almost say yes. You do say, finally, âOkay, but you cannot leave my side for once.â
She claps and picks up your phone from the table. âText him now.â She demands while handing you her phone. Slowly, you unlock your phone and type in: âOk, Ski Slopes Nation it is.â Sent.
Weekend flies. Saturday morning, you stand by the curb, heels tapping like a metronome, expecting Bellaâs overzealous face any second. Typical you overpacked for a three night trip. James pulls up right on time, engine purring luxury. You get in. You do a full inventory of your nerves.
Ten minutes later you notice Bellaâs text: one-line replies.Â
Bella:Â Sorry guys, mom lowkey got mad because I fumbled my test đ. Maybe next time?
You stare at the message like it physically hurt. She didnât tell you before. This was her plan all along for you to go to the Ski Slopes Event alone with James. She was never going to come.
You turn to James, ready to explode with âwhere is she?â but the words scramble and bail right out of you. Your hand goes for the door handle. Youâre doing the awkward petty-exit thing when he reaches over, still driving, and grabs your wrist gently.
âWait,â he says. His voice is small, not demanding, justâŠearnest. âPlease. Donât go.â
You stare at his hand on yours. Your knee-jerk plan is to get out and walk, to reclaim dignity off the side of the highway, but the highway is suddenly very far away and his palm is somehow steadying.
âWhy?â you ask, because why not make him explain himself.
He pulls into the next parking spot, kills the engine, and turns fully to you like itâs the thing heâs meant to do all day. The car becomes its own little island of breath.
âI wanted you to come,â he says, simple and flat, like itâs obvious and heâs been dying to say it. âNot because of Amy. Not to make her jealous. I⊠I actually like doing this with you. I like spending time with you.â
Your brain files that under âunreliable informationâ and simultaneously under âthis actually matters.â You blink. âButâwasnât this whole thing supposed to get Amy back?â
He hesitates, then answers honestly, the way people answer when the truth is awkward but necessary. âYes that was the plan. At first. But I donât know if I want to go back to that. I donât know if I ever did. And the more time I spend with youânot pretendingâitâs not the same. Youâve made me felt something no one else has ever made me feel. But what I know is that I like you. A lot.â
You roll your eyes because dramatic vulnerability is embarrassing even when itâs kind of endearing. And your body heats up. Your cheeks are probably tomato colored, but you try staying nonchalant. âSo what, you just switched teams mid-game?â
He gives you one of those looks thatâs half apology, half dare. âSort of. Do you⊠do you wanna keep doing this? Not for Amy. For us. Keep thisâwhatever this isâgoing?â
You inhale, exhale, try to be sensible. âYou know how this looks,â you say. âWelp, the love letter sure worked outâjust now how I expected.â
He smiles, small and stubborn. âIt sure did.â
You canât help the laugh that escapesâpart incredulous, part hopeful. You tuck your hand back into yours under the dash. âFine,â you say, because why be brave when you can be cautiously stupid instead. âBut Iâm watching you. One misstep and I will glare you into ashes.â
âDeal,â he says, a grin tugging at his lips thatâs half triumphant, half relieved. âAlso, Iâm getting your scrunchie back. Properly next time.â
You look out at the highway ahead, and despite the chaos, despite the lying and the staging and the way your life currently reads like a badly edited montage, thereâs a tiny part of you that answers before your brain can veto it.
âOkay,â you whisper. âLetâs keep doing thisâcarefully.â
He squeezes your hand. The car pulls back onto the road, and the rest of the world sounds like muffled static for a second, just you and the hum of the engine and the very complicated possibility of something messy and real.
âAre you sure you have snow tires on?â You double check as more snow comes down while you guys drive up the mountain. The atmosphere in the car was not quiet, but soft. Not awkward anymore, not tense, just this gentle humming between you twoâlike the car has its own heartbeat now and it somehow synced to yours. James lets out a low chuckle, reaching for your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.Â
âIâm sure y/n.â The way he spoke your name was so attractive yet reassuring. Snow lines the trees like powdered sugar and the sky is a blue so obnoxiously pretty it looks edited. James keeps flicking quick glances at you like heâs checking if youâre still real. Youâre still trying to get over the fact that youâre seated in Jameâs car that actually has feelings for you.
When he parks outside the lodge, you hop out and the cold instantly punches your lungs. He grabs the bags before you can even protest because heâs a show-off with biceps, apparently. Inside, the place is gorgeousâwarm lights, crackling fireplaces, couples everywhere wearing matching sweaters like theyâre in a Pinterest board.
James leads you down a hallway lined with wooden doors and stops at one. Unlocks it, then opens the door. You follow him in. And freeze.
There are multiple reasons why you freeze. First and most obvious reason, the scenery. You knew James and his friends were filthy rich, but this is on a next level. The place was small, but it felt so cozy and expensive at the same time. Second reason, the bed. Notice how itâs bed and not beds plural?Â
ââŠHold on,â you say, voice thin. âWhereâsâuhâthe other bed?â There is one bed. One. Big, yes. Fluffy, absolutely. But still ONE BED.
James glances at it like itâs the weather. âOh. Yeah. They ran out of doubles.â He looks at you over his shoulder. âIs that okay? It is pretty spacious so we can sleep on either ends.âÂ
Is that OK??
Your soul: NOPE. SOUND THE ALARMS. EVACUATE THE PREMISES.
Your mouth: âYeah itâs fine.â
Typical y/n. Always lying out of your ass crack.
He tosses his duffel on the floor and starts unpacking, casual as ever, while your brain is mapping out emergency escape routes and calculating the surface area of the bed to figure out how far you can sleep from him without dying.
âWeâve got, like, four hours until the big event,â he says, kicking off his shoes. âItâs basically a party with drinks and games. Then we go skiing. People kinda go all out.â
Skiing? You? âIs it bad that I donât know how to Ski?â
He snortsâsoft, fond. âItâs okay. Iâll teach you if youâre down. Iâm sure youâll be able to manage.
He finishes unpacking and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. âYou can talk, yâknow,â he says, teasing. âYouâre doing that quiet-stressing face again.â
âIâm notââ
âYou are.â
âStop reading my mind.â
âStop being readable.â
You grab your water bottle just to have something to do. He watches you, amused. The silence stretchesânot awkward, but charged. Like static in the air before lightning strikes.Â
You sit on the edge of the bed, rambling about somethingâhow cold it is, how Bella tricked you, how the hallway smells weirdly like cinnamon. You donât stop talking because if you stop, youâll think, and if you think, youâll panic.
Halfway through your rant about overpriced ski equipment, you notice heâs not responding. Heâs just⊠staring. Not in a bored way. Or in a polite-listening way.
In a hungry way. In a memorizing-your-mouth-movements way. In a way no fake boyfriend should ever stare. No one has ever looked at you like that.
You clear your throat. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
Jamesâs voice is low, a little rough. âI donât know.â
You short-circuit. âIâwhatâyouâyou donât knowâ?â
âYeah.â He shifts closerâjust enough for your knees to touch.Â
You swallow. Loudly. âCute.â
âMm.â His eyes drop to your lips like gravity dragged them there. âAnd distracting.â
Your heart is doing backflips. Your hands start sweating. You are ninety percent sure youâre about to ascend straight off the bed.
âJamesâŠâ you whisper, though youâre not sure if itâs a warning or an invitation. He moves closer, slow enough to give you time to pull back. You donât. You couldnât even if you tried. His forehead almost touches yours, breath warming your skin. âTell me if you donât want this,â he murmurs.
You donât answer. You lean in. Never once in life were you expecting James to be your first kiss. Obviously in those little fantasies of yours, but never in real life.
His lips brush yoursâbarely, like a question heâs too scared to ask out loudâand your breath catches so hard your ribs ache. He tilts his head, closes the space, kisses you properly this time, soft but hungry, like heâs been holding this in for weeks.
He pulls back, breathless, eyes flashing with something you canât quite name. Then suddenly heâs dragging you into his lap, steady hands guiding you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you in for another kiss. This one is hungrierâmessy, frantic, almost starving.
A small moan slips out of you the second his tongue pushes into your mouth. Heâs goodâtoo good. And you were the complete opposite. Heat blooms low in your stomach, and you can feel him hardening beneath you, the realization sending a shiver through your whole body.
He chuckles against your lips, the vibration buzzing straight through you as his tongue keeps exploring your mouth.
âYou like that?â he murmurs, fingers trailing up your thigh. You nod instantly, needy, like your body answered before your brain could catch up.
He leans in, breath brushing your ear. âTell me what else you want,â he murmurs. You part your lips, but nothing comes outâyouâre too wound up, too turned on from everything heâs already done.
âTell me, baby.â The pet name makes your pussy clench around nothing.
âIâI donât know,â you finally manage to whisper.
âYou donât know?â he repeats, eyebrow lifting in a teasing way. Embarrassment floods your cheeks as you shake your head and bring your hands up to hide your face.
âHey,â he says softly, pulling your hands away. Your eyes meet, and he him unintentionally bitting his lower lips, his eyes now roaming all over your body.
Before you can even react, heâs kissing you againâdeep, consuming, pulling you straight back into the heat of him.
âDo you know how to grind on me?â he asks when he pulls away again. You shake your head no.
âHere, let me guide you.â
His hands settle on your ass, gentle but sure, guiding your hips back and forth over his clothed cock as he pulls you back into the kiss. You both let out soft moans, the sound tangled between your mouths. Itâs overwhelming, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to pull another sound out of him.
âGod, baby⊠you look so hot on top of me,â he whispers, his hands roaming over your ass again.
Before you know it, Jamesâs hands slide down to the zipper of your jeans. He wants moreâyou can feel it in the way his breath catches, the way his fingers hesitate there like heâs waiting for permission. You stop him, catching his hands before he can go any further.
He looks up at you immediately, eyes searching your face.
âSomething wrong?â he asks softly, tilting his head just a little.
âIâI donât want to go further than that,â you say, your voice small but steady. âNot right now.â
James searches your face like heâs trying to read every micro-expression youâve ever had in your whole life.
âAm I making you feel uncomfortable?â he asks quietly. You shake your head fast. âNo, itâs not that. I just⊠donât wanna do that right now.â
His shoulders loosen immediately. âOh. Okay.â And the way he says itâsoft, not offended, not disappointedâmakes something warm twist in your chest.
He presses one last kiss to your forehead before sliding you gently off his lap. âIâm gonna go shower,â he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, âthen weâll get ready for the party.â
When he disappears into the bathroom and the door clicks shut, the room feels too big. Too quiet. Too⊠loud inside your head. You flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling again, because apparently thatâs your hobby now. And, of course, your brain immediately starts being a menace.
Yeah, he used to do this with Amy. Plus, breakup wasnât even that long ago. Maybe youâre just some transitional little detour while he untangles whatever is still left inside him.
You groan into a pillow. âGet it together,â you mumble at yourself. Your overthinking is doing parkour.
Then the bathroom door swings openâand your soul exits your body.
James steps out with a towel sitting dangerously low on his hips, droplets rolling down his chest like they were directed by a film crew. His torso? Toned. Defined. Absolutely from-the-cover-of-a-ski-lodge-soccer-player-romance-novel level sculpted.
His dyed dirty blonde hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, making him look unfairly good. You snap your gaze to the window like it personally offended you.
He grabs his bag and looks over at you. âYou gonna get ready?â he asks casually, like he isnât currently the hottest man alive standing half-naked five feet away.
âUhâyeah. Yeah, I was just⊠thinking.â (About your sanity evaporating.)
You peel yourself off the bed and rummage through your bag, already annoyed at yourself because you did not pack for a fancy winter party. You pull out something normal, plain, safeâbecause of course you brought nothing special. James glances over with a soft smile. âGoing casual?â You shrug. âI didnât really bring, like⊠party clothes.â
His eyes drag over your outfit, then your face.
âYouâll look amazing,â he says simply.
The Ski Slopes Nationâs âbig eventâ is already at full volume by the time you and James walk in. Itâs loud. LikeâŠÂ loud-loud. Bass thumping through the floorboards, laughter coming from every corner, people yelling over each other like theyâre competing for the Olympic gold medal in being obnoxious. James doesnât even flinch. Heâs been to a million of these. You on the other handâfeel like you just walked into a live-action TikTok POV.
James keeps a warm hand at the small of your back as he leads you through the crowd. âCâmon,â he says, leaning down so you can hear him, breath brushing your ear. âGotta introduce you.â
His friends spot him immediately.
âAYYYY ZHAO YUFAN BOY!â A giant wasian guyâMartinâthrows his arms up like James just scored a goal. Heâs tall. Like⊠tree-level tall. The kind of tall that makes you physically tilt your head back to make eye contact. Next to him is Keonhoâsmaller, ridiculously handsome, annoyingly charming. Both of them stare at you for a beat, confused as hell.
James just grins. âGuys, this is Y/N.â Martin nods like heâs analyzing an alien species. âOhhhâŠÂ sheâs the one.â Keonho elbows him. âBro, donât be weird.â
You want to evaporate. James squeezes your hand like he can tell. People around the room keep glancing. Whispering. Doing double-takes. James showing up with another girl this soon after Amy? Yeah. You can practically feel the gossip starting to ferment.
You clear your throat. âIâm, uh, gonna grab something to drink.â James nods, gentle. âIâll be right here.â The second you leave, Martin leans in with that tall-guy nosiness. âDude. Sheâs so different from Amy.â
James rolls his eyes. âOkay?â
âNo, like⊠in a good way,â Martin says. âSheâs calm. Doesnât have that whole⊠Iâm-influencing-the-room energy.â
Keonho smirks. âAnd you like her. Itâs obvious.â James gives them a look but doesnât deny it. Across the room, Amy is staringâhard. Snow-white expensive looking sweater that somehow makes her look like a judgmental snow angel. She watches James talk to his friends, then looks you up and down like youâre the clearance rack version of her.
You return with a drinkâyour first real drink everâand try to pretend the room isnât spinning from nerves. You take a sip. And another. And another. Warmth blooms in your chest, buzzing under your skin. James finds you instantly. âHey.â
His brows pinch. âYou good? You seem⊠off.â
You look at him. And your brain decides now is the perfect time to unhinge.
âYou⊠used to have sex with Amy a lot, right?â
James chokes. Like, full cough-wheeze combo. âThatâs whatâs been bothering you?â
You shrug, trying to play it off. âItâdoesnât really matter. I mean⊠I know youâre with me right now, so thatâs all that counts.â
James steps closer, hand cupping your jaw gently. âY/N. Sheâs my past. Youâre the one Iâm choosing now. And every second with you feels⊠different. Better.â
Your chest squeezes so tight you forget how to swallow.
You look down at your shoes. âItâs just⊠I guess my first time with you would be your⊠I donât know⊠however-many-th time with her.â
A breath leaves himâsoft, understanding. âHey. Look at me.â
âIâm not comparing you to her. Iâm not thinking about her when Iâm with you. Iâm here, with you. And I like us. A lot.â
You nod slowly. âYeah. Okay. Youâre right.â And just like that, the tension melts a little.
The night blurs in the best wayâlaughter, games, Jamesâs friends warming up to you, your drink going down way too easily. Youâre not drunk, but definitely⊠pleasantly wobbly. James stays close the whole time, his arm brushing yours, hand grazing your lower back, fingers brushing your knuckles. Subtle, tiny things that keep your brain fried the entire night.Â
At one point Martin challenges James to some stupid game that involves taking shots and hitting a mini soccer ball into a trash can, and you swear the cabin shakes when everyone screams after he makes it. Youâre laughing. Actually laughing. And your cheeks hurt in the happiest way.
Eventually, when youâre both a little tipsy and the cold outside feels way too sharp, James wraps an arm around your waist and walks you back to the room.
Inside, you both stand awkwardly over the giant bed again.
âUh⊠Iâll sleep on that side,â you say, pointing to the edge like itâs a danger zone.
James nods. âYeah. Sure.â
You settle under the covers, facing away, trying to breathe normally. James climbs in on the opposite end, careful, respectful, leaving a canyon of space between you. As you close your eyes, the coldness of your body was stopping you from falling asleep. After laying there for a few minutes, you finally resort to your last option.
âJames?â
He replies immediately. âYeah?â
âIâm cold.â
Thereâs a beat. A quiet little inhale. You could practically hear him breathing from the other side of the bed. Then the mattress dips as he moves closer, sliding an arm around your waist and gently pulling you back into him. Warm. Solid. Safe. You exhale without meaning to, your body relaxing instantly into his.
His breath brushes your neck. âBetter?â
âYeah,â you whisper.
And just like that, wrapped in him, heartbeat syncing with his, you fall asleep.
The next night creeps in faster than you expect. The final night of the tripâthe big skiing day. The skyâs already going dark-blue, that weird shade where you canât tell if itâs late afternoon or 11 p.m., and the cold is sharp enough to pinch your nose.
James helps you zip up your jacket, his fingers brushing your neck, sending chills that have nothing to do with the weather.
âYou ready?â he asks, all smug confidence.
âNo,â you answer instantly.
He laughs. âYouâll be fine. Iâll teach you.â
Outside, the slopes glow under tall floodlights, making the snow sparkle like someone dumped glitter everywhere. Kids and pros and show-offs are zooming down the hill like Olympic qualifiers. Youâre already planning your funeral.
James clips your boots in for you because he doesnât trust you with anything involving gravity.
âOkay,â he says, stepping behind you, hands gripping your arms gently. âLean forward a tiny bit. Just enough to not fall backwards.â
âOkay,â you say, immediately leaning like a malfunctioning tower.
He steadies you. âNot that muchâunless you wanna eat snow.â
âIâm gonna eat snow regardless.â
âThatâs fair.â
He teaches you slowly, patientlyâhow to stop, how to turn, how not to accidentally kill yourself. And you⊠kinda get the hang of it? Ish? You manage to go five whole meters without face-planting.
Every time you wobble, heâs right there catching you by the waist. Every time you mess up, he laughsânot mean, but soft, fond, like he likes seeing you try. Eventually, youâre actually skiingâwell, sliding down at the speed of an elderly turtle, but still.
James skis backwards in front of you, because of course he can. His eyes are warm, cheeks flushed red from the cold.
âYouâre doing good!â he calls out.
âYouâre lying to be nice!â
âI am,â he admits.
You finally stop at the bottom and nearly fall, but he lunges forward, catching you. Your helmet bumps into his chest.
âHey,â he breathes, smiling down at you. âSee? You didnât die.â
âYet,â you mutter.
After a while, you both sit in the snow, helmets off, catching your breath. Snow somehow gets down the back of your jacket and into your gloves and probably your soul.
You shriek. âOH MY GOD ITâS IN MY SHIRTââ James bursts out laughing. âYou good?â
You do the most logical thing: grab a handful of snow and yeet it at his face.
He freezes. Then smirks. âOh, itâs on.â
Next thing you know, youâre in a full snowball warâscreaming, laughing, slipping everywhere, James chasing you around trees with perfect aim while you miss every single throw like youâre allergic to accuracy.
By the time you both stumble back toward the lodge, youâre breathless and soaked and ridiculously happy. Right outside the hallway to your room, James bumps your shoulder lightly. âHey, uh⊠go ahead to the room. I need to tell Martin something real quick.â
âOh. Okay.â
He kisses your cheekâquick, warmâbefore turning away.
You head inside. You shower, change, check your phone, sit on the bed, go through photos, scroll TikTok, stare at the ceiling, contemplate the meaning of lifeâŠ
Forty-five minutes pass.
The door finally opens. James steps in, rubbing the back of his neck like heâs tired. âSorry. Martin was being annoying.â
You smile. âItâs okay. I had fun these two days. Thank you for convincing me to come.â
His eyes soften. âIâm glad you did.â
â
The next morning is chaoticâbags everywhere, people rushing, doors slamming, winter air biting at your face. James looks exhausted, barely awake, stuffing clothes into his duffel like a zombie.
His other friend is waiting for him outside, yelling for him to hurry.
You zip your jacket and head into the hallway. Martinâs there, tying his boots.
âHey, Martin?â
He looks up. âHm?â
âWhat did you and James talk about last night?â
He blinks. âLast night? âŠWe didnât talk.â
Your stomach drops. âHe didnât see you?â
âNo? I didnât see him at all.â
Oh. Oh great. Fanfuckingtastic. A cold wave rolls through your chest harder than the mountain wind.
When you climb into the passenger seat of Jamesâs car, heâs quietâclearly tired. He yawns as he turns the engine on. The drive is silent for a long time. Like⊠too long.
Finally, he speaks. âAre you going to the match today?â
âNo.â
He glances at you, confused. âWhy not?â
You keep your eyes on the window. âBecause I know you didnât go see Martin.â
The air tightens.
âSo who was it?â you ask. James doesnât answer. Your heart beats loud enough to hurt. The coach starts calling him the second you guys pull into the parking lot.
âTell me,â you whisper. âDid you go see Amy?â
âLookââ he starts, voice low, strained, âI can explain.â
The coach yells again. âFIVE MINUTES, JAMES!â
Your throat burns. âAm I just your second best?â
He wincesâlike the words physically hit him.
The coach yells again, sharper this time: âLast warning!â
James steps out of the car, but turns back, gripping the door.
âPlease,â he says, eyes desperate. âJust come to the game. I promise Iâll explain everything after. Please.â
And then heâs gone, jogging off toward the field, leaving you sitting in the quiet car, heart pounding like itâs trying to break out.
â
The school library is quiet in that specific after-school way â soft humming lights, the vague smell of old pages, one kid coughing somewhere like heâs auditioning for a Victorian death scene. Youâre still not sure about meeting up with James after his games. It has been a hell of a week,
Youâve been curled up in a corner armchair for about an hour or two with some random book you grabbed just to distract your brain from⊠everything. Itâs working, sorta.Â
Until you flip the page and land on a quote that hits you like a truck:
âIf someone chooses silence when they owe you honesty, let them go.
But if your heart aches louder than your prideâŠ
youâll find your way back anyway.â
You stare at it like it personally slapped you across the face. Why does everywhere you go have to remind you of James. And then you glance at the clock.
You are one hour late to the end Jamesâs game.Â
Like â not fifteen minutes, not âoops my bad,â
but a FULL sixty minutes late.
âShit.â
You jump up so fast the librarian gives you a death glare that could shatter glass.
You shove the book back on the shelf sideways (crime) and practically sprint out. Itâs pouring outside â full dramatic movie thunderstorm pouring. The kind that soaks your socks instantly.
You take out your sad little umbrella and start the walk home, hugging your jacket to your chest like thatâll protect you from your own thoughts. But when you reach the edge of the outdoor courtsâthe ones the team cuts across after gamesâyou pause,
Because thereâs someone standing there. Alone. Soaked. Head down. Kicking at the gravel like heâs fighting ghosts. James.
Heâs drenched top to bottom, rainwater mixed with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, jersey clinging to him. And heâs⊠waiting. Still. Just standing there like he refuses to leave until something changes. Your chest does something stupid and painful, a mixture of guilt and anger.
You walk up quietly, stepping behind him, lifting the umbrella up on your toes so it covers the both of you. One tiny circle of dryness in a whole world of rain.
He tenses firstâthen turns slowly. The moment he sees you, his expression crumples in this soft, relieved way that knocks the breath right out of you.
ââŠYou came,â he says, voice low, almost disbelieving.
You swallow. âYeah. Iâ I was late. And then it started raining, so I was just walking home butâŠâ
Your eyes flick to him.
âBut youâre still here.â
You lower the umbrella slightly so you can see his face better. Drops of rain slide down his cheek, and he looks exhausted â not physically, but in that âIâve been stressing about losing you for hoursâ kind of way.
âWhat made you come?â he asks quietly. You shrug, breath fogging the air. âI⊠read something. And it made me realize I wasnât done. With us.â
His jaw clenches, and he looks away for a second like heâs overwhelmed.
You take a small step closer. âWho were you with, James?â
He lets out a breath thatâs practically a sigh of defeat. âAmy.â
Your stomach sinks â until he lifts his head, eyes sharp, honest.
âBut not for what you think.â
You donât say anything. You just hold the umbrella and wait.
âI went to tell her to stop,â he says. âTo stop showing up everywhere. To stop spreading shit about you. About us. To stop acting like I owe her something.â
His voice strengthens, anger threading through it.
âI told her if she messed with you one more time, Iâdââ He stops, shaking his head. ââIâd actually lose it. I didnât want things to blow up in front of you, so I waited until later. Thatâs it. Thatâs all it was.â
Your eyes sting. And your voice comes out smaller than you want.
ââŠWhy didnât you just tell me?â
He steps closer, rain dripping off his jaw. âBecause when you asked, you already looked like Iâd punched a hole in your chest. And then the coach was yelling at me, and I panicked.â He runs a hand through his hair. âI shouldâve told you. Iâm sorry.â
The rain softens around you, or maybe you just stop noticing it.
You whisper, âI thought you were⊠choosing her again.â
His face twists â hurt, like the idea physically wounds him.
âY/N.â
He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist gently, like heâs asking permission.
âYou were never my second best.â Your throat closes up.
âAnd I waited,â he adds. âFor an hour. In the rain. Just in case there was even a 1% chance youâd show up.â You let out a tiny, shaky laugh. âThatâs really dumb of you.â
He smiles, soft and crooked. âYeah. But Iâm yours, so⊠it tracks.â
You look at himâreally lookâsoaked, shivering, but eyes warm like he never doubted youâd return.
You step forward and tuck yourself against him, arms looping around his waist. He exhales like heâs been holding his breath the whole day and pulls you in, umbrella tilting awkwardly over both your heads.
His chest is warm even though his clothes are freezing. His chin rests on your hair. His heartbeat is steady and loud.
âHey,â he murmurs into your ear.
âWhat?â
âThanks for coming back.â
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
âDonât make me chase you through a storm again,â you mumble.
He chuckles, brushing your cheek with his thumb. âThen donât leave me behind.â
You shrug playfully. âNo promises.â
He leans down, forehead touching yours, breaths mixing in the cold air.
Warm and close and full of everything youâve been too scared to say.
âLet me walk you home,â he whispers.
âYeah,â you breathe. âLetâs go home.â
He takes the umbrella from you, threads his fingers through yours, and the two of you walk out of the storm together â matching steps, matching heartbeats â leaving every misunderstanding behind on the wet pavement.
And for the first time in a long, long timeâŠ
You donât feel like youâre someoneâs temporary choice. You feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be. With him.
âthey line up for my face, not meâ - ì ìì€ James x y/n
⊠James was supposed to be untouchable â popular, distant, safe. But one rumour, one almost-confession, and one late-night knock on your door turns him into the boy you canât stop thinking about. And when he finally lets himself want you back? âïž wc. 10851 || âŒïž popular boy x new girl, (james x y/n) kissing, harsh language
đ a/n : first cortis fic :>
Your parents kept saying the new house had âcharacter,â which was basically parent-code for old but not haunted enough to complain about. You stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes stacked like beige skyscrapers, and tried to convince yourself this was fine.
New city.
New school.
New everything.
Totally fine.
Your shoes stuck a little to the hardwood floor with every step â the previous owners definitely did not believe in mops â and the echo in the house made it feel bigger than it actually was. Your mom fluttered from room to room, narrating where the furniture could go, like imaginary interior design was her coping mechanism. Your dad was hauling boxes like he was competing in the âI can do this without helpâ Olympics.
Jiwoong, meanwhile, had elected to contribute absolutely nothing by lying sprawled on the carpet of his new room, mumbling something about ârecharging his social batteryâ after the move. Classic.
You nudged one of your boxes toward your bedroom with your foot. It was light â probably clothes. You already had a sinking feeling you were going to procrastinate unpacking until you were forced to choose between wearing wrinkled shirts or doing laundry at 2 a.m.
Your room had big windows that let in warm afternoon sunlight, lighting up all the dust floating in the air like dramatic movie particles. The air smelled like fresh paint, cardboard, and the weird emptiness of a place that didnât feel like yours yet.
You flopped onto your mattress â still wrapped in plastic, squeaking under you like a dying dolphin â and stared at the ceiling.
Moving wasnât new. Youâd done this before.
But the feeling in your chest was.
A mix of anticipation and dread, like the world was about to shove you into something and you werenât sure if itâd be exciting or just⊠a lot.
From the hallway, Jiwoong yelled, âHey! Do you want the desk by the window or can I take it?â
âYou already took it,â you yelled back.
A guilty pause.
ââŠYeah.â
You snorted. Same old brother, new address.
Your mom poked her head in, cheeks flushed from cleaning. âWeâre ordering takeout. Anything you want?â
âSomething spicy,â you said. Comfort-food level spicy. Something that tasted like home, whatever âhomeâ even meant anymore.
When she left, your phone buzzed on the mattress beside you. You glanced down at the screen:
Stella Bella: âDid you move in?? Howâs the house???â
You smiled a little. Stella wasnât a long-time friend â more like a chaotic miracle you ran into at the mall a couple months back. Youâd been hovering near the same sale rack, both reaching for the same hoodie, and somehow ended up wandering the mall together for two hours. Ever since then, you guys have been inseparable.Â
You figured that was that â a fun one-time thing â until you learned she was transferring to the same secondary school.
Small world. Or maybe the universe just had a weird sense of humor.
You snapped a picture of your room: half-unpacked boxes, your plastic-wrapped mattress, and the single lonely water bottle on the floor.
You: âItâs⊠coming together. Slowly.â
Stella Bella: âLMAO babe that looks like a crime scene. Need help tomorrow?? Iâm coming over.â
You laughed, tossing your phone to the side.
You hadnât even stepped foot into your new school yet. You didnât know the teachers, the hallways, the people â whether theyâd be nice or judgmental or just aggressively normal.
But at least you had one familiar face already waiting for you there.
And that was something.
You lay back again, the faint sounds of your family moving around the house filling the quiet. Tomorrow would probably be messy and confusing and too bright too early⊠but tonight?
Tonight was just settling into the new silence.
The calm before everything starts.
You woke up to the kind of sunlight that felt rude.
Too bright, too early, too⊠optimistic for what your brain was prepared to deal with.
Your alarm hadnât even gone off yet. You stared at the ceiling for a solid ten seconds before your body finally agreed to sit up.
First day of school.
Your stomach fluttered â a weird combo of nerves and caffeine withdrawal.
You swung your legs off the mattress, peeled off the leftover plastic, and dug through your half-unpacked boxes for something that said âIâm new but not socially dead.â
Easier said than done.
Fifteen minutes later, your room looked like a clothing explosion.
Jeans? Too stiff.
Skirt? Too âtrying.â
Sweatpants? Too âI give up.â
You landed on something in-between â comfy but flattering. A simple top, layered jewelry, socks that didnât match but looked intentional. Good enough.
As you exit the house , Jiwoong was already dressed, leaned back on the car seat, scrolling his phone like this was just another Tuesday. His hair looked perfect in that âI swear I didnât tryâ way.
âReady?â he asked, grabbing his bag.
âDefine ready.â
Before he could answer, your phone buzzed.
Stella Bella:
âHave you left yet??  Come save me before I freeze or get kidnapped by a raccoon.â
You blinked.
âStellaâs already there.â
Jiwoong raised an eyebrow. âWho?â
âMomâs third cousin.â
Jiwoong looked at yoh weird.
âNo you idiot, sheâs my friend!â
He shrugged, turning on the car engine. âCool. Letâs go.â
The second you opened the car door, Stella practically lunged forward â curls bouncing, oversized hoodie swallowing her whole body, coffee in one hand like a lifeline.
âY/n!â she yelled, arms out. âYou look adorableââ
Her eyes slid past you.
Stopped. Froze. Jaw: dropped.
Because she was looking at your brother.
Fuck.
âOh,â she breathed dramatically, âmy God.â
You stared at her, then at Jiwoong, then back at her.
âStella,â you whispered, âplease close your mouth.â
But she couldnât. She was in awe.
Like sheâd just seen her celebrity crush step out of a K-drama fog machine.
Jiwoong blinked. ââŠHi?â
Stella whispered, âWhy didnât you tell me you had a brother who looks like that?â
You elbowed her so fast you nearly punctured a rib.
âHeâs just⊠normal.â
Jiwoong shrugged, unbothered, already stepping off the porch. âIâm heading to meet some guys. See you at lunch.â
Stella watched him leave like she was witnessing a tragic love story unfold in real-time.
You snapped your fingers in front of her face. âFocus. School. Survival. Tour. Letâs go.â
She grinned, finally recovering. âRight. Right! Sugarâs waiting at the caf.â
âSugarâŠ?â you repeated.
âMm-hm.â Stella wiggled her eyebrows. âYouâll like her. Sheâs chaos in eyeliner.â
Fantastic.
The school building looked bigger in person â tall, brick, slightly intimidating, like the kind of place where getting lost was guaranteed at least once a day.
Inside, the main office smelled like paper and stale coffee. You checked in with the principal, got your schedule, a map, and a smile that somehow managed to be both polite and exhausted.
Stella looped her arm around yours the second you stepped back into the hallway.
âOkay,â she declared, âyour unofficial tour begins now. Sugar! Over here!â
A girl with glossy black hair, winged eyeliner sharp enough to commit a felony, and the most unimpressed expression youâd ever seen turned toward you.
She flicked her gaze up and down â assessing â then nodded like she approved.
âYouâre the new kid,â Sugar said. âCute shoes.â
âThanks?â you laughed.
âCome on,â Stella chimed, dragging both of you toward the stairs. âWeâll show you the important stuff first â bathrooms with good lighting, which teachers give pop quizzes, which corners to avoid unless you want to get trampledââ
âAnd which vending machines actually work,â Sugar added.
You felt yourself relax â just a little.
New city, new school, new everything⊠but this didnât feel impossible.
Just unfamiliar in a way that might actually turn into something good.
As Stella talked your ear off and Sugar pointed out shortcuts like she had insider blueprints of the building, you had no idea that your life was about to get significantly more complicated.
Stella led you through the hallway like sheâd been appointed your emotional support GPS.
âFirst class is English,â she announced, swinging your joined arms dramatically. âLucky for you, we have it together.â
âThank the lords,â you muttered. Getting abandoned on the first day wouldâve been cruel and unusual punishment.
The classroom was already half-full, clusters of people chatting, comparing schedules, leaning back in their seats like theyâd been glued there since last spring. You felt that tiny pinch of self-consciousness that comes with walking into a room where everyone else already knows the drill.
Stella waved at someone across the room, then tugged you toward two open desks.
âSit,â she commanded playfully, dropping her bag with a thud. âYou can hide behind me if needed. I bite.â
âComforting,â you deadpanned, though you did feel a little lighter.
People glanced your way â nothing mean, just the kind of curiosity that comes with new faces. A few whispers. A few stares. Typical.
Before you could get too in your head, the classroom door shut and the teacher â a woman who looked like she required three coffees to function â clapped her hands.
âGood morning, everyone. Letâs settle in.â
She pushed her glasses up. âWe have a new student joining us today. Would you like to introduce yourself?â
Your soul briefly left your body.
Stella nudged your leg under the desk, mouthing you got this.
You stood, giving a polite smile â or something that you hoped resembled one.
âHi. Um⊠Iâm Y/n. I just moved here.â
A few nods. Someone in the cat called, another gave her a thumbs up. The teacher waved you to sit down, already launching into attendance.
You exhaled and sank into your seat.
But as the teacher started droning about syllabus expectations, your attention drifted â unintentionally â across the room.
Sitting just a couple rows over, angled slightly toward the window, earbuds dangling around his neck like he forgot to put them away. His hair caught the light, soft and messy in that I-totally-woke-up-hot way, and his posture was relaxed, long legs stretched under the desk like he owned that amount of space without even trying.
He wasnât looking at you, or anyone. Just absentmindedly tapping his pen against his notebook.
Too good to be real. Almost unreal, honestly.
You leaned slightly toward Stella. âWhoâs that guy?â
She didnât even pretend not to know who you meant. One glance at where you were looking and she made a face.
âOh. Him.â
Her voice dropped to a whisper. âYeah, heâs⊠I mean, look at him. Obviously.â She shrugged. âBut nobody really knows much about him. Super weird, super hot, and super single. I think his names is Jay-no James or something.â
You bit back a laugh. âSo⊠a hot weirdo.â
âExactly.â Stella pointed casually with her eyes. âEveryone agrees heâs kind of the schoolâs, like⊠golden boy? But in an overstimulated cat way. But heâs approachable. Like if you had a question, heâd be open to talk about stuff. No one knows much about him though, mostly his inner circle of loud friends.â
Stella leaned in. âAlso, donât worry. Literally everyone thinks heâs pretty. Youâre not special.â
âWow. Thanks.â
âAnytime.â
Across the room, the boy shifted, flipping his pencil between his fingers with lazy ease. You looked away before he could accidentally catch you staring.
Your heart didnât skip or flutter or explode â nothing dramatic.
But something in the air shifted.
A simple, tiny awareness.
The kind that doesnât mean anything yetâŠbut eventually will.
The bell rang, everyone bolted like they hadnât eaten since the Jurassic era, and you⊠well, you stood in the hallway staring at your schedule like it might suddenly just end it all right then and there.
Stella had said, âMeet us near the caf! You canât miss it!â You absolutely missed it.
You turned left when you shouldâve turned right, walked into a random math wing, ended up near a trophy case glittering with sports achievements you did not care about, and somehow found yourself facing a locked supply closet.
Fantastic.
Your first day and you were already lost in the academic wilderness.
You pulled out your phone.
You: âI think Iâm in Narnia.â
Stella Bella: âSTOP MOVING IâM COMING TO FIND YOUâ
You waited, clutching your lunch tray (which you regretted paying for the moment you realized the lasagna was suspiciously gray), until a familiar voice echoed from down the hall.
âY/N!â
Stella skidded around the corner like sheâd sprinted the whole way, Sugar strolling behind her with the calm indifference of someone who did not run for anyone.
âThere you are!â Stella huffed, grabbing your arm dramatically. âWhy didnât you text me sooner?? I thought you were kidnapped.â
âI texted you literally two minutes ago.â
âExactly. Two minutes too long.â
Sugar nudged you with her shoulder. âCome on. We saved you a spot in the back.â
The cafeteria was loud. Like, concert bass loud. And smelled like pizza, fries, and teenage stress. They led you to a table tucked in the corner, away from the chaos.
Stella plopped down. âOkay, okay, so⊠first impressions. Spill.â
You opened your mouth⊠and she answered her own question.
âThe first thing you noticed was James, wasnât it?â
You choked on air. âWhatâ noâ I was justâ he was sitting right there!â
Sugar snorted. âMhm. Sure.â
You narrowed your eyes. âAnd what, you guys didnât notice him on your first day?â
Stella and Sugar exchanged a look.
Then, in perfect unison:
âOh, absolutely.â
âHe looked like a Pinterest board walked into class,â Stella said.
âLike god said âlet me just try something real quick,ââ Sugar added.
You shoved a fry in your mouth to hide your smile. âYou guys are making way too big of a deal out of this.â
âNot really.â Sugar shrugged. âIâm actually friends with his sister. Livie? Weâre in art together.â
Your eyebrows shot up. âSince when did he have a sister?â
âSince Birth?â Sugar twirled her straw. âAnyways, super cool. Kinda quiet. But she told me that he has never had dated anyone.â
Stella leaned in so fast her hair nearly slapped you. âNo way??â
Sugar lowered her voice even though no one was listening.
âAnd has never even held hands with a girl.â
Stellaâs jaw dropped. âWhat do you mean ever?â
âI mean ever ever,â Sugar repeated. âLike, according to Livie, heâs never had a girlfriend or whatever. Never a situationship. Never even kissed anyone at a party.â
You blinked. That⊠didnât match the boy you saw in English â pretty, composed, attention-grabbing without even trying.
âThatâs⊠surprising,â you said honestly.
âRight?â Stella waved her fork. âI swear, half the school has thrown themselves at him.â
Sugar smirked. âAnd he dodges every single one like heâs in a video game.â
You spilled out of the building with the rest of the student population, everyone scattering to buses and parking lots. Your shoulders ached from carrying a backpack that had no business being that heavy, and all you wanted was to sit down somewhere that didnât smell like teenage sweat and institutional despair.
You spotted your brother leaning against your car, scrolling on his phone like he owned the vehicle and the entire surrounding ZIP code.
Jiwoong looked up when you approached. âHey. Survived?â
âBarely,â you said, unlocking the doors. âI think my lunch mightâve been sentient.â
âNice,â he grinned, sliding into the passenger seat. âBuilds character.â
You started the engine, letting the AC blast your face back to life. âHow was your day?â
Jiwoong shrugged, but in that Iâm-trying-to-pretend-it-wasnât-actually-kinda-good way.
âPretty chill. Classes arenât too bad. Met this really cool guy in physics, actually.â
You raised an eyebrow. âOh? Making friends already?â
He nodded, casual. Too casual.
âYeah, heâs⊠I dunno. Just easy to talk to. Funny. Kinda bad at pretending heâs paying attention. We ended up partnered for some lab thing.â
âNice,â you said, pulling out of the parking lot. âWhatâs his name?â
Jiwoong stretched his arms behind his head, completely unhelpful.
âWould it be bad if I said I forgot?â
You squinted at him. âNope. I understand the old age is getting to you.â
He snorted. âIâm just saying. You forgot our cousinâs name for, like, three years.â
âThat was one time.â
âThat was every family reunion until ninth grade.â
You flicked his arm. He laughed.
A comfortable quiet settled in while you navigated the after-school traffic, until Jiwoong suddenly snapped his fingers like heâd remembered something urgent.
âOh â we gotta stop by Walmart.â
âWhat? Why?â
âMom texted me.â He unlocked his phone and held it up as proof. âShe wants stuff.â
You sighed. âOf course she does. What kind of stuff?â
âDunno. âA few things.â You know how she gets. Itâs gonna be like⊠detergent, batteries, lettuce, and a single onion for some reason.â
You groaned, turning toward the store. âFine. But youâre running inside. I am not going in there looking like a melted candle.â
He smirked. âDeal. But if itâs more than ten items, Iâm calling for backup.â
You rolled your eyes but didnât argue.
The sun was setting by the time you pulled into the Walmart parking lot â sky turning soft shades of purple and orange, that peaceful moment where the day starts to exhale.
You didnât think about English class. Or Stellaâs theories. Or Sugarâs gossip.
Or the boy with the messy hair and the lazy pen tapping. Not yet. But the universe wasnât done with you. Not even close.
You probably shouldâve been resting.
But instead, you were wrapped burrito-style in your blanket, half-dead, half-scrolling, fully miserable. Your phone hovered dangerously above your face â because of course if you dropped it in your current state, youâd simply let it crush you. Natural selection.
Your nose was clogged, your eyes were puffy, and you were convinced your body was 73% mucus. Cute. You had just liked a post titled âsoup is the sluttiest foodâ when you heard the front door slam.
Jiwoongâs voice echoed through the house.
âHELLO? IâM HOMEââ
Then another voice â unfamiliar, deeper, smoother â chimed in:
âBro, you donât have to yell. Isnât your sister contaminated with sickness and resting peacefully?â
You froze. You didnât know who that was.
But you knew exactly which species it belonged to:
One of Jiwoongâs loud, dramatic, painfully extroverted friends.
Great. Just what your feverish corpse needed.
You sank deeper into your bed, debating pretending to be asleep for the next seven hours.
Footsteps thudded down the hallway, voices getting closer â Jiwoong laughing, the Mystery Guy laughing back, the kind of easy, familiar banter that made it clear theyâd been friends for a while.
You had zero intention of going out there. You looked like a sick Victorian child. You sounded like a dying vacuum cleaner. But eventually, fluids and biology forced you out of bed.
You shuffled into the hallway wearing your oldest pajama shorts and a giant hoodie, hair in some shape that wasnât found in nature.
You turned the corner âAnd froze.
Because standing next to your brotherâŠ
Was James. James.
Messy-haired English-class James. Lazy-pen-tapping James. The boy everyone kept whispering about like he was a mythological creature.
He looked⊠different up close. More real.
Softer. Less glowing. Messy laces untied. Hoodie slightly wrinkled. A little awkward with where to put his hands.
Not âgolden boy.â Just a guy.
Jiwoong brightened. âOh! Youâre alive.â
You lifted a hand in greeting. âBarely.â
He grinned. âCome say hi.â
You shot him the are you insane look, but he just pointed anyway.
You trudged over like an NPC on low battery.
Jiwoong gestured between you two. âSo, uh, this is James. I told you about him.â
You blinked.
âYou said it was some guy in one of your classes and that you forgot his name when I asked for it.â
Jiwoong looked offended. âOkay, wow.â
You turned to James. âHi.â
James nodded, that polite half-smile boys give when theyâre friendly but not talkative.
âHey.â
You never thought that Jameâs first impression of you would be you in your pjs, bed head, and barefaced yet here you are.
His voice was warmer than you expected. A little shy at the edges.
Like he didnât talk very loud unless he needed to.
You didnât comment on any of it.
Jiwoong clapped James on the back and immediately launched into some story about physics class and a lab explosion that apparently wasnât his fault.
You stepped aside, leaning on the hallway wall while the two of them kept yapping â animated, loud, chaotic â and James, despite being quiet, chimed in with these dry one-liners that made Jiwoong wheeze.
You watched them for a second.
School-James was untouchable.
House-James was⊠human.
You tried to sleep. Really, you did.
You even did the whole âroll over dramatically and sigh at the wall like a dying Victorian poetâ routine, but apparently the universe didnât care because the noise downstairs was relentless.
Laughter. Thudding footsteps. The clack clack of controllers. Jiwoong yelling like he was livestreaming to a nonexistent fanbase.
You pulled the blanket over your head, groaned, flipped your pillow. Nope. Nothing worked. Every five seconds someone downstairs shouted something like:
âBRO YOU MISSED THATââ
âNO, YOU MISSED THATââ
And that was it. You were done being sick and peaceful. You threw off your blanket, stomped out of your bedroom, and trudged down the stairs like a disgruntled raccoon emerging from a trash can.
When you reached the bottom, you paused.
Jiwoong was in his usual chaotic position: half off the couch, controller clutched to his chest, yelling at the TV like it owed him money.
Beside him, sitting way too neatly for how loud the room was, was James.
Messy-soft hair. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his wrists. Long legs folded under him like he didnât know where to put them.
And quiet.
Painfully, noticeably quiet.
You lifted a hand. ââŠHi.â
James looked over.
Not a smile-smile â just a small, polite upturn, the âIâm trying to be normal but I am absolutely uncomfortableâ kind of expression.
âHey,â he said softly.
Jiwoong blinked at the air between you two, then at James, then back at you.
Then he pointed, offended.
âWhy are you being quiet? Dude, you were literally yelling at me in the car two hours ago.â
Jamesâs ears went pink. âI wasnât yelling.â
âYou were yelling, James,â Jiwoong insisted. âNow youâre sitting like someone pressed your mute button.â
James shot him a glare. ââŠIâm not quiet.â
You watched them bicker, arms crossed. This was weird. Youâd seen James at school â effortless, composed, almost too pretty â but this version, the quiet one who barely knew what to do with his own hands, didnât match the image in your head at all.
Jiwoong plopped his controller down and groaned dramatically.
âY/n. Save us. Sit. Play. Maybe heâll talk again.â
You opened your mouth to say âno,â because normally youâd rather evaporate than play games with two chaotic boys while sick⊠but for some reason, maybe fever brain, maybe boredom, maybe mild curiosity, you just sighed and sat down.
Jiwoong tossed you a controller.
âYouâre defense.â
âI donât even know what that means.â
âIâll teach you,â he said. âJames, stop being quiet and help.â
James looked like he wanted to be offended but didnât have the energy.
He scooted a little closer, not enough to be obvious, just enough to explain the controls without shouting across the couch.
His voice was low when he spoke.
âThis button blocks. This one switches positions.â
A beat.
âYou donât have to be good. Just, uh⊠be in the right place.â
It was awkward. Painfully.
But kind of cute, too.
The match started. Jiwoong yelled first, obviously.
âLEFTâLEFTâNO THE OTHER LEFTââ
You panicked and pressed three wrong buttons in one go.
James leaned in just a little, pointing at your screen. âItâs okay. Just angle toward him. Like⊠there.â His tone was calmer than you expected â gentle, even.
You followed his direction, somehow blocked a play, and Jiwoong yelled like you had just saved his life.
âYESSSâSHE CLUTCHEDâLETâS GOOO!â
James huffed a quiet laugh. The awkwardness thinned.
Not gone â just⊠less sharp.
Over the next few rounds, he talked more:
âWatch the flank.â
âThereânice.â
âGood save.â
âThat was actually really good.â
You werenât good, not really, but every time you did something halfway right, James gave these tiny, approving nods like he didnât want to make a big deal out of it.
And every time he talked, Jiwoong smirked like he knew something you didnât.
At one point, Jiwoong leaned forward, whispered something into Jamesâs ear â too quickly for you to catch â and Jamesâs eyes flicked toward you for half a second.
Then he immediately looked away like heâd been caught doing something illegal.
Your stomach did something stupid and fluttery. You blamed the fever.
The match ended in a dramatic victory.
Jiwoong threw his arms up. âWE WIN AGAIN. Because weâre gods. And because my sister stopped being trash.â
You elbowed him. âYouâre welcome.â
James actually laughed â really laughed this time. Not a breath, not a tiny smile â an actual sound that made his shoulders shake and his eyes soften.
He looked⊠different when he laughed.
More boyish.
Less distant.
A little brighter.
It was weird to see.
After a few more rounds, James checked his phone and winced.
âI should go,â he said, standing up. âMy dadâs gonna think I got kidnapped.â
Jiwoong stood too. âIâll walk you out.â
James nodded, then glanced at you again â quick, fleeting, almost shy.
âFeel better,â he said quietly.
âThanks,â you replied, voice cracked and slightly pathetic.
He smiled â small but real â and followed Jiwoong to the door.
You heard their muffled voices by the entryway, Jiwoong saying something that made James groan.
Then the door opened. Closed.
Silence settled over the house.
You were sick, exhausted, still a little annoyedâŠ
But your brain replayed one stupid moment:
James laughing.
James looking over at you.
James warming up, slowly, like someone turning on a light they werenât sure they were allowed to touch.
You groaned, flopped face-first onto the couch, and blamed everything on your fever.
And yet you knew tonight had shifted something.
The morning light wasnât trying to murder you this time, which was already a win. Your throat still felt a little scratchy, but the fever haze was gone, and your brain had returned from whatever coma dimension it visited yesterday.
â
By the time you stepped out of Jiwoongâs car, you spotted Stella and Sugar waving at you like two chaos gremlins who had been caffeinated without adult supervision.
Stella practically tackled you first.
âOH MY GOD, YOUâRE ALIVE.â
Sugar crossed her arms like a disapproving doctor. âYou look less corpse-like. Congrats.â
They flanked you on both sides as you walked toward the building.
âSo,â Stella said immediately, âare you actually recovered or are you doing that thing where you pretend youâre fine and then die in third period?â
âIâm fine,â you said. âMostly. I mean⊠except for the part where my brotherâs dumb ass somehow got close with James and he was at my house yesterday.â
They both stopped walking.
Sugar blinked. âJames⊠James?â
The tone meant one thing: they definitely thought you were messing with them.
Stella narrowed her eyes. âBe serious.â
âI am serious,â you insisted, hands up. âHe was literally in my hallway. Like, physically real. Standing there. Breathing air.â
Sugarâs jaw actually dropped in slow motion. âWaitâwaitâhold on. Youâre telling me the James was in your house?â
âYup.â
Stella shook her head like she needed to reset her brain. âOkay, I know youâre not a liar, but that sounds like a lie.â
âI said the same thing to myself,â you muttered.
They kept interrogating you all the way down the hall â what did he say?, was he weird?, did he glow?, did he talk like a normal human or like a mysterious anime protagonist?
You were still insisting that he was surprisingly normal when the hallway got louder â that particular energy that meant the older guys were around.
A cluster of guys â tall, loud, comfortable like they owned the oxygen around them â walked down the opposite end of the hallway. You recognized Jiwoong immediately, because he waved his hands while talking, like he was trying to conduct an invisible orchestra.
Next to him Jameâs orange-dirty blond hair a little messy, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hands in his pockets, that soft, unreadable expression he always carried. He wasnât smiling, wasnât trying to be charming â just existing in that effortlessly attractive way that wasnât fair to the general student population.
Jameâs didnât pause, didnât break his conversation, didnât even tilt his head.
He just lifted one hand and waved.
A simple, quick, casual gesture.
The kind someone does when they recognize you.
Or when they remember the way you looked half-dead in a hoodie on their friendâs couch.
Stellaâs mouth opened. Sugarâs eyebrows practically flew off her face.
And Jiwoong?
He slowed, side-eyed James like
âŠsince when the hell do you wave at my sister?
The expression lasted half a second before he went back to whatever he was ranting about.
You lifted your hand back in a tiny wave â because what else were you supposed to do â while your friends stared at you as if you had just announced you were secretly royalty.
Stella leaned in. âOkay, so you werenât lying.â
âHoly shit,â Sugar whispered. âHe actually knows your face.â
You rolled your eyes, heat rising in your cheeks. âItâs not a big deal.â
You just kept walking, pretending you werenât replaying the wave in your head like a deranged little GIF on loop.
â
You werenât sick this time.
Thank God.
Your hair was brushed, your face wasnât melting, and you werenât wearing pajamas from the Great Depression. You were actually⊠kinda cute today. Not on purpose â you werenât dressing for him â but still. Nice timing from the universe.
Jiwoong had dragged someone inside behind him, talking a mile a minute, when you poked your head out of your room to see whoâ
Yeah. Of course. James.
He stepped in behind your brother, hands shoved in his pockets, hair a little neater today but still doing that messy-soft thing that made him look unintentionally perfect. And annoyingly tall. And stupidly good in a simple hoodie and jeans.
He glanced up when he saw you.
Just a small flick of his eyes.
Barely a second.
But something about it was⊠different.
Like he noticed you more today than when you were dying.
You tried not to think about that too hard.
Jiwoong kicked off his shoes, already talking. âWeâre gonna set up the game in the living room. You can come join if you wantââ
âMaybe,â you said, trying to sound casual instead of definitely maybe absolutely maybe.
Jiwoong disappeared into the kitchen to grab snacks, leaving the two of you standing in the hallway like two Sims waiting for commands.
You shifted your weight. James looked at the ceiling. Beautiful. Cinematic. Oscar-winning awkwardness.
Finally, you cleared your throat. âSo⊠uh. How did you even become friends with my brother?â
James blinked, like he didnât expect you to speak first.
His voice, when it came out, was quiet â that warm, slightly shy tone he carried.
âPhysics,â he said. âHe talked to me first. Kinda forced me to, actually.â
You snorted. âSounds like him.â
James looked at you again â longer this time â like he wanted to smile but didnât fully let it happen.
It shouldâve ended there.
You should have walked away.
But no. Your mouth decided to betray you.
âUm⊠I heard youâre really popular for your looks but youâve, like⊠never dated anyone?â
The silence that followed was immediate and LOUD.
You wanted to die. Actually die. Crawl into the garbage disposal.
Jamesâs ears turned bright red. Not a little pink. Red.
He opened his mouth â actually opened it, like he was about to answer you, to explain something he had clearly never planned on explaining out loud â
âALRIGHT I GOT THE CHIPS!â
Jiwoong stomped back into the hallway like a toddler in a parade, arms full of snacks, completely obliterating the moment.
James shut his mouth instantly.
Looked away. You wanted to strangle your brother on wsight.
Jiwoong walked past you, but not before glancing between the two of you with the most obnoxiously knowing expression.
You ignored him.
You followed them into the living room, trying not to think about what James had almost said. Or how close you ended up sitting to him on the floor â knees nearly touching, elbows accidentally brushing, every little thing making your heartbeat do cardio.
And when the game started, and Jiwoong started yelling orders like a drill sergeant, it was James â calm, quiet James â who leaned a tiny bit closer and murmured:
âDefense on the right.â
His voice brushed your ear. Light. Warm. Way too nice.
You did what he said without thinking, and he gave you this tiny approving nod that shouldnât have been attractive but absolutely was.
And in the middle of all the chaos â the yelling, the button mashing, Jiwoong screaming at the TV â you caught yourself looking at James again.
He looked better this close.
Which you didnât even think was possible.
The sharp nose, the gentle eyes, the stupidly pretty face that everyone at school obsessed over â but here, up close, he looked more real. More boy-ish. More⊠something you couldnât pin down without sounding delusional.
You looked away before he noticed you staring.
Except he already had.
Because he turned slightly, eyes flicking toward you for half a second â that unreadable expression on his face â before returning to the game like nothing happened.
You could swear Jiwoong saw it.
Because he kept giving James these suspicious side-eyes, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had suddenly become way more interesting than Fortnite.
âHey,â he said after they lost one final round, grabbing his hoodie from the couch. âI should head out. My mom wants me home before dinner.â
He said goodbye to Jiwoong first, then to you â just a soft little âsee you,â quiet enough that you almost thought you imagined the warmth in it.
Then he slipped out the door.
And you were left sitting on the floor, pretending your heartbeat had not just been emotionally waterboarded.
â
James didnât exactly become part of the furniture in your house, but he was getting⊠dangerously close. What used to be a once-in-a-blue-moon visit somehow turned into him appearing often enough that even your mom stopped reacting. One day she just opened the door, saw him, and said, âHi James, shoes,â like he was a neighbor kid who lived down the street.
And you? You acted normal. Super normal. Olympic-level normal.
He wasnât loud like Jiwoongâs other friends; he didnât crash into rooms or yell at the TV the second he arrived. He just existed there quietly â hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, hair a little chaotic, knees folded on the carpet. Sometimes he asked you the smallest things, like if youâd finished the English worksheet or whether Jiwoong liked spicy chips. Nothing dramatic, nothing that would make Stella start screaming. But⊠stuff that made him feel less like The James Everyone Talks Aboutâą and more like a boy you saw a lot.
School wasnât much different â except it sort of was.
Most days it was just simple greetings:
âMorning.â
âYou good?â
âYeah. You?â
Youâd pass each other in the hallway, and half the time he didnât even stop, just gave you that soft little acknowledgement that felt weirdly personal because he didnât do that with everybody.
But the moments in English had a different texture.
There were plenty of people sitting closer to him, but somehow heâd turn toward youwhen he needed something â a pen, clarification on the assignment, the page number you were all supposed to be on. And every time, heâd go right back to taking notes like he hadnât just casually short-circuited your brain.
Stella caught one of those moments â specifically the âdo you have an extra pen?â moment â and nearly bent her pencil in half.
All of it was subtle enough to ignore if you wanted to.
You didnât want to.
But you tried.
Too bad the school refused to mind its own business.
By Thursday, the hallways were clogged with whispers. The kind of whispers you didnât even need to decode.
âApparently he likes someone.â
âNo way.â
âHow did the person manage to pull him? She must be really pretty.â
âI heard itâs someone unexpected.â
Stella practically slid into you at your locker like she was reenacting a K-drama. Sugar followed behind her looking like she wanted to file a complaint with the universe.
âYou heard, right?â Stella demanded.
âAbout what?â
You absolutely knew âwhat,â but you were not about to encourage their detective arc.
âJames,â Sugar said, folding her arms. âRumor is he likes someone. And not one of the girls who film him during PE.â
Stella leaned in. âSo⊠thoughts?â
âI donât know,â you said. âIâm not his spokesperson.â
Sugar snickered.
âYeah, but he talks to you.â
âBarely!â
They didnât look convinced.
You were about to escape when the universe decided to drop James directly into your path â walking with Jiwoong, hoodie bouncing slightly with each step, hands stuffed in his pockets like the hallways were too loud for him.
He looked up. Just for a second. Not a smile. Not a full wave.
Just a lift of his hand â tiny, subtle, unmistakably meant for you.
And then he kept walking.
Jiwoong nudged him in the shoulder.
James ignored him.
Stella and Sugar were staring at you like witnesses in a crime scene.
You pretended to be unbothered even though your stomach was doing gymnastics.
And just like that, the hallway swallowed everyone again â the rumors, the looks, the stupid little wave that somehow made everything ten times more complicated.
The rumour didnât die down â it mutated.
By Friday, it felt like the entire school had collectively lost their minds. Everywhere you walked, someone was whispering âJames,â âsomeone unexpected,â âhe totally likes her,â like he was a walking plot twist in a teen drama and everyone had decided to become unpaid extras.
You tried to ignore it. Stella did not try.
Sugar tried, but only physically â emotionally she was absolutely listening and analyzing and judging every whisper.
The three of you were walking toward the east building when fate shoved you right behind James and his friend group. Not close enough to be part of them, but close enough to hear everything the universe didnât want you to miss.
A pack of girls further up the hall spotted the group.
And then it happened.
âJAMES!â one of them called out, like she was announcing a celebrity sighting.
He didnât turn.
She tried again. âHEY, WHOâS THE SPECIAL GIRL?â
Two more joined in, voices overlapping.
âTell us who you like!â
âCome onnn, we know itâs someone!â
âIs she in our grade? Is she pretty? Is sheââ
The laughter, the teasing â loud, playful, absolutely clueless that you were ten steps behind him losing your internal organs.
You watched James tense. Not a dramatic flinch â just a tiny tightening in his shoulders, like someone had pulled a string too tight.
The boys around him reacted the way boys do when they smell chaos: half entertained, half instigating.
Jiwoong swatted him on the arm. âBro, just tell them to shut up.â
James didnât answer so Jiwoong stuck his tongue out at the group of girls while flipping them off.Â
Another friend chimed in, âYou could literally point at a random wall and theyâd blush at itââ
âThese fuck ass people,â James muttered, too quiet for the girls to hear but loud enough for his friends.
He kept walking, jaw set, eyes fixed forward.
And for the first time since heâd started coming over often, he didnât look back. Not at the girls, not at the hallway⊠not at you.
Later that day â when James came over again with Jiwoong â the shift was instant.
He didnât linger in the hallway like before. Didnât say hi. Didnât ask anything. He just walked in, quiet in a way that wasnât his usual quiet, and went straight to Jiwoongâs room like he was trying to move through the house without touching the air.
You tried acting normal. Not staring. Not noticing.
But he barely looked at you. Not in a rude way. More like⊠avoidance was safer.
Jiwoong noticed instantly.
Ten minutes into their game, you heard him through the slightly cracked door.
Jiwoong wasnât buying it. âYou canât fool me, bro. Every time we come here you actââ
âJiwoong.â
Jamesâs voice â low, tight, the kind he used when the conversation was inching too close to something real.
It shut your brother up for a whole two seconds.
Then came the suspicious tone. âThis is about the rumour, isnât it?â
You froze outside the door.
James didnât answer.
Which was basically an answer.
Jiwoong exhaled hard. âPeople are stupid. Just ignore it.â
âItâs not that simple.â
âWhy not?â
James didnât respond.
Another rustle. Probably him sitting back, messing with his hoodie strings â that thing he did when he was bothered.
Jiwoong tried one more time, softer this time
âHey. Seriously. Who cares what theyâre saying?â
You could picture Jamesâs expression without even seeing it â that silent, steady look he had when he was hiding something behind the calm.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet you almost doubted you heard it:
âBecause theyâre not wrong.â
A beat of silence.
Then Jiwoong, confused: âWho is it that you li-?â
Before he could finish, James cut him off. âDrop it.â
And the room went silent again.
You backed away before they could catch you eavesdropping. Heart doing backflips, lungs nowhere to be found.
Because he wasnât just avoiding people. He was avoiding you.
And whatever he refused to say out loud? It was starting to feel a lot less like a rumour.
The weekend hit like a wall.
Not a dramatic, emotional, cinematic wall â more like an awkward, invisible one you kept walking into face-first.
James didnât come over Saturday.
Or Sunday.
Or Monday.
Jiwoong brushed it off at first.
âHeâs busy.â
âHe had practice.â
âHe had to help his mom.â
By Tuesday, the excuses were running out. Even he started sounding confused.
âHe said he was coming today, but⊠I donât know. He might be stuck at something.â
Something, right.
Something that conveniently made him vanish only when heâd have to risk running into you.
Weird thing was â he and Jiwoong were still fine. Totally normal at school. Still talking, still walking to class together, still arguing about which snacks were better. Their friendship hadnât cracked even a little.
But the minute you were within ten feet?
James became a ghost.
If he noticed you walking into a room, heâd look away first.
If you passed him in the hallway, his greetings shrank down into a quick nod that barely existed.
If Jiwoong invited him over after last period, heâd mumble something about âanother timeâ and bolt.
And the worst part?
This was the same boy who once waved at you across a hallway like it meant something.
The same boy who leaned closer during games, quiet voice warm against your ear.
The same boy who almost told your brother something he was too afraid to say out loud.
Now he couldnât even look you in the eye.
You tried not to overthink it â A LIE â and lasted approximately 45 minutes before you found yourself sitting with Stella and Sugar under the stairwell after lunch, poking at the remains of your sandwich like it had personally offended you.
Stella watched you for exactly three seconds before kicking your shoe.
âOkay, whatâs wrong.â
âNothing,â you said.
Sugar laughed out loud. âLiar. You look like a sad Victorian boy in a window.â
You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. âHeâs avoiding me.â
Both their heads snapped toward you like you had just announced the school was on fire.
âJames?â Stella whispered, eyes huge.
âNo, the Easter Bunny,â you snapped. âYes, James.â
Sugar leaned closer. âAvoiding as in⊠avoiding-avoiding?â
You nodded.
Stella smacked the ground. âThen he totally likes you.â
You nearly choked. âHOW does that make sense?â
âBecause boys are stupid,â Sugar said calmly, taking a sip of her drink. âWhen they like someone, they either breathe on them nonstop or sprint away like theyâre allergic.â
Stella pointed dramatically. âAnd heâs doing the sprinting.â
âThat doesnât mean anything,â you argued weakly.
Stella raised an eyebrow. âLet me list it out for you. He talks to basically no one in English, except you. He waved at you in the hallway like you two had a three-season romance arc. Heâs been coming over to your house like itâs his side-quest home. And then the second rumors start? Poof â he evaporates.â
Sugar crossed her arms. âIf he didnât like you, he wouldnât care enough to freak out.â
You hated that it made sense.
And you hated even more that a small, traitorous part of you hoped it was true.
After school, you tried heading straight home, but the universe had other plans. You spotted him outside the front gate â backpack slung over one shoulder, hair messed up from the wind, talking quietly to one of his friends.
He looked different today.
Not bad. Not tired. Just⊠preoccupied. Like his brain was somewhere else entirely.
And that tiny, painful avoidance? It showed again when his friend said something funny. James laughed â soft, real â and the second he turned slightly and spotted you?
His smile fell.
Not all the way. Not dramatically.nJust enough that you felt it.
Stella nudged you from behind. âGo.â
You swallowed. âNo.â
âGo,â Sugar said, pushing your shoulder.
âIâm notââ
Stella shoved you. Hard.
You stumbled forward like a malfunctioning robot, and by the time you regained balance, you were already walking toward him.
James noticed.
His friend said something, but James didnât answer.
He just watched you come closer â eyes shifting, posture tensing like he wasnât prepared for this at all.
âHey,â you said, stopping a few feet away.
For a second, he didnât answer.
Then, in a voice much softer than you expected:
ââŠHey.â
You took a breath. âCan we talk?â
His friend took that as a cue to leave. âI, uh⊠gotta go,â he said, already halfway down the sidewalk.
Now it was just the two of you.
James shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder, gaze flicking away like the pavement was suddenly fascinating.
âWhatâs up?â he asked.
He was trying so hard to sound normal.
It didnât work.
You crossed your arms, not to look intimidating, but to keep your hands from visibly shaking. âYouâve been avoiding me.â
His jaw tightened.
âI havenâtââ
âJames,â you said gently.
Silence.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes dropping to the ground. âI didnât mean to.â
âBut you did.â
He didnât argue that.
You stepped a little closer. Not enough to corner him â enough to make him look at you.
âDid I⊠do something?â you asked. âOr say something? Orââ
âNo,â he said immediately. âNo. Itâs not you.â
You waited.
He didnât continue.
The afternoon breeze tugged at the ends of his hair, and he finally looked up â really looked â and it hit you again how pretty he was. Not the kind of pretty people whispered about. The quiet kind. The kind that made your chest tighten.
James swallowed hard. âItâs just⊠complicated.â
âBecause of the rumour?â
He didnât answer.
His ears flushed â faintly, but enough that you noticed.
And then he said your name for the first time that day â so soft you almost missed it.
âCan we⊠not talk here?â
Your heartbeat tripped.
âWhere then?â
He hesitated, then nodded toward the sidewalk leading away from the school â quieter, emptier, out of earshot.
âJust⊠walk with me for a bit?â
You followed him down the sidewalk, both of you heading nowhere specific but pretending you were. The air between you felt heavy â not bad, just full. Like every unspoken thing was walking beside you.
James kept his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders just a little too tense.
You gave him time to speak. He didnât.
So finally you said it â the question that had been eating you alive.
âJames⊠do you like me?â
He stopped walking. You did too.
He didnât look shocked â more like he was bracing for impact. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, then back again⊠but he still didnât say anything.
Seconds passed. Way too many seconds.
Your chest tightened. âYouâre not saying anything.â
He swallowed, jaw clenching once before he finally spoke.
âI donât know how to feel about you.â
It wasnât cold. It wasnât mean.
It was confused â painfully honest in the worst possible way.
You blinked. âOh.â
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. âItâs not that I donâtââ
He stopped, tried again.
âI just⊠donât know what Iâm supposed to do. People wonât shut up. Everyoneâs staring. And youâreââ
âYour best friendâs sister?â you cut in.
He winced. âNo. Thatâs notâ I mean, yes, but thatâs not the issue.â
âIt kind of sounds like it.â
He shook his head hard. âI just didnât want to make things worse for you. Or me. Or⊠whatever this is.â
Your voice came out smaller than you meant. âSo youâre avoiding me.â
His silence said everything.
âItâs fine,â you whispered. âYou made it clear.â
His eyes widened just a little, like he hadnât meant for it to land the way it did.
But it was too late â the bruise was already there.
You stepped back.
âI should go.â
âY/nââ
âItâs okay. Really,â you lied, and walked away before he could make it hurt more.
He stayed standing there long after you left.
The next week was⊠awful.
Thereâs no softer word for it.
If the school had been nosy before, now it felt like you were both walking around with neon signs over your heads.
And you werenât even together.
You werenât even talking.
Every hallway felt tight. Too many eyes. Too many whispers that werenât even about you two but somehow felt like they were.
And then there was James.
He didnât avoid you the way people do when they hate someone.
It was worse.
He avoided you the way someone does when they care too much and donât trust themselves to look.
In English class, he didnât sit next to you even though thatâs where the empty seat was. He chose the seat one row over, and you pretended not to notice even though your pulse stuttered when he walked past without meeting your eyes.
Stella noticed immediately.
She leaned in and whispered, âUh⊠why does he look like heâs afraid of breathing near you?â
You kept your eyes on the worksheet. âHeâs not.â
âHe is,â Sugar said flatly from your other side, chin propped on her hand. âDid something happen?â
âNo.â
Both of them stared at you.
âY/n.â
You tensed. âCan we not?â
Stellaâs mouth snapped shut. Sugar exchanged a look with her, something silent and worried, but neither pushed.
You were grateful.
And also⊠not.
Because everything felt like it was pressing on your ribs â the air, the silence, the unsaid things.
By Wednesday, the tension was so thick even people who didnât know you started sensing it.
Like when you and James reached the same hallway intersection at the same time â you from the left, him from the right â and both of you paused like two NPCs whose scripts glitched.
Sugar raised a brow. âItâs definitely something.â
You walked faster so you wouldnât have to answer.
By Thursday, Your brother was involved.
Which was your personal nightmare.
He cornered you in the kitchen before school, eyebrows drawn together like heâd been thinking about this for too long.
âWhatâs going on with you and James?â he asked bluntly.
You froze mid-toast-butter-swipe. ââŠnothing.â
He scoffed. âYouâre my sister and heâs my best friend. I can tell when somethingâs up.â
You shot him a look.Â
âY/nââ
âPlease,â you said quietly.
Jiwoong paused, thrown off by the softness of it.
He didnât push.
But the confusion â the worry â stayed on his face like a smudge he couldnât wipe off.
And you hated that too.
Then Friday came. The day everything cracked.
James came over. It wasnât planned. At least not by you.
You heard his voice downstairs â low, clipped, familiar in a way that hurt to hear now. Jiwoong opened the door laughing about something, and James laughed too, but it was that small laugh he did when he didnât actually feel like laughing.
You stayed in your room.
Not because you wanted to.
Because you had no idea how to walk past him without turning into smoke.
You sat on your bed with your textbook open, rereading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a single word. Every sound downstairs made the pit in your stomach twist tighter â footsteps, murmurs, the creak of the couch, the fridge door opening.
At one point, you heard Jiwoong call, âY/n! We ordered food, you wantââ
Then Jamesâs voice, quiet but firm: âDude. Leave her. Sheâs probably doing something.â
You pressed your lips together.
You didnât know whether to be relieved or⊠whatever the other thing was. The ache-y thing.
You stayed upstairs the entire afternoon.
At some point the house got quieter â probably Jiwoong playing a game while James scrolled on his phone.
You thought avoiding him in your own house made you pathetic.
But then again â heâd avoided you first.
You were lying on your stomach, staring at the floor, when you heard it.
A soft knock.
Not Jiwoongâs knock â his was always too loud, too careless.
This one was hesitant. Almost gentle.
Then:
ââŠY/n?â
Your stomach flipped. Your pulse jumped.
You didnât move at first â like if you stayed still enough heâd think you werenât there and walk away.
But he didnât. He stayed.
âCan we talk?â he asked quietly through the door.
âPlease?â
Your breath caught.
He sounded⊠nervous. Genuine. Almost a little scared.
You stared at the door handle like it might burst into flames.
Another pause.
Then softer â softer:
âI know you donât want to see me. But I need to talk to you. Just for a minute.â
Your heartbeat was so loud you were sure he could hear it from the hallway.
You stood up slowly, legs shaky, fingers cold.
Took one step toward the door.
Then another. Your hand hovered over the knob.
You swallowed.
And finally â finally â you turned it.
The door opened a crack.
James was standing there, hair messy from running his hands through it, hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, something painfully earnest in his eyes.
He looked at you like he wasnât sure whether you were going to slam the door or let him speak.
ââŠhey,â he murmured.
And the hallway suddenly felt too small for everything unsaid between you.
The hallway felt too tight. Too quiet.
James shifted his weight like he wasnât sure he was allowed to breathe near you.
He cleared his throat first â barely.
âIâve been thinking about it. A lot.â
Your fingers tightened around the edge of your door.
âAbout what?â you asked, even though you knew exactly what.
He lifted his eyes â cautiously â like he was afraid the wrong move would make you disappear.
âYou,â he said quietly. âAnd⊠what I said. Or didnât say. And how I said it.â
Your chest squeezed.
Jamesâs face crumpled slightly â not dramatically, just a tiny pull in his expression like heâd been waiting for that sentence and hating it.
âI didnât mean to. I swear I didnât. I just freaked out.â
His jaw flexed once. âEverything felt too loud. And I didnât want to mess you up. Or mess Jiwoong up. Orââ
He exhaled, frustrated with himself. âI donât know. I panicked.â
You didnât say anything.
He stepped a little closer â slow, like approaching a skittish cat.
âBut I donât want to keep avoiding you,â he said, voice softer now. âI canât. It feels worse.â
You swallowed. âSo what do you want?â
He hesitated â not because he didnât know the answer, but because he was scared of it.
âI⊠want to stop being scared of whatever this is,â he said.
The sentence landed in your chest like a warm weight.
You didnât realize youâd moved until you were standing closer â close enough to see how his eyelashes trembled a little, how he kept glancing at your mouth and then forcing himself to look at your eyes again like he was trying to behave.
âOkay,â you whispered.
James blinked. âOkay what?â
You didnât answer with words.
You leaned in â gently, like a test, like a question you hoped heâd understand.
Your lips brushed his.
Just the faintest touch.
Soft. Warm. Barely there.
James froze.
Not pulling away.
Not moving forward.
Just stunned.
You started to retreat, embarrassed heat flooding your faceâ
But then he whispered, almost breathlessly:
âIâve never⊠done that before.â
You stilled.
âI know,â you said softly.
James let out a tiny, incredulous scoff. âShit.â
You smiled a little. He didnât.
He looked⊠embarrassed. Almost vulnerable.
âWhy me?â you asked. âYou could have anyone. Literally anyone. People line up for you.â
His answer was immediate â quiet but sure.
âThey line up for my face,â he said. âNot me.â
Your breath caught.
He kept going, eyes flicking between yours.
âYou⊠actually talk to me. You make fun of me sometimes. You donât act like Iâmââ
He shook his head, searching for the word.
ââsome character in your phone. You look at me like Iâm a person.â
Something warm and electric rushed through your stomach.
Before your brain could stop you, you reached up and grabbed the front of his hoodie â gently but decisively â pulling him closer.
This time, he didnât freeze.
This time, he kissed you back.
Slow at first, like he was trying to memorize how it worked.
Then deeper â a little desperate â like heâd been holding back for too long.
His hands didnât know where to go; one hovered awkwardly before landing on your hip, then shifting, then settling, then second-guessing itself.
At one point he bumped your nose and muttered âshitâsorryââ against your mouth, cheeks burning, and you laughed into the kiss, which somehow made him kiss you harder, like he was trying to make up for it.
It was clumsy and sweet and stupidly warm.
His breath hitched. Yours did too.
And thenâ
The door swung open.
Jiwoong froze.
James practically jolted backward like heâd touched an electric fence.
ââoh,â Jiwoong finished weakly, face twisting like heâd walked into a crime scene.
You jumped away from James so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet.
James looked mortified. Like âdig a hole and bury me aliveâ mortified.
Jiwoong stared between you two, mouth hanging open.
Then he turned slowly to James.
âBro,â he said, voice cracking. âWeâre gonna have to fight.â
James made a strangled noise youâd never heard from a living human.
You couldnât even look at either of them â embarrassment sizzling through your skin all the way to your toes.
Jiwoong pointed at you.
Then at James.
Then at the wall like he needed physical support.
âWHAT IS HAPPENING.â
You covered your face.
James muttered, âKill me.â
And honestly?
You kind of wanted to evaporate right there.
Jiwoongâs eyes went HUGE â like cartoon huge â and for a second nobody moved. Not you. Not James. Not even the dust motes floating in the hallway light.
Then Jiwoong let out the most scandalized gasp youâd ever heard from a human being.
âHOLY SHIT MY SISTER AND MY BEST FRIEND ARE MAKING OUTââ
He blinked. Looked again â like maybe he mis-saw it and needed a second take.
âHOLY SHIT MY SISTER AND MY BEST FRIEND ARE MAKING OUT.â
And then he slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
You and James just stood there in stunned silence, breathing like youâd run a mile.
Then James whispered, ââŠI should probably run...â
You covered your face with both hands because honestly? Same.
The next morning at school was⊠yeah. Awkward as hell.
James kept hovering near you but not too near, like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to stand in your oxygen zone. You kept pretending to check your phone even though your phone was literally off. And every time you two accidentally made eye contact, it felt like the universe was flicking you behind the ears.
Stella and Sugar were confused as hell.
Stella almost tripped over her own shoe watching the two of you act like two magnets that desperately wanted to touch but were scared of electricity.
âAre you guys⊠good?â she asked slowly, eyes narrowed like she was solving a crime.
theartofmadeline
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