♱ — STUDYING WITH ALBEDO — NSFW

build-a-bear.

kim woonhak x reader

idol! woonhak x non-idol! reader, established relationship. based on this woonhak scenario i wrote a while back!! cuss words, first i love yous. lowercase intended. pls excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. enjoyy <3

wc: 3,324

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"fine then." - "fine!"

those were the last two words kim woonhak and yn ln had spoken to each other before she had slammed her front door shut on his face, before he had angrily turned around and begun walking towards the exit of her apartment building, before she had shut her blinds and stuffed her head deep into her white sheets, staining the fabric with silly little tears.

they didn't want to fight. in fact, the young couple rarely ever did so in the first place. however, with the newly debuted idol boy's rising fame, and the girl's growing insecurities, it was almost inevitable this one particular argument was going to come up onto the surface of their otherwise wholesome relationship.

you see, yn and woonhak have known each other for ages now. when he first started showing signs of his dream career, she was the first to support him- heck! she even came to all the auditions with him and gave him endless moral support. similarly, he was always there for her, accompanying her when she had to study late for an exam, or even sending her chocolates and other sweets when it was that time of the month. the pair have mutually liked each other forever, and they both knew that as well. it didn't take them long at all before they started officially dating, sharing one awkward kiss under the moonlight before he left again to the next city over to start the preparations for his coming debut.

from then on, she started seeing him less and less. their daily conversations on the phone had become simple good night and good morning texts that don't really give her much of a serotonin boost anymore. she missed him, and she always let him know. he missed her too, he just didn't have the time to tell her. she'd complain about it, "you don't have time for me anymore, huh?" and he'd furrow his eyebrows, "i have a job to do, yn. i thought you supported me the most?" then she'd gasp, taken aback by his words, her own eyebrows knitting together and her eyes almost glowing red in anger. for a second, she saw the way his eyes watered, like he knew he was wrong. but kim woonhak was stubborn, quickly shaking away that look and mimicking her own furious one. and that's how it happened. that's how they ended up in this battle of silence, secretly waiting for the other to break and end this cold war they didn't even want in the first place.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

woonhak sighs as he finally takes off his shoes. schedules ended earlier and the boy still had practically the whole day to do whatever he wanted. he watched as his members went their own ways, leehan and riwoo heading to some cafe, taesan locking himself up in his studio as per usual, sungho going out to see a movie, and jaehyun...sitting on the couch in the middle of a very serious fifa game.

"so where you headed, broski?" jaehyun suddenly asks the boy, still not looking away from the TV screen. "going to see your girlfriend? or are you still not talking to her like an idiot?" he snickered, earning a big eye roll and middle finger directed at his face from the younger boy. "i don't know hyung...i mean i obviously want to see her...but i'm not sure how she'll forgive me when i've been such an asshole" woonhak says, slumping himself down on the spot beside the older member. "just...ah-!" jae cut himself off when he misses a goal in the video game, "just go get her a gift or something- don't girls like that stuff?" once again the younger one rolls his eyes, but he nods at his leader's suggestion. "i guess you're right hyung...i'm gonna go to the mall and find something" and with that the kim boy gets up, slipping back on his shoes and grabbing himself a cap to cover up his messy hair before running out the door and down the building to call himself a taxi.

woonhak arrives at the mall, dragging his feet solemnly as he passed by multiple young couples on dates. "seriously...it's not even valentine's day...why is everyone out on a date here right now?!" he grumbled to himself, probably looking like a big ol' loser to the outside eyes that felt like they lingered on him as he walked. the boy circles the mall for what he swore were hours but he found nothing at all that was worthy enough to gift his angry girlfriend. "ugh..." the boy groans as he's one step closer to giving up and just meeting with her empty handed like the idiot that everyone kept saying he was. however, all those doubts immediately exited his head when a familiar large sign appears in his line of sight. it's bright yellow with a giant brown bear and beside it in big blue lettering, it read:

build-a-bear workshop.

"perfect!" he almost said too loudly as his eyes gleamed and began to sparkle. in the moment it seemed as though a big bright light-bulb had gone off in his head, his large feet padding against the floor and taking him into the kid's doll factory. the boy's eyes were wide and his mouth hung opened as he took in his surroundings. a huge variety of stuffed animals, in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and designs stood against every corner of the shop. on high shelves, rows and rows of clothes, all perfectly tailored to fit the standard plush toy size.

woonhak didn't know where to start. the loud speakers that played recent k-pop hits, mixed with the sound of little kids running around and dragging their parents in and out of the store made his ears ring and head hurt a little. his finger grazed against the wood as he scanned through every skin you could pick for your toy, there were cats, dogs, even moths! but one thing in particular caught the boy's attention. right there in the very corner of the store, just a simple brown bear. there was only one left in stock and it was just perfect. it's fur was light brown, it's legs were slightly longer than it should be, and it had the sweetest set of little dark brown orbs for eyes. even if he tried to, woonhak couldn't deny the fact that the teddy was nearly the spitting image of himself.

"okay, now rub the heart against your chest, hold it in your palms and give it your best wishes!" the tall guy's cheeks turn bright red as he follows the bear stuff-er's instructions, praying to god no one recognized him beneath his cap and beginning to regret doing all of this in the first place. it was all over in a second though, the bear being all stuffed up, it's heart and a little recording he did all wrapped up warmly inside it's cotton flesh. now it was time to dress it. woonhak hasn't really had any experience dressing anyone but himself, so it was really hard for him to not dress the plush toy like it had just raided his own closet. and so, naturally, the boy chooses a light blue jersey and a miniature pair of denim jeans, a cute pair of black sunglasses as an add-on accessory to it's look as well.

"now, all that's left to do is to name it...but what..." he mumbles to himself, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table that was much much shorter than him. "hey mister" a squeaky voice, and the feeling of his sweatshirt getting tugged down shakes him out of his thoughts. "huh?" he asked, looking down to meet eyes with a little girl. "mister, that doll looks just like you!" her eyes disappeared as she smiled- well, if you could even see them under her thick bangs that messily decorated her forehead, and she shot him a toothy grin. "me?" the boy asks, beginning to smile too at the sweet girl. "mhm!" she says finally before running away. "great..." he says, smiling proudly at himself as he begins to type out the teddy's name for it's birth certificate.

"there you go, have a nice day and come again soon!" woonhak nods, thanking the cashier before leaving the store. "like hell i'm going in there again..." he whispers to himself, the image of his own self awkwardly pressing kisses onto a miniature plastic heart in the middle of a kid's store flashing in his head as he began to walk out of the mall and into a cab. he's on his way back to the dorm now, trying his best to stuff the build-a-bear box in his large tote-bag so that his group members wouldn't see it. cause if they ever did, he'd never ever hear the end of it. woonhak throws his shoes off on the rack, quickly making his way over to his bedroom and trying his best to avoid his hyungs that were playing together in the living area. "so, what you got there, woonagi~?" leehan called out from the bean-bag on the floor. "yeah bro, show us what you got for your girl~friend~" taesan follows, dragging out his words teasingly. "it's nothing, leave me alone! and DON'T come in the room" the tall maknae boy says sternly, narrowing his eyes at the others who just stifled in their laughs and nodded.

the kim guy can't help but giggle like a child as he pulls out the doll, sighing once as he places it and it's papers into a different bag; a gift bag he had picked up before leaving the mall, it was pink and just the right size to fit the rather beefy bear. "now...the hard part" he sighs once more as he picks up his phone, his chatroom with her vacant, no new messages since their argument the other day. it felt foreign, unusual for he always had new messages from her. the boy takes a deep breath, fingers tapping softly against the screen of his phone as he began to type. it takes him a while though, coming up with a sentence and then deleting it all and starting again and again, until finally, he pressed send.

i know u hate me rn but i literally cant function without u pls meet me at the park tonight let me make it up to u please?

the boy doesn't expect her to open his texts so fast, he finds himself twirling his lips against his teeth as he watches the way three dots begin to bounce up and down on her side of the chatroom. he doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until her response causes him to let it all out. it's simple, dry, still unlike her, but at least it's something.

my love<3 ok, see u in 5.

"bye guys wish me luck" woonhak calls out as he rushes out the door, the sound of his confused (but supportive) members growing faint as the door closes behind him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

by the time the boy gets to the park she was already there. yn ln, sitting patiently against the green grass. her hair fell loose against the skin of her arms, he could see from where he stood afar the way the breeze sent a shiver down her spine. "how long have you been waiting?" he asks, finally sitting down beside her. "not long" yn's words are cold, much like the atmosphere of the night. and her eyes stayed glued towards the distance, juxtaposing the way his ones remained fixed onto her.

"please look at me" woonhak practically begs, not really knowing when or how his voice got so small. the girl's breath hitches, tears threating to spill out of her eyes as she lets out a sigh and closes them shut. "yn..." he drags out, a shaky hand reaching over to turn her head to face his. "please?" he asks again. this time, she opens her eyes, tearing up slightly at the very sight of him. she couldn't do it anymore. she can't sit there and pretend to hate him, pretend to be angry at him, pretend she didn't miss him. she can't lie anymore. "woonhak" she says, her voice warmer now and a hint of content laced in the way that she spoke. "hey" he said, a smile beginning to grow against his face. "hey" she repeated, her own lips flipping up as well.

"i'm so sorry" the boy says, scooting to sit closer to her. "why? i should be the sorry one, i was being inconsiderate and-" the girl couldn't finish. "no! i was being selfish. this whole idol thing...it's so busy but that doesn't mean i get to be a total asshole about it to you...so, i'm sorry, yn" the features on her face soften as she looks into the genuine sorrow in his own. she lets out a laugh, confusing the boy a little. "don't worry...i get it. i guess i just...missed you, a little, that's all" yn reasons, a sweet smile tugging at her mouth as she slowly leans her head against his shoulder. woonhak reacts almost immediately, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her deep into his embrace. "i...i missed you too"

"what's in the bag?"

the boy sits up straight when her question slips into his ears. "ah! this...this is just a gift i got you...um...here!" he stutters a bit, suddenly flustered by his own romantic gesture. "for me?!" she gasps and he nods, scratching the back of his head, though there was nothing itchy about it at all. "wow...rising rookie idol kim woonhak of boynextdoor bought little ol' me a gift?!" now he rolls his eyes, as if he were telling his girlfriend to shut up and open it already.

"what is it...?" yn mumbles just above a whisper, carefully opening up the ribbon and revealing the insides of the pink paper bag. her mouth drops open as she pulls the bear out, squealing all too loudly as her eyes adored the jersey-wearing teddy bear in her hands. "ah! i love it i love it!" she cheered, wrapping the doll in her arms and hugging it so tight it might just explode. her eyes gleamed, looking up at her boyfriend then back at the bear and then right back at him again. "where's the birth certificate thingy...wait" yn spoke, looking back in the bag for the printed piece of paper. "hah!" she exclaimed, her smile reaching her eyes as she read through her doll's information. "birth name...kim unak...how...fitting" she said, shooting her boyfriend a look of slight disbelief he would name a doll after himself. "hey! don't look at me like that, some kid said he looked like me!" woonhak argued, grabbing the bear and holding it up beside his face. "hm...the kid was so right" yn replied, finding the resemblance quite cute.

"thank you woonhak, i love it..." her loving expression as she patted a hand against the fur of the stuffed toy's head was enough to satisfy the boy for the rest of his life. "oh! and...um...if you ever miss me when i'm busy...just press on his hand- but not right now! it's embarrassing! do it later!" he panics, sighing in relief when she moves her hand away from the heart-shaped patch on the bear's one. "okay then..."

the rest of the night was spent in peace. just a couple of sweet teens finding comfort in each other's arms after being separated from each other for far too long (it's been like two days pls don't be dramatic). "and so then i told professor yang about it and he totally freaked and...are you even listening to me?" yn stops mid-story, her head that laid on his lap shifting slightly to get a better look at his face. the face that stayed still staring at her blankly, his large hand mindlessly stroking her hair as she talked about whatever it was that he didn't really seem to be listening to well enough. "hello? woonhak?" he shook his head, "huh? what? sorry...i got kind of distracted" she chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully as she sits back up. "am i distracting you with my beauty again?" yn teases, loving the way his cheeks grow red and his hands fly up to cover his face. she giggles, pushing the boy down on his shoulders, sending him toppling on his back onto the grass.

she hovers over him, moving his hands away so she could see him clearly against the bright moonlight. the boy smiles softly at her, reaching up to push her hair behind her ears. his hand lingers, moving to cup at her blushy cheeks. yn giggles, finding his touch ticklish against her skin. "yn..." he begins, voice rather raspy from the way he fully laid down on the ground. "mhm?" she hums, head tilting to the side in curiosity as her boyfriend sat up again.

"i love you"

his voice was clear now, not a single bit of shakiness or fear in the way that he spoke. she smiled, not even a little bit shocked from the words that came out of his mouth because she knew. she knew all along that he felt that way, and she knew that she had always felt the same way for him too, she had just been waiting for the right moment where one of them would say it out loud first. yn presses a hand on either side of his warm complexion, pulling him in for a short kiss. it was sweet, a honey flavour from her lip-balm seeping onto his tongue. then they parted, hands still holding onto each other's faces and she smiles, he's grinning with all his teeth showing.

"i love you too, woonhak"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

later that night when yn ln got home, she hastily kicked off her shoes and ran straight to her bedroom. she didn't even care to properly put away her bag and her coat, jumping straight onto her bed and pulling out the brown teddy her boyfriend had gifted her earlier.

"...if you ever miss me when i'm busy...just press on his hand" his words replayed in her mind, "press on his hand..." she whispered to herself, carefully gripping onto the stuffed toy's hand, putting just enough pressure on it until she heard a click of a button. a moment of silence engulfed the atmosphere around her, just a moment before woonhak's voice began to sing out of the cheapest sounding speaker located within the bear.

"Mm mm 지금 내 playlist...금요일에 시간 어때요? 내 새벽을 망치지 마요..."

his own song, his debut song. he sang it just for her. her own serenade to listen to whenever they couldn't meet...

aw, rising rookie idol kim woonhak from boynextdoor...what a sweetheart, you are <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"i'm home! hyung...? what are you guys laughing about?" woonhak furrows his eyebrows as he walks towards the living room. riwoo sighs, calming down from his fit of laughter. "so...did she like the build-a-bear?" he asked, breaking into hysterics once again, as did the others. "huh? WHAT HOW'D YOU FIND OUT?" the maknae boy couldn't believe his ears, eyes widening and mouth dropping opened. "woonhak...it's all over the internet!" sungho exclaims, turning his phone over to show him the source of all their laughter right now.

"what...oh my god" the boy's whole body grows a ripe-tomato-shade of red. there, on the older member's screen, a fan-taken video of him at the build-a-bear store, the cap on his head failing to hide the obvious embarrassment on his face as he stands near the stuffing machine of the store, awkwardly wishing his newly stuffed teddy a good life and rubbing it's plastic heart within his palms.

at least his girlfriend's reaction was worth it...cause there's no fucking way his hyungs are ever gonna let this one go...EVER!

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

i feel like this sucked but it's cute idk idk idk i just want loverboy woonhak so soososososo badly hes so sweet :( i locve him im crying while typing this btw hope u enjoyed TT reblogs n feedbacks r soso appreciated i love u guys so much. love, kona. MWAHHHH

𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐫... (𝟏𝟖+)| 𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊

ft. Alexis Ness

∗  ˖࣪ ໒꒱  ˚₊· synopsis: Alexis wanted you to be meaner, so you gave him your meaner.

･ﾟﾟ･｡　wc:1,2 k + warnings- mdni, nsfw content, f!reader, femdom!reader/sub!alexis, pro player(20+), 20+ characters, petnames(good boy), nipple play (m! receiving), friends w benefits relationship, cum-eating, slight edging, dry nursing.

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

“Can you be meaner…. like Kaiser?” That question took you by surprise. Alexis’ figure stood in front of you; expectant eyes, biting his mouth and clenched hands at his side.

You raised an eyebrow, staring at the man still waiting for the answer. It wasn’t strange for Alexis to come and ask you for things since the three of you had a ‘friends with benefits’ situation, but something inside of you snapped when compared to Michael.

Michael was him and you were you, much worse if you wanted to.

“Like Micha or like... me?” You uncrossed your legs and crossed your arms below your breasts, pressing them together and Alexis swallowed dryly, his eyes glued to your breasts.

“…Like you, how?” He asked, and you huffed a laugh, tapping a hand on your legs for Alexis to sit down.

It was all it took for you to start with a calm kiss. Pulling his lower lip and hands moving up into his shirt, stopping as it reached his neck, showing his nipples, and you flicked them.

It didn’t last long and Alexis squirmed in your lap, hands clasped in your hair as your mouth sucked on his left nipple willingly and his right was pinched between your fingers.

Alexis’s voice came out muffled. He was probably biting his mouth, and you didn’t like silent men.

“A-ah!” You smiled against his body, still focused on his nipple, now circling with your tongue and scratching the other. “Please...”

You let go of the nipple, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the hard bud, glistening red in saliva. “Eh, please, what?” You used both hands to stimulate his nipples, making him dangle his head back, moaning.

You did the same thing to the other nipple, making it hard from so much biting, sucking and licking, amused by Alexis’ grunts, stirring in your lap.

Alexis’ trembling hands wrapped around your strands and pulled, trying to pull your head away from his body, but his waist swayed against your belly and breasts, the marked bulge in his shorts showing that he didn’t want to stop.

“Please! Please!” Alexis’ sobs competed with moans and gasps each time you pulled his nipples with your teeth and went back to sucking and licking, giving attention to both of them, making Alexis gasp and bounce into your lap.

“I can’t take it anymore... Oh! Please!”

At some point, he leaned back, and you got your nails on his back, holding him in place, not stopping to play with him.

It had been a while since you’d been in this and Alexis was just sobbing, a few tears falling down his face, but it didn’t stop you from leaving his nipples raw flesh, smeared with saliva and aching from the attention.

You were sure they ached and burned just from the way Alexis shuddered, lost in pleasure and pain, occasionally pushing his waist against your body. His cock hurt too; hard and bound by his clothes, his tip a strong red expelling thick pre-cum and its shaft throbbing, begging for attention. You dug your nails into his backs, eyes rolling in pleasure as you imagined the scene.

Alexis grumbled, jerking his waist as he felt your hand groping his bulge, your mouth still glued to a nipple.

“This right here is begging for attention...” You blew a laugh against his chest and tightened his dick print, making him shrink in pain. “Do you want attention here, too?”

“Y-Ah!... Oh! Yes! Yes!” Alexis breathed heavily, moaning with each squeeze you gave, feeling his cock throb.

You slid your hands down his thick thighs and effortlessly lifted him up, laying him on the nearest surface. Alexis could be so weightless sometimes and you loved it.

You pushed away the strands stuck to his forehead with sweat, placing a little kiss on his red cheeks, wet with tears. The magenta eyes glowing, red face, the mouth swollen, heavy breath, and the shirt up to his neck, showing the white skin with the marks you left on the red-glowing nipples.

Oh, Alexis was so cute when broken by you, or even by Michael.

You made room in the middle of his legs, rubbing your belly against his bulge, watching him close his eyes and moan.

“You’re so hard, Ness...” You ran your hands up his legs, your nails following in a line of goosebumps as you pressed against him. “I bet you can cum without touch.”

Alexis opened his eyes; the beautiful hooded eyes begging you not to torture him anymore. He opened his mouth and let out a strangled moan as you pressed your fingers into his hard, aching nipples.

“What should I do, Alexis?” You whispered against his ear, nibbling on his lobe. “Should I be kind like me or mean like Micha?”

He shuddered, his waist lifting and his mouth a little scream with your knee pressing against his cock.

“Huh?” You kissed his neck, jaw, cheek, nose, and lips, biting until he grumbled in pain. “Tell me, Alexis.”

You were usually nice to Alexis and mean to Michael, especially when he was being a brat. But being compared or asked to be like Michael was something that made the worst of you awaken.

“Gentle! Gentle! Please, y/n! Please!” Alexis’ raspy, desperate voice made you smile, resting your head on his pectoral and stopping the movements of your knee.

“Yes, maybe I’ll.” You kissed him, sticking your tongue in rudely while pinching his nipples and back rubbing your knee on his cock. Alexis grumbled against your mouth, kissing you just as hard, but the hot tears fell as he squirmed against your body.

He asked you to be mean, so that’s what you would give him.

The wet sound of the kiss, the hot, heavy breaths, the noise of the friction of your bodies and the muffled noises of Alexis, who grabbed your arms but didn’t pull away from his sensitive nipples and his waist rolled against your knee.

The position was uncomfortable for you; it was better to stand in the middle of his legs, hands pulling him closer by his tights, gluing his cock with your pelvic bone and going back to sucking his nipples like you were a big hungry baby.

It was too much sensation for Alexis’ sensitive body that reacted on instinct, locking his legs around your waist and rolling against you.

You smiled against his mouth and pushed against his waist, simulating thrusts, making him gasp and squint.

Alexis was a great submissive, breedable good boy, and like the good boy he was, it didn’t take long to cum in his pants, moaning loudly against your puffy lips.

“Good boy.”

You gave a little kiss and pulled away from him, watching him shiver all over and his gaze lost in pleasure. You lowered his pants, showing off the white sticky cum and ran your hand over his cock, wiping the cum as best you could and taking it to your mouth, licking your fingers as you stared into the magenta eyes glued to you.

“I hope you liked my meaner, Ness.” You said, putting his clothes in place and leaving him alone, calming down from the intense orgasm your meaner self gave him.

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

© iwashie 2023, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

ness, who last felt love in the warmth of his mother’s womb, feeling cold no matter the weather. he seeks that same warmth again; in kaiser, where he can be needed for the gentleness of his passes, but not cherished as the sweet, yet lonely child he is.

and when you finally meet his kindness with kindness in return, he’s instantly addicted again. that same warmth he’s craved for nineteen long years. in your embrace, he finally feels the comfort of summer, after being out in the cold winter snow for so long.

he can’t let you go now, not when he’s finally found what he’s hungered for— that drowning feeling of sweet syrup, causing his heartrate to skyrocket.

ness, my sweet little crack baby.

Space & Time || P. SH

❀ pairing: roommate!sungho x implied fem!reader

❀ genre: roommates to lovers, college!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~6.1k

❀ warnings: explicit language, minor jealousy, literally one implication of queer!sungho

❀ summary: The space that you share with Park Sungho sometimes feels a little too small. In time, the closeness proves to grow into something neither of you can contain. But hey, that's the case for all roommates...right?

❀ a/n: Once again, my writer's block went craaaazy for this piece. I spent so long hating it, but now I actually really love it! I feel like the style is a little different from what I usually do, so I hope you enjoy. As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are encouraged!

masterlist

Truthfully, Park Sungho is the perfect roommate. It doesn’t matter that sometimes he sings a little too loud in the shower because at least his voice is melodious. It doesn’t matter that sometimes he scolds you for leaving a dirty dish out because he laughs with you equally as much. It doesn’t matter that he frequently has his friends over, because they are always polite and include you in every outing. 

Park Sungho is perfect, almost a little too perfect. 

You first start to realize after coming home one night, two years into living together. Your feet are aching from your nice heels and your ears are ringing from the car horns on the street. It’s enough to have you entering your apartment with a sigh, kicking off your heels the minute you can see your welcome mat. 

“You’re home early,” Sungho says as you round the corner, standing up to greet you in that overly respectful manner of his. “How was it?”

The question instantly has tears springing to your eyes, stinging your corneas as if they were poisonous. Sungho is clearly panicked by your change in demeanor, flailing slightly as he approaches. His coos and attempts to shush you just make your tears turn into sobs, throwing your head back as you finally let all of your pent up emotions out. 

“It was horrible,” you hiccup. 

For a moment, Sungho flails once again. But then you’re encased by strong arms, a hand on the back of your head guiding you to lean into an overly wide shoulder. He smells faintly of clean laundry and sea salt, the latter due to the undertone in the cologne he constantly wears. A large hand smooths down the expanse of your exposed back, palms cool against the heat of your skin. You let your tears flow into the cotton of his shirt, feeling comfortable for the first time all night. 

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

Sungho doesn’t let go as the two of you move, waddling your way through your shared apartment. Instead of pulling you down to sit next to him, Sungho gathers you so that you’re seated straddling his lap, face still tucked into his shoulder. It’s an intimate position, far too intimate for mere roommates, but you’re too distracted by your sobs and the feeling of Sungho’s cool hands on your back to care. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sungho coos, voice melodious and overly soft. 

You just shake your head, not trusting your voice. It was simple, actually, why your date went so horribly. One ill-timed glance at his phone revealed a slew of texts from someone saved under the name “wifey.” The man then proceeded to point out all of your insecurities, no doubt comparing you to whoever that contact was. He ended up taking a “work call”, leaving the date early and making you responsible for the hefty bill. 

“That’s fine,” Sungho soothes. “He doesn’t deserve you, anyways. You are such a catch and he doesn’t even know what he’s missing.”

You sniffle slightly, finally moving from your position buried in Sungho’s shoulder. He smiles when the two of you make eye contact, using his thumb to wipe a few stray tears from your cheeks. You’re sure that you look a mess, face ruddy with your makeup in various states of disarray. But the way Sungho is smiling at you makes you feel like the most beautiful person in the world. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my roommate,” you whisper. 

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

A moment of silence lingers in the small space between the two of you, with the occasional hiccup interrupting your peace. Sungho’s gaze is too intense, peering into the depths of your eyes. For a moment, you find yourself getting lost in the eye contact, taking note of the deep hue of his irises. It’s only when you feel a slight fluttering in your chest that you snap out of it. 

“I’m going to go shower and get out of these clothes,” you say as you stand, mindful of the way your halter top shifts across your chest. “But maybe we can watch a movie after that?”

Sungho smiles softly. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Something shifts between you and Sungho after that moment. 

It’s almost as if you’ve both unlocked a deeper level of comfort with each other, making physical contact in ways that you never had before. You spend your movie nights cuddling instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch. You greet each other with hugs when either of you comes home, Sungho even going as far as to place a kiss on your cheek or forehead in friendly greeting. He’ll place a hand on your lower back as he passes by you in the kitchen, or squeeze your exposed thigh when the two of you are seated next to each other. 

You don’t think much of it, knowing that it’s nothing more than a few friendly touches between roommates. Sungho had seen you at a particularly vulnerable moment, and now seeks to comfort you. There’s nothing wrong with that! Roommates can hold hands in the grocery store and hug each other tightly after a long day. 

It’s how you find yourself snuggled up to Sungho’s side during a movie night, head leaning on his shoulder. It’s one of the few times that the two of you aren’t alone, surrounded by some of Sungho’s closest friends that you equally adore. They sit in various places strewn around the living room, leaving you and Sungho seated alone on the loveseat in the corner. 

About halfway through the movie, Woonhak complains about being hungry, causing a heated debate to erupt about what snacks everyone wanted. Through the commotion, you feel a set of sharp eyes on you. When you look to the side, you find Sanghyuk’s gaze trained on the points where you and Sungho are connected. It’s a simply observational gaze, his eyes holding no hint of judgment as he regards you. But, the intensity of his gaze makes your skin crawl. 

Under Sanghyuk’s scrutiny, you begin to peel yourself away from Sungho’s side. But before you can get far, a hand guides your head to lean back onto his shoulder. A quick glance upwards reveals that Sungho is still in the heated snack debate, not having blinked an eye at your movement. It’s almost as if he moved reflexively, not even having to think about drawing you closer. 

When you look back at Sanghyuk, the boy is smirking, simply rolling his eyes before he looks away. You try your best to fight the heat that is beginning to rise to your cheeks, to no avail. 

At some point between a new round of popcorn being distributed, and everyone settling back into their seats, you fall asleep. You have no idea how much time has passed as a soft hand shakes you awake. An ache overtakes your neck muscles as you straighten up, pulling back to see Sungho smiling down at you. A quick scan of the room reveals that it’s empty save for the two of you, causing you to cock an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Where’s everyone else?” You slur out, voice thick from sleep. 

“They left. It’s almost midnight, pumpkin.”

Pumpkin, that’s new. Your sleep addled brain doesn’t have the capacity to question it, simply nodding in understanding. 

“You should go to bed,” Sungho whispers, tucking a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You nod, still not moving from your position on the couch. As your eyes flutter closed once again, you hear a soft chuckle. It’s enough to startle you back awake, not surprised to see a shy smile painting Sungho’s face. It’s impossible to not note how handsome he looks at the moment, long hair in disarray from leaning back on the couch and clad in a large sweatshirt. You imagine that he would be much cozier than your bed, but your mouth can’t quite part to form those syllables. 

“Come on,” Sungho says softly, dragging you up from the couch by the arm. “Let’s get you to bed.”

.         .         .

At some point, it becomes strange to not be greeted by Sungho the minute you enter your shared apartment, especially since you both have shared your schedules with each other. The man should be home, but your persistent calls of his name are met with nothing but silence as you toe off your shoes. Venturing further into the apartment still reveals no signs of life, a truly odd sight. 

You round a corner to step into the small hallway that leads deeper into the space, only to collide directly with a solid expanse of skin. A strong arm reaches out to steady you as you stumble backwards, keeping you firmly upright. Sungho’s eyes are wide when you meet his gaze, clearly flustered by your sudden appearance. 

“Shit, are you okay?”

You are unable to respond, too engrossed in scanning the view in front of you. Sungho’s entire torso is exposed, the man clearly having forgone a shirt. Wide shoulders taper into an impossibly small waist, leaving you swallowing thickly as you note the pair of basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. It’s clear that he has just showered, hair still dripping down onto his torso in clear rivulets. You find yourself watching as one slides down a firm pectoral, making a trail in one of the multiple divets in his abdomen, until it’s finally absorbed by the fabric of his shorts. 

You shake your head a bit, trying to snap out of it. It doesn’t help that Sungho is still grasping your upper arm, the strength in his hand obvious despite the gentle hold. Suddenly, your mouth feels arid, as if a sandy sediment has coated its surface and sucked up all of the moisture. You imagine that Sungho’s body is coated in enough water to quench your thirst. 

…wait…what??

“I’m fine,” you rush out, clearing your throat of its obvious thickness. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

Sungho just smiles softly, finally releasing his grip on your arm. “It’s all good. I felt bad that I wasn’t around when you got back. I thought I timed my shower well.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you going somewhere?”

A slight flush rises to Sungho’s cheeks, the man ducking his head slightly. His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, allowing a few residual drops to fall from his hair. It’s odd to see Sungho be anything other than confident and bold, the sudden change catching you firmly off guard. 

“Yeah, I’m actually going to go hang out with this girl Daeun. She’s in my astronomy class so we’re going to the observatory a few towns over to do some constellation research.”

“Oh! That sounds…” surprisingly romantic… “Nice. That sounds really nice.”

Sungho chuckles, a sheepish smile taking over his face. “Yeah, I’m excited. Oh, let me finish getting ready! I might come to you for outfit advice, if that’s okay.”

You nod slowly, plastering a smile on your face. “Of course it is.”

Your chest feels tight as Sungho retreats, disappearing into his bedroom. As much as you try and ignore it, it continues to encompass you as you busy yourself with the latest episode of your favorite reality tv show. The pain doesn’t subside even as you try and immerse yourself in the latest drama. Instead, your face begins to heat and your palms begin to itch, almost as if craving to dig into something. Into what, you can’t quite determine, but you imagine it feels like milky smooth skin pulled taut over firm muscle. 

“How do I look?” Sungho asks with a little turn when he emerges from his room. 

Once again, you find yourself scanning his figure, taking in the way his jeans make his legs look impossibly long and how his shirt highlights the broadness of his shoulders. When the two of you first met, you used to joke about how Sungho needed to abandon his university endeavors to become a model. Times like now make it feel a little too real to be a joke. 

“Great,” you answer softly, ignoring the way your face burns. “You look great.”

Sungho looks absolutely giddy as he approaches the couch, leaning over to place a soft kiss on your forehead. The close proximity allows you to smell all the notes of his cologne, a scent that you have gotten used to transferring onto your clothes after every tight hug and cuddle session. The tightness in your chest returns, but this time it burns. 

“Thanks, pumpkin. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Despite the man’s warning, you can’t find it in yourself to fall asleep. Instead, you remain awake in your bed, tossing and turning every few moments. Eventually, your body tires out, allowing you to slowly drift into slumber. If you dream of the mellow scent of sea salt and water droplets sliding across skin, that’s no one’s business but your own. 

.          .          .

The two of you part with a hug, Sungho gently pecking your forehead before heading off to his own class. You can’t fight the soft smile gracing your face as you approach your own building, your friend waiting for you near the entrance. 

Minji looks thoroughly perplexed as you approach, eyebrows drawn together in clear confusion. “Was that your boyfriend?”

The question makes you choke on your iced coffee, beginning to double over as a fit of coughs wrack your body. Minji doesn’t even flinch at your dilemma, still staring at the spot where you and Sungho had previously stood. 

“Holy shit, no!” You exclaim through a slew of coughs. “He’s just my roommate.”

The two of you move to enter the building, but Minji’s confused gaze remains firmly locked on you. 

“You’re joking, right?”

“What? No!” You emphasize as you slide into your seat. “Sungho is really just my roommate.”

“Then why do you guys do…,” Minji makes a vague gesture with her hands, “that?”

“You mean hug?”

“And kiss!” Minji’s voice drops to a whisper as the professor announces the start of his lecture. “I mean, if I had anyone treating me like that, I would definitely think we’re dating.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not dating!”

Minji just looks you up and down, lips curling into a soft smirk. “Does he know that?”

Any retort you have dies instantly in your throat. He does know that. You and Sungho have never been anything other than roommates, close roommates, but roommates nonetheless. The friendship that you have developed via sharing a space will always be nothing more than just that. Besides, he’s clearly seeing that girl Daeun from astronomy, right?

The amalgamation of thoughts about your non-relationship with Sungho distracts you throughout your entire lecture. Before you know it, your professor is dismissing you and you frown at your notebook, empty save for the date scribbled in the top right corner. You bid Minji a goodbye, reminding yourself to text her later for the notes. 

As you exit the lecture hall, a familiar figure makes you stop in your tracks. Sungho’s silhouette is bathed golden by the mid afternoon sun, giving him a cherubian glow. His head is tilted back in laughter, hand covering his mouth. It’s not uncommon to see Sungho lost in laughter, but you wonder who could have him so giddy this time, especially since Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. 

And that’s when you see her. 

She’s pretty, unbelievably so. Long dark hair cascades past her shoulders, falling down to her trim waist. Her rounded eyes are emphasized by the slight shimmer of gold eyeshadow, full cheeks painted delicately with blush. Her smile is powerful, rivaling the sunshine that covers the green. The worst part is that she looks so good next to Sungho, as if they were a proper couple. So this is the Daeun that Sungho took to go see the stars. 

A hot feeling blooms in your chest, forcing you to avert your eyes. It makes sense, of course, that Daeun would be gorgeous and Sungho would be smitten with her. It’s only right that Sungho would have a partner equally as amazing as he is. 

So why aren’t you happy for him? Why does your chest burn and why do your eyes sting? Why is there a lump in your throat that feels excruciatingly painful to swallow down? Why are your palms growing clammy despite the early springtime breeze cooling you to your core?

You push your spiral of thoughts to the side, letting your legs carry you away from the green as fast as possible. It’s impossible to focus on where you’re going, letting your body move on autopilot. It’s only when a familiar warmth and the smell of pastries overcome you that you exhale for the first time in what feels like forever. You breathe in the smell of freshly brewed coffee and exhale with a smile. 

“Y/N?” A voice calls from the register. “What are you doing here?”

You’ve always mentioned that Donghyun looks particularly cute in his work attire. His hair is kept back off his face with a visor, the brim of which is shaped like a fishtail. His aquamarine apron is tied tight around his waist, covered in stains from the busy shift he likely had. Even the glittery name tag pinned to his apron suits him, matching the overeager sparkle in his eye. 

“I just wanted to stop by for some coffee.”

Donghyun cocks an eyebrow at you before scanning the practically empty cafe. “It’s 4pm.”

“I know, but I just need a pick-me-up.”

There’s another moment of silence as Donghyun regards you. With the minimum chatter from cafe-goers, the silence almost feels awkward, Donghyun clearly pondering something before he chooses to reply. After a moment, he simply shrugs. 

“Alright, but I’m giving you half-caf! I honestly don’t feel like brewing an entire new pot of regular.”

In mere minutes, you’re sitting alone at a table by the window, a steaming mug warming your fingers. You choose to ignore the concerned glances that Donghyun shoots you from behind the coffee bar. He would probably ask about what’s bothering you, since you’re sure your crisis is painted all over your face. But that’s the exact problem—you have no idea what your crisis is. 

So what if Sungho has a new girl that he’s been seeing? It’s not like that affects you in any way. If anything, it’s expected, with his round eyes and overly caring nature. You’re sure most people 

would swoon at the mellow tone of his voice or at how quick he is to laugh at a joke. No one is immune to falling for the way he’s hyper-attentive as he listens or the way he squeezes a tad bit harder right before he’s about to release someone from a hug. 

So you’re not surprised at all that someone has fallen for Sungho, especially someone so pretty. It’s expected. So why does it hurt?

Once again, you force the question out of your mind, letting out a groan as you lean your head into your hands. The steam rising from the mug begins to heat your cheeks as you stare into it, warming you up in a way that you didn’t know you needed. Despite the burn in your chest and your clammy hands, it feels like the rest of your body is frozen over, forced to malfunction at the thought of Sungho and his new lover. 

Oh shit. You’re jealous. 

Your stomach twists and turns at the newfound revelation. It makes sense, of course, that you would fall for Sungho just like everyone else. He’s the epitome of a perfect gentleman. And with the constant touches, it’s hard not to crave that little something more. What would those ever so soft lips feel like against your own instead of your forehead or cheek?

But he has made it clear where he stands. Sungho is your roommate, no matter how much you crave for him to be more. He has Daeun. He chose Daeun. It should be easy to accept, but the swirling feeling in your gut says otherwise. 

You don’t know how long you spend in the cafe, letting time pass aimlessly as you remain lost in your thoughts. It’s only when your phone vibrates with a text that you are snapped back into reality. You don’t even have to look at it to know who it is, likely wondering about your whereabouts. After all, you’re usually home by this time, freshly showered and cuddled up with him as you chat over takeout. 

With another groan, you grab your stuff, taking your time to collect your belongings and shoot Donghyun an appreciative smile. He nods in return, shooting you a thumbs up that you’re sure is supposed to be a wish of good luck. 

He doesn’t even know how much you’ll need it. 

.         .         .

Meeting Daeun is even more tortuous than seeing her from afar. She’s even prettier up close, with a blinding smile and fluttering eyelashes. However, her beauty isn’t what strikes you the most. It’s how she’s hugging Sungho in the middle of your doorway that leaves you shocked. 

She’s clearly just saying goodbye, Sungho trapping her in one of his notorious hugs before she leaves. The sight has you frozen in place nonetheless, the grocery bag you were carrying now hanging lower in your slackened grip. Sungho seems to sense your presence as the two release from their hug, eyes lighting up as he sees you standing beyond the doorway. 

“Y/N! I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he beams. “This is Daeun, my research partner.”

“Oh, this is Y/N?” The woman questions, shooting you a soft smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You force yourself to return the smile, although you’re sure yours comes out awkward with a hint of confusion. “You too.”

There’s a thick silence that ensues as Daeun regards the two of you. Her gaze flickers between you and Sungho a few times before she lets out a small chuckle, as if she knows something you don’t. At least you feel like you’re one step ahead of her, knowing that something’s going on between her and Sungho. You just didn’t quite expect to see it so clearly.

“Well I’m going to get going,” Daeun sings. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sungho. Nice to meet you again, Y/N.”

The woman disappears down the hallway with a little wave, ponytail swaying behind her with every step. The minute she’s out of sight, Sungho moves forward, relieving you of the grocery bag that is basically on the floor at this point. He holds the door as you take slow steps forward, finally forcing your body to enter the apartment. As you slide off your shoes, Sungho ruffles your hair before moving to unpack the groceries. 

“So,” you begin, sitting on the countertop next to where Sungho is fussing over the various fruits that you had bought. “She’s cute.”

Sungho shoots you a confused look. “I mean, I guess.”

“You guess? Isn’t she like your girlfriend or something? I feel like you should think she’s cute.”

“Woah,” Sungho chuckles. “Where did you get that from?”

“What?”

“That she’s my girlfriend? She’s literally just my partner for my research project.”

You shrug, trying not to oogle the breadth of Sungho’s shoulders as he leans down to place an egg carton in the fridge.

“I just thought you two were close. And you look kinda cute together,” you mumble, beginning to swing your legs where they hang over the edge of the counter. 

Sungho stares at you incredulously. “Ummm…okay, I guess. She’s not really my type, though.”

“Really?” You hate the way your voice comes out in a rush of excitement. “I mean, um, I’m surprised. Like I said, you two look cute together.”

In the blink of an eye, Sungho is standing before you, slowly making space for himself in the vee of your legs. His palm is warm as he places it on your knee, right on top of the rip in your jeans. The new proximity has you leaning back a bit, only to be stopped by the wall behind you. You find yourself going a little cross eyed at the closeness, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact. Sungho just smiles, squeezing your knee softly.

“I mean it,” he mumbles. “I already have my eye on someone else, pumpkin.”

It feels as if the distance between the both of you is getting smaller by the second, some sort of invisible pull bringing you closer. At the last minute, Sungho leans upward, letting his lips gently peck your forehead. The warm sensation on your skin lingers, even as Sungho pulls back to shoot you another smile. 

“Welcome home, by the way.”

The man then retreats as if nothing happened, going back to unpacking the groceries. You don’t dare move from your position, heart still hammering in your chest. It takes a moment before you are able to exhale, your breath coming out short and shaky. If it weren’t for the stability of the counter underneath you, you’re sure you would have fallen over. It makes you wonder if Sungho would’ve caught you if you had. 

“So, what do you want to do for dinner?” Sungho calls over his shoulder, shooting you a small smile. “I’m really in the mood for sushi.”

.         .         .

You impatiently rap your knuckles against the heavy door in front of you, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Never before had you felt this sense of urgency, limbs feeling jittery with every passing moment that you spend standing still. It’s enough anxiety to have you running a marathon, and even then, you swear you would still have some anxious energy left. However, the minute that a confused face opens the door, you feel a bit of the tension leave your body. 

“Y/N?”

You smile sheepishly. “Hi, Sanghyuk. I need your help.”

You’ve always found Sanghyuk and Jaehyun’s shared apartment to be extremely homely. The two of them have arrays of stuffed animals and trinkets in every corner of the home, along with an assortment of fuzzy blankets in every nook and cranny. It’s cozy and calm, especially with the way it’s never quite silent. Usually Jaehyun is the culprit, either joking and laughing loudly or playing some music to set the vibe. 

But even now, as it’s just you and Sanghyuk in the space, the cozy feeling is amplified. You’re wrapped up in one of his fleece Pokémon blankets, cocooning yourself in warmth. It’s quiet for a moment, Sanghyuk never pushing you to speak before you’re ready. After a few deep breaths, you finally feel ready to open up. 

“I think I like Sungho.”

You expect something to shift in the moment, maybe for Sanghyuk to squeal in surprise or for the world to stop turning for a bit. But it’s nothing like that. Instead, Sanghyuk just continues to look at you, a neutral expression coloring his face. 

“Okay,” he murmurs softly. “Tell me more.”

And you do. It’s easy to confide in Sanghyuk, with his soft smiles and solemn nods. He listens as you pour your heart out, explaining everything from the first bit of physical contact after your shitty date to meeting Daeun in the apartment. As every piece of the story comes out, you feel your chest begin to grow lighter. 

“And now I’m here because I don’t know what to do.”

Sanghyuk just hums, clearly pondering your words before he speaks. “Well, are you going to tell him?”

“I can’t!” You all but whine, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “He’s just going to pity me and reject me and then it’s going to be weird when we have to see each other all the time. I mean, we live together.”

“What makes you so sure that any of these things are going to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Sanghyuk shrugs. “Exactly, you don’t know. So what’s the harm in trying?”

You can’t help but groan, head beginning to pound at the mere thought of telling him how you feel. “But what if he hates me?”

“And what if he loves you?” 

What if Sungho loves you?

It’s hard to imagine, but for a moment you get a glimpse of what that would be like. Forehead kisses would trail down to meet your lips instead of just stopping there. Cuddles and hugs could turn into more meaningful touches. A hand on the waist would be a show of belonging, not just a hint of guidance. The man that you want would finally be yours. 

“I’m scared, Sanghyuk.”

The man across from you sighs, beginning to pick at the corner of his own blanket. “I know, but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“And Daeun?”

“Has Sungho ever lied to you?” Sanghyuk cocks an eyebrow when you shake your head no. “Exactly. You have no reason to believe he isn’t telling you the truth.”

You know that he’s right, just like he always is. It’s just hard to ditch the niggling feeling in the back of your brain that there’s something you don’t know. The glint in Daeun’s eyes and the surprise in Sungho’s had to have meant something. It had to. 

“I know that, but I just need to hear it. Can you please be 100% honest with me?” You ask softly, eyes firmly fixed on Sanghyuk. 

“I always am.”

“Does Sungho have a thing for Daeun?”

Sanghyuk chuckles. “No. Like he said, he has his eye on someone else.”

The phrase bounces around your head the entire walk home. Someone else could be anyone. It could be another person in his research class or one of his gym companions. It could be that one really cute guy that works at Donghyun’s cafe. It could be anyone. It could be you. 

As you unlock your apartment door, you’re greeted with the familiar sight of Sungho wiping down the kitchen counters. It’s a little thing he does, constantly cleaning and tidying to the point that it’s almost motherly. But his habit is endearing, especially as he scrunches his nose while scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. 

The minute he looks up, though, any trace of tension is gone from his face, melting into a soft smile. He’s quick to abandon the cloth he was using, approaching you with wide arms. The hug that he engulfs you in is all too tight, but you find it freeing rather than suffocating. However, the breath leaves your lungs when Sungho places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Welcome home, pumpkin,” he coos softly.

As you two part, you can’t help but stand frozen in place, a warm rush flooding your body. If Sungho notices, he doesn’t show it, choosing instead to go back to cleaning. Before you can stop it, the warmth travels upward, escaping your body before you can catch it. 

“I want you to mean it.”

The short phrase makes Sungho stop, turning back to you with a confused furrow in his brow. “Mean what?”

As much as you want to race to retract your words, Sanghyuk’s voice echoes in your mind. Someone else, you remind yourself. It could be you. You take a deep breath. 

“When you kiss me,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut as embarrassment begins to color your cheeks. “I know it’s just on the forehead or cheek, but I want you to mean it.”

Sungho makes a confused little noise. “But I do mean it.”

“Not in the way that I want you to. Not in the way that I mean it.”

The silence that overcomes the room makes time tick by ever so slowly. What are mere seconds feel like hours as the two of you simply stand in the hallway, neither of you daring to say a word. Even though your eyes are closed, you can tell Sungho is shifting his weight back and forth, the motion making the floorboards creak slightly. 

“Y/N, I need to understand. How exactly do you want me to mean it?”

Somehow, the question gives you the energy to open your eyes, instantly sweeping them over Sungho’s form. The white tee shirt he wears is marred with splotches of water, likely from his earlier time cleaning. His hands are calloused as they run through his hair, grip permanently rough from spending too much time at the gym. There’s a bit of redness around his temples from what looks like the beginning of a blemish. He’s stunning like this. 

“I want you to like me the way I like you.”

Sungho’s confused expression deepens. “And what way is that?”

“Like more than a friend or roommate. I want you to like me romantically.”

The laugh that Sungho lets out comes as a surprise. It even surprises the man itself, it seems, based on the way he instantly covers his mouth with his hands. His eyes have grown wider in shock, gaze uncertain as it remains locked on you. But soon that all melts away, replaced with a subtle smirk. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just—who says I don’t already?”

The apartment seems to shrink around the two of you, compressing all of the air in the room. Even the hallway feels tighter, invisibly drawing you and Sungho closer together. It’s as if there was a shift in the space, in your space. 

“B-but, Daeun?” You manage to stutter out, trying to ignore the way that the walls are pressing in on you, forcing you closer to Sungho. 

It seems that your roommate is feeling similar effects, slowly stumbling towards you as well. 

“I told you,” he mumbles softly. “She’s just my research partner. I like someone else. Y/N, I like you.”

The apartment shrinks a little more.

“You do?”

Sungho nods, smiling sheepishly. “I have for like, two years now. I mean, I tried to show you! Why else would I be all over you like that?”

“Because you’re a touchy person?” You question, not sounding too convinced of yourself. 

“Because I like you, pumpkin.”

The space is finally completely compressed, you and Sungho now standing toe to toe. He feels so much broader like this, taking up his fair share of the newly tiny space. It’s dizzying to be pressed so close together, even though it’s far from the first time. Once again, you find that it’s freeing rather than suffocating.

“I thought you were just being a really good roommate.”

Sungho chuckles, the sound vibrating through both of your bodies. The closeness allows him to easily wrap an arm around your waist, his free hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He lets his hand trail downward, cupping your cheek. 

“I don’t think really good roommates would do this.”

As much as you have felt Sungho’s lips on your face, the feeling of him pressing a kiss to your mouth feels utterly foreign. His lips are made soft from his constant use of peach chapstick, rivaling your own soft pucker. The kiss is both just as quick and equally as gentle as his pecks to your forehead. When he pulls away, you can’t stop the small whine that escapes you. 

Your eyes flutter open, trying to tamp down the immediate feeling of embarrassment that floods your core. You don’t seem to be the only one, though, with Sungho’s cheeks taking on their own rosy hue. For a moment, the two of you are silent, letting the apartment around you expand and contract with every breath you take. 

“Sungho,” you whisper. 

It’s all it takes for Sungho to instantly reconnect his lips to yours, this time kissing you deeper. The hand around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, leaving no room between your bodies. It gives Sungho the leverage to lean over you slightly, letting his lips capture yours again and again. The feeling is dizzying. Never has Sungho’s touch electrified you so much. 

When you finally pull away, heavy panting fills the silence between you. It takes Sungho a moment to open his eyes, finally staring back at you with dark eyes. It’s different from the Sungho you’re so used to seeing, playful and easygoing. Instead, this Sungho desires. 

“So,” you can’t help but ask. “This means you don’t like Daeun, right?”

“Holy shit,” Sungho curses before breaking out into laughter.

His chuckles shatter the moment, both hands dropping down to his sides. It’s endearing to watch how his nose scrunches and his eyes squeeze shut. But honestly, you don’t know what is so funny. 

“Y/N, pumpkin,” Sungho begins in between chuckles. “Daeun has a girlfriend.”

Oh.

.FIN.

ARE YOU READY FOR IT? | LYNEY

warnings 1.8k words, implied child neglect, the dark themes of the house of the hearth, once again i will say that this is not canon compliant

notes thank u naosaki (art) for proofreading the first ever chapter of the series!!! and being my hypeman overall LMFAO

masterlist | next chapter

A deep breath. In, out. Once more. Rehearsed lines, practiced smiles, and a heart as steady as a frightened squirrel.

“Good?”

You meet his eyes. “Good.”

The corset isn’t as suffocating as you expected it would be. Aether ensures that you’re as comfortable as possible dressed in this snug bodice with a puffed-up, full skirt that drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those of those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine—because you’d eventually have to fight with this thing on.

The polearm feels heavy nestled in your palms. Strange, as you had never gone through a night without spinning it around your body and thrusting it into the air in the solitude of the night where no one would suspect a thing. You flick your wrist, not bothered to watch it disperse into the air. You’ve come to a point where green stems are more at home in your hands than weapons. You’re not sure why you don’t feel content with that revelation.

“Are you ready?”

Your gaze snaps to Aether, who’s looking at you warily as if standing across a ticking bomb. “Yes.” You offer a smile, hoping it comes across as comforting.

Aether tries for a smile back, though it looks more like a grimace. You can see it in his eyes: he doesn’t trust you. But his desire to learn more overpowers his wariness, and now, you’ve struck a deal. So long as you’re wearing this disguise, you are allies.

“Paimon is starting to miss your muddy apron,” Paimon says, wilting as you twirl around. “You look a lot less like Y/N.”

“This is who I really am, Paimon.” You glance to the ruffles and the thick coat, engulfing you in everything Fontaine. 

Paimon tilts her head. “Who?”

You cast her a dry smile. “Runaway coward, fraud, and Fatuu.”

YEARS BEFORE.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an orphan under the care of ‘Father’.

If you were to shut your eyes and reminisce about life before the orphanage, you’d catch a fleeting glimpse of your mother’s face as you were surrendered over to grand doors, ones that felt like they were fifteen feet tall and thick enough to keep you from your family. You don’t know if your mother was kind or if she intended to leave you here long enough for everyone to call you an orphan. You eventually stopped dreaming about her.

You find that it doesn’t matter because you’re already here. You wouldn’t know where she would be. Waking up spelled out another day of pushing through.

“Hush, child,” a voice whispered as you hiccuped, overwhelmed with unfamiliar faces and tall, tall walls. Your chin was gripped by hands with sharp nails, but they didn’t hurt you. “Save your tears. You are safer here.”

You blinked rapidly, tremors jostling your shoulders with each ugly sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breathing slowed as the shed tears cleared your vision, finally seeing the woman in front of you. She looked as if she had just done something horrible; she looked as if she wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat if you screamed and thrashed around her hold.

You looked at her and saw someone you knew would protect you.

It became a little less dull when ‘Father’ let you borrow one of the weapons from the stash. The one you chose reeked of dried blood and looked dangerously unused, its surface marred by rust. It was long, and you concluded from the tip that it was no sword; it was all too different from the weapons you’ve seen around. On your first swing, you stumbled and nearly let it slip through your fingers.

“A polearm,” ‘Father’ noted, staring down at you in a way that felt as if she was scrutinizing every action and every thought running through your head. “Would you like to try it out?”

It was difficult. Each swing felt as if you were inches away from hitting your own head—or, even worse, felt as if you would make the wrong move and hit ‘Father’, who’s watching you in silence. She doesn’t stand from where she’s seated, though she does speak here and there. Stand straighter; don’t hold it too tightly; watch your balance.

You loved it. You held onto the rusty polearm more than you breathe. You train, and train, and train until it twirls around your fingers seamlessly, like water rushing through smooth rocks, until it’s as easy as a second limb.

That is how you made a name for yourself in the House of the Hearth.

During the times ‘Father’ returned briefly from business trips, you’d make her watch you train. You made her see how far you’d come, and she knew it, too. She’d even invite the other orphans to spar with you, but you were never defeated.

The orphans would hear your name, and they’d either scrunch their noses in distaste or brighten up in awe—it’s all the same, in your opinion. They hear your name and think of how fondly Arlecchino favors you.

The next one, they whisper. The next king.

The House of the Hearth became something greater than a home. It became a training ground for future soldiers, disguised as an orphanage, yet it treated you far better than your own household. Here, you've matured in wisdom with each thrust of your weapon and with every hidden truth that Teyvat conceals; it's where you learned to sharpen and embrace them all. Here, no one can hurt you. No one tries to break down your walls or question why you have them up in the first place. 

‘Father’ took you in and gave you another chance. ‘Father’ saw your battered arms and torn faith and introduced you to a house where you wouldn’t ever have to feel this broken again. And you, too young and too aware of the creeping loneliness clawing at you, took her hand and never looked back.

The House of the Hearth is where you learned what it was like to feel respect. Fear goes hand-in-hand with it, but you can’t help it if it can’t bring you down because you’ve climbed far too out of reach.

“That was a really good match,” Freminet mumbles as you walk over, sweaty all over and panting from exhaustion—but there’s a wide smile on your face, only ever appearing after battling someone.

You beam at his praise. “Yeah? I was testing a new move last night. It didn’t work, though.”

“I didn’t even notice you slipping,” Freminet says, puzzled, prompting a burst of laughter from you.

This side of you is only reserved for Freminet. To everyone else—and especially ‘Father’—you’re cold and cruel, and you don’t like wasting time with other people. But you’ve grown fond of Freminet, just as his quiet murmurs and hours-long of whispers are meant just for you. It’s a strange friendship. Everyone else thinks you could never get along.

What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters, not when you’re something here.

“‘Father’ is calling for you,” Freminet says, gesturing vaguely to the side.

You pat Freminet’s head and flick the polearm back to life, materializing in your hands. “I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay? Don’t sneak off this time.” Freminet pretends to think about it, humming thoughtfully, then smiles when you nudge his shoulder before darting off.

“Every kingdom would have the next king,” is what ‘Father’ says when you’re a few steps across her. There’s a ghost of a smile on her face—or at least is what you like to think. Your heart races. “I see it in you, child.”

Warmth fills your chest. You bow your head to hide the unprofessional and childish smile.

“Ah,” she continues, looking off to the side. “Before I forget…fetch your siblings. I have news to share.”

You frown, failing to hide your disappointment. You were hoping for a bit more. “Of course, ‘Father’.”

The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this victorious feeling away.

But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.

Lyney, with his slicked back, matted hair, violet eyes wide yet somehow dim, and figure thinner than a stick—the picture of every orphan stumbling into their new home for the very first time. Lyney, who stands beside ‘Father’ as they’re introduced, his gaze wandering the room, the unfamiliar faces, then your unimpressed eyes. Lynette is behind him, peeking out from his shoulder.

‘Father’ gives them the usual: a promise of no betrayal, a promise of a bond as strong as the blood shared between the twins. They listen. You scowl.

It is also here, in the House of the Hearth, where your world is flipped upside down, all because of violet eyes that seem to have never left yours.

There’s something about Lyney that unnerves you.

You assure Freminet that it’s not just because you’re miffed that The Knave is paying too close attention to the twins. You would get over the jealousy—you knew it was for the twins to feel at ease as they settled in; she’d done the same to you (the only difference is she never stopped). But Freminet has also taken a deep liking to them, saying you’re wary for no reason.

He isn’t wrong. You’re wary for a reason you’re not sure why just yet.

It was just that Lyney’s face pissed you off.

He keeps staring from over ‘Father’’s legs, sharp eyes following your movements. His face is blank, keeping you from reading his thoughts, yet his eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s akin to a trembling puppy or a cat prepared to pounce. You hate the feeling of his eyes boring into your skin.

You tell ‘Father’ all of this as the other orphans scurry off to bed, and you’re in charge of cleaning the dining table. With each plate stacked, venom spits from your mouth, brows knitted, and teeth bared in a snarl. You haven’t questioned any of ‘Father’’s decisions—you’re wary of this particular one, though.

‘Father’ has that quirk on her lips, amusement evident on her suspiciously bright expression. “You haven’t met Lyney yet, have you? What’s brought this reaction out of you?”

You nearly fumble with the glasses, avoiding her eyes. “I-It’s not as if I hate him. I just—I don’t know. There’s something strange about him.”

And speaking of strange, ‘Father’ has that look in her eye that you’re starting to feel agitated by. You think that the knowing smile is a nice look on her, however, you’re not sure if what’s running through her head at the moment can be considered nice.

“I see,” she says, a lilt in her tone.

“See what, ‘Father’?” You bristle when she smiles wider. “See what?”

references: kingdom and the next king — lyney voiceline: about “father”: king

taglist @thenyxsky

you arrive like a dream.

summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?

notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together

“I want to take a break from us.”

It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.

Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest. 

Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent. 

By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious. 

The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back. 

As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him. 

In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.

Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly. 

You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”

“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”

Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas says.

Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return. 

Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country. 

By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”

Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.” 

You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.

Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.

“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone. 

“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”

“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.

“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.

“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”

“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”

“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?” 

“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.

You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”

You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”

“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”

“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.

“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”

There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.

“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it? 

“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”

“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”

“Okay. Love you!”

With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.

You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.

You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.

In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old. 

–

You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.

Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.

Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.

You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.

You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.

“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest. 

“But what do you want?” you persisted. 

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”

And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory. 

You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.

Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door. 

“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”

The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.

“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”

Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”

“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced. 

Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.

“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.

“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”

“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”

You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”

“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”

“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.

A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”

You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.

You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”

How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.

“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”

The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.

You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.

“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”

“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor. 

He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”

“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said. 

“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor. 

“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”

The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly. 

During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.

“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly. 

“What are these for?” you asked.

“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!” 

“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.

“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”

 “Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”

“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”

“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.

“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”

He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school? 

But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.

–

You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.

There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.

Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.

But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.

You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.

You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge. 

The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”

“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”

“Dinner?”

“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.

“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”

“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”

You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”

“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”

The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.

It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.

When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.

Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”

You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.

The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.

You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.

“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.

You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.

“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.

Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.

She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”

“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”

Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”

You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”

And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”

You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.

Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.

“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”

“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”

“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”

Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.

“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”

“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru. 

You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.

You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.

Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.

It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.

“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?

“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of. 

“I–”

“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”

“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.

“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.

You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.

“I want to talk to you again,” he says. 

“I don’t care,” you say again.

“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”

“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”

“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”

You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.

“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”

“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”

“Go back where?”

“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”

It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.

At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.

–

Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.

Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.

But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.

At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.

So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.

Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.

“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.

“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level. 

“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee. 

“I’ll try,” you said. 

“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”

And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.

Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.

“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”

“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”

And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.

Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.

“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.

“What is that?” you asked him.

“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”

“Can I come, too?”

“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.

Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.

“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands. 

“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you. 

“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.

Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru. 

“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.

“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”

“I saved it for you, though.”

Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”

There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams. 

Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.

“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”

“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”

“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”

“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”

“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”

You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked. 

“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.

“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.

She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”

You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”

“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.

Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”

Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”

“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”

Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.” 

However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.

It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.

“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”

Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.” 

“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!” 

Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint. 

“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself. 

“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids. 

“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked. 

“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?” 

Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint. 

“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?” 

“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.” 

“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs. 

“So we can be together forever,” you explained. 

Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”

You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding. 

“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?” 

Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?” 

You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”

–

Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain. 

It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart. 

When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.

You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that. 

But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.

You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message. 

Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.

Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.

yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3

Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances. 

Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well. 

You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?

You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.

Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.

You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on. 

The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life. 

“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face. 

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!” 

You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.

“I missed you,” Bachira says.

“We met a few days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”

You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”

“Did you think I hated you?” you say. 

“You didn’t?” he says quietly.

“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”

Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.

“I was mad, Bachira. I…”

“You said we were best friends.”

You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Then are we still best friends?”

“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.” 

“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.” 

“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek. 

When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze. 

“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”

A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.

“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.

You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.

“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions. 

“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice. 

“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that. 

“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds. 

“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.

Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?” 

“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.” 

He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky. 

You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you. 

–

By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation. 

“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.” 

Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”

“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?” 

You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!” 

“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues. 

“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender. 

When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.

“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”

She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.” 

Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.

You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly. 

It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed. 

“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!” 

“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”

He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently. 

The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.” 

“Because of Meguru?” you repeated. 

The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”

You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend. 

But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.

You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team. 

Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world. 

He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.

It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head. 

“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”

When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you. 

“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.

As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.

He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.

You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now. 

You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year. 

During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.

It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself. 

You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.

When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.

“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”

“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”

“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”

“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly. 

You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.

“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”

“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”

He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”

Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”

“Uh…”

“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”

“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.

“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”

“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”

A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.

Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”

You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic.  I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor. 

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze. 

You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”

You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you. 

Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”

You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.

“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.

 It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”

“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met. 

Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?

“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”

You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.

“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”

Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.

“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”

“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”

When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.

You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.

Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. 

Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.

When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.

“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.” 

You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”

“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”

“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”

She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.” 

For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school. 

No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.

A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.

When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all. 

–

For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.

In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience. 

You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira. 

Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis. 

The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers. 

The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase. 

“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.

“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.

“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Okay.”

“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.” 

“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose. 

“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”

“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.” 

She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.” 

“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree. 

“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?” 

You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.” 

She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.” 

She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.

How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.

Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.

About our relationship…

You pick up your phone, skimming the email.

Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.

How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy. 

Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”

“What?”

“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”

“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding. 

“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”

“Bachira…”

“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”

You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”

You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There’s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.

Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re going back to America?” he says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Why do you want to know about him?”

“Do you like him?”

“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.

“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”

“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.” 

Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles. 

“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.

“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football. 

“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.” 

No response. What did you expect? 

“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”

Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out. 

“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”

You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say. 

“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.

“I guess it wasn’t.” 

“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?” 

“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”

“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.” 

“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”

“I can’t.” 

“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”

“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.

It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.” 

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.” 

“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?” 

I’m sorry,” he says. 

“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.” 

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.” 

You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”

“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.

You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back. 

“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.

“You piss me off,” you say. 

“Uh?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”

“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck. 

“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

“Sort of!”

“Pay attention!” 

“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.

“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”

“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him. 

“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”

Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”

“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“You did,” he says nonchalantly. 

“From when we were kids,” you point out. 

“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”

“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”

“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”

“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?” 

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?” 

You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.

“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”

“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.

It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.

“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.

“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”

“What?”

Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”

“Obviously not!”

You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now? 

You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.

⌇ WANNA BE A WINNER 𓄹

❪ ꕤ ❫───엔하이픈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍

OR. he is used to you chasing after him . . . so what happens when the tables are turned ? && crush!en- x f!reader % hc format ( jealousy, pet names, mention of food, kissing )

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 doesn't think twice when he sees you on the bleachers at his basketball game, because he's gotten so used to seeing you there, cheering him on whenever he scores and waving enthusiastically when he looks your way... only to find himself doing a double take when he notices you talking to the members of the opposition's team. stands there for a while with a tilted head as he wonders why it is you're giggling and twirling your hair, batting your eyelashes at whatever it was the guy was saying. and he really shouldn't have been so annoyed, seeing as you're free to talk to whoever you like... but for some reason, he finds himself purposely missing a shot and causing the ball to roll over to where you and your friends are sitting, just so he has an excuse to walk over there after your pick up the ball, before kissing you on the cheek as he takes ball back. "thanks, baby," he says, before walking away again.... but of course, not without one last cocky smirk to the other guy when he sees your flustered expression, and a promise to ask you out properly after he wins this game.

more under the cut !

𝐉𝐀𝐘, who has gotten used to seeing snacks on his desk along with little notes whenever he wakes up from his nap, feels like he's been thrown into an alternate universe when he looks up one day to find that his desk his completely empty. looks around, and asks his deskmate if you came by today, only for them to shake their head and say that they haven't seen you all day. doesn't think too much about it at first, thinking that you may be busy... only to notice that it continues a few days straight. decides to walk to your class one day, completely forgoing his usual nap, just to see if you're okay, because as much as he wouldn't admit it, anyone could tell he was worried about you. so imagine his surprise when he walks up behind you while you're talking to your friends, just to learn you've been doing it on purpose to make him miss you. crosses his arms and leans down to your ear with a smirk, causing your heart to fly out of your chest when you realise he was there all along. "okay, you win." because he really did miss you... maybe even more than you had planned.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 probably takes a while to figure out that you're avoiding him, but only because he genuinely believes you when you say you're busy when he asks why you can't make it to his soccer game. he knows that you have a life outside of school, so he can't feel upset... but everyone (his teammates, his friends, his coach, his neighbour, his dog...) notices that he is walking around the field like a depressed puppy whose owner doesn't want to play with him, and it's all because you're not in your usual seat, cheering him on while wearing his number like you usually do. and it makes him realise just how much you were becoming his lucky charm, just as you had boldly proclaimed you would be. and so that's how he finds himself waiting for you after you're finished your classes for the day, before wrapping his arms around you in a hug, not caring about the wolf whistles and the cheers coming from all the students and teachers who stood watching around you, or the way you stuttered his name in protest because of how he was acting in public... all he could think about was how he was a fool for not making you his to begin with.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 can't remember when you haven't been next to him. from the first day of school, you were the one beside him, helping him in class whenever he had to catch up on work that he missed because of his figure skating career, saving him a seat on the bus because you knew he would always end up being five minutes late out of class. so when he comes back from a week off from school, he is visibly taken aback when you walk in and take a seat at the front of the classroom, next to some other guy who he didn't even know existed until now. doesn't buy it for a second when his new seatmate explains that you had to switch because you had trouble seeing, and burns holes into the back of your head for the entire lesson, intensifying his glare when you and your new seatmate are a tad too close for comfort, heads bumping against each other as you whisper about the answers to the questions, like you used to do with sunghoon. can't seem to catch you alone for the rest of the day, so he waits for the end of the day, when you guys catch the bus together, and makes sure that he gets there before you do... so that when you try and sit next to someone else, he pulls you down in the seat he saved next to him, before leaning his head on your shoulder, his hand wrapped around your smaller one. "stay here, please..." because you’re the only one he wants beside him, and he wants to be the only one next to you.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 knows immediately that something isn't right when you don't ask for his help with your club projects. being in the photography club, you love to remind him how he is your favourite model, and you make it painfully obvious whenever you beg him to let you take his pictures. imagine his surprise and offense when you no longer seek him out first, but some other guy in a different class, who you keep positing pictures of on the school newsletter, where you used to post his pictures instead. he instantly makes a plan to win you back and become your favourite once again, even going as far as to rock up to school the next day with blonde hair that makes everyone stop and stare... except you, the person who is usually the first to jump on the train of people to praise him. he realises at that moment that this goes beyond just his pride; he genuinely just wants to be able to make you smile like before. so imagine your surprise when you open the newsletter for the next week, to find a candid photo of you looking at your camera, hair blowing in the wind and a smile on your face, with the caption "prettiest girl in our grade" followed by, "taken by kim sunoo".

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 does not beat around the bush. so the first time you walk by him in the hallway without so much as uttering a "hi," he immediately knows he needs to confront you about it, because not a single day has passed in the time that you've known each other where you haven't jumped on him (figuratively, of course) whenever the chance arises so you can chat his ear off about something or other. and he doesn't like the feeling he gets seeing you give him the cold shoulder for reasons he has no idea about. so the next time you pass him by without saying anything, he's grabbing your wrist and tugging you down the hallway, ignoring the squeals from your friends as he pulls you into the janitor's closet. "why are you avoiding me?" he demands, frowning. but then the two of you are rendered blushing incoherent messes when you try to escape the room... only to trip on your own two feet and fall into his arms, your lips bumping against each other in the process. (but even though it's an accident, jungwon thinks that he really likes this feeling alot.)

𝐍𝐈-𝐊𝐈 is an absolute menace, and you are probably one of the only people in the world other than his mother that can put up with him. it really surprises people to see you follow him around, cooking him bentos and fixing his tie for him because he always fails at doing it himself, only to find out that you're not his girlfriend. ni-ki himself probably doesn't even realise how much you've been taking care of him until you stop showing your face around his classroom at lunch, and no longer nag him about his uniform or his hair being messy. instead, he's left to watch as you turn around whenever you see him, purposely changing paths so you don't bump into each other. no one is surprised when he jumps over a fence just so he can catch up to you after you try to run away after making eye contact with him for the hundredth time. you end up blurting your feelings for him before he can ask, and while you brace yourself for rejection, he's already kissing you like he hasn't seen you for months... and wondering why he never did it sooner.

© CHACONNENHA / dividers by v6que

MY HEART RETURNS

summary. your love is pursuing his dreams as a violinmaker in italy, leaving you to wait for his return. genre. slight angst. fluff. based on whisper of the heart. warnings. some crying. reader feels lost and alone and like she's not good enough :( not proofread. pairing. zhanghao x fem!reader. wc. 1.3k. request. no. a/n. tiánxīn = sweetheart btw. ofc hao is already perfect for the role of seiji cause he plays violin (also he looks like seiji fight me). for all the other writers out there (even tho i don't ever plan to get properly published) we all relate to shizuku so much :') her struggles are so relatable and i just love whisper of the heart so much i think its such a beautiful and underrated ghibli movie. divider by @/aquazero.

The night air nipped at your cheeks as thoughts swirled in your head. Hundreds of worries, feelings, and uncertainties followed you wherever you went, and all you could wish was to be back in high school when everything felt a bit easier. Back with Hao to occupy all your thoughts and in turn take your mind off of everything.

Sometimes you wondered if waiting was really worth it. You were doing your best to pursue your dreams, do well in your final year of university, and throw yourself and your work at different publishers, hoping that one liked you enough to give you a chance. But you felt like a constant failure in comparison to your boyfriend. You’d always thought opportunities were more beneficial than school. Hao only seemed to prove that to you.

He was working in Italy, getting valuable skills from the masters. You were still stuck in your hometown, going to the same university everyone else in your family had gone to, trapped in the same system. You wanted to get out, prove yourself, do something meaningful with your life. But did you even have the talent to? Were you even worth it?

On nights where your thoughts just wouldn’t leave you alone, you grabbed a handful of Hao’s letters and walked up the hill back to the spot where you used to watch the sunrise with him. You missed him more than anything. Without his presence, you felt lost. There was no one to ground you, no one to reassure you, no one to believe in your flimsy dreams.

You hadn’t received a new letter in a while, and you were starting to wonder if it was a post issue, or if Hao was too busy to write. You hoped you would get one soon. It was the start of Winter already, and a breeze blew past you, causing a chill to run up your spine. You hugged Hao’s old jacket closer on your body. It must be even colder in Italy…

You slid one of the old letters out from its envelope. You were always careful to keep everything intact. From the colourful wax seals to the elegantly written address, to the coarse texture of the fancy paper, everything about it was precious to you. Hao was always meticulous, and his presence could be felt from every detail of the card.

Tiánxīn, how are things back at home? Lonely. 

How is your writing? Did you finish the last 3 chapters you were struggling to write? I finished the final draft last Saturday. Are you proud of me?

I’m doing well here, although I never stop missing you. At least one feeling is mutual. 

It’s the beginning of Spring as I write this, and the flowers are starting to bloom. Every pink bud reminds me of you. How are you always so romantic, Zhang Hao?

I taught some kids how to hold a violin properly the other day— one of them almost dropped it. I swear my life flashed before my eyes. If they had broken it, I could’ve gotten kicked out. They don’t know that they’re handling a piece of wood worth thousands of dollars. As much as it scared me in the moment, spending time with the kids cheered me up. Childhood innocence is an endearing thing, don’t you think? It is. Is it bad that I wished you had gotten kicked out just so I could see you sooner? I want you to tell me everything about Italy with your own voice.

I’m starting to find beauty in things that used to annoy me. It’s a strange feeling, but I think I could get used to it. The flowers used to only make me sneeze, but now they’re a gentle reminder of who I’m living every day for. Children used to get on my nerves, but now I can only think of your baby pictures. I keep working hard every day hoping that I’ll get a break to come visit soon. I’ve been saving up for tickets. Hopefully before Winter, I’ll be back in your arms. It’s Winter now… I miss your arms around me.

Ever yours,

Hao

You could only sigh and blink back the tears that had formed on your waterline. Why did he make you miss him so much? You sniffed, from the emotions and from the cold. It was getting even later in the night, and while you didn’t want to leave your special spot, you also needed sleep.

When you got back to your cheap apartment, you sprayed some of Hao’s perfume on your pillow and changed into pyjamas. It was funny how much time went into hunting for the exact fragrance he wore; but you had been thankful for it every single day since you bought it. Any way you could to bring traces of him back to your home was worth it. You fell asleep hugging the pillow tightly and hoping that he would grace you in your dreams. 

A soft puff of air hit your nose making you scrunch it up. It woke you out of your slumber, but not enough to open your eyes yet. You were in a confused bleary state trying to figure out where it came from. You definitely didn’t leave the fan on in the middle of Winter, so why…?

“Tiánxīn, wake up.” 

You blinked your eyes open slowly, furrowing your eyebrows as the view came into focus. Light from the morning sun shone through the window, cascading down until it hit the side of a face. Hao’s face.

“Am I still dreaming?” You whispered. A lump formed in your throat at the thought that you were— you must be. How could he be right in front of you? He was still far away in Italy.

He shook his head, a smile splayed on his lips. He moved closer, his weight dipping down on the bed. You could only stare, memorising everything about him. His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to your hand and he reached to hold it. His hands were warm and the skin of his palm was soft, although his fingertips were roughened by calluses after years of playing strings. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, brushing his thumb against your skin.

“I missed you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come visit.” He frowned slightly as he saw tears start to build in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, as if still deciphering whether he was actually real. It had truly been years since he had first gone for his apprenticeship and then got accepted full time to make violins and teach. Although you had communicated through letters, it could never compare to being with him like this. 

“It’s okay.” You tried to steady your voice, force the lump in your throat down, blink back the tears. But you couldn’t with him right there.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped your tears carefully, his touch soft as always.

“Kiss me. Please?” 

And he obliged. He would always do anything within his power to see you happy. If you told him one day to fly to the moon and bring you back a piece of it, he was sure he would find a way, just to see you smile. The feeling of kissing him again was indescribable. You’d forgotten how it felt to be kissed by his soft lips, how they melded with yours like a dream. As if you two were meant to be.

You knew you always were. Your love story, although it sometimes felt tragic, was like something out of a fairytale. You would never forget the lengths Hao went just to get your attention. How ambitious, determined, and caring he was. He was your constant motivation to keep striving to be better. 

It was hard to live for your dream while being so far apart from him. Part of you knew that he would have to go back. Maybe in a month, maybe in only a week. Maybe sooner than that. Your heart would break once again saying goodbye to him.

But, for now, as he kissed you in the morning sunlight on your bed, you felt your heart healing from his touch. The long years away from him were a small price to pay for moments as precious as these. 

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voicemails from him!

characters: scaramouche x reader.

includes: you boyfriend is shy and bad at talking so he sends you voicemails about his feelings, date ideas, etc.

genre: fluff but at the same time its heavy angst. (idk how that works but yeah…)

voicemail 1

“yah, why are you not answering my calls? are you busy or something? whatever, just want you to know we are going on a date tonight, you know or don’t, i already buy the tickets for that group’s concert. be ready at nine.”

voicemail 2

“i wanted to thank you for today’s celebration, dove. i was really shocked to thank you about it. and you even called my mom, it is really special to me.”

voicemail 3

“wanna go to an arcade date? i was going with xiao and venti but i can’t stand their lovey-dovey relationship so i thought maybe i can bring my lovey-dovey relationship to the scene so it would be less disgusting.”

voicemail 4

“i can’t sleep…i was thinking of how i treated you today at school. i know it is not a good excuse but i was stressfull and- and i was…you know. off, just wanted you to know that…i-i am sorry.

and no i am not cuddling with my bunny plushie before you ask.”

voicemail 5

“so it’s your birthday. you know i am bad at these kind of things but i wanted to at least try.

i loved you since the first day of the freshman year, the day i saw you on the math class, trying to solve a problem but failing constantly, haha, you were really cute with your frowned face. you were so beautiful too, hell you still are. i loved you the day i asked you out. i loved you the moment i saw you cry, the moment i saw you laugh, the moment i saw you starching a cat’s head, the moment i saw you lose to little kid at basketball game. i loved you when you came to my home and talked with my mom, i think she likes you more than she likes me…whatever, i loved you all these years, i loved you all these moments, i loved you every second. i love y-“ beep beep beep.

repost of a request from my old account @/azaliyas! this is the last one i promise ahah

venti x gn!reader. hurt to comfort. reader suffers from anxiety and panic attacks. don't read if you feel uncomfortable with these topics. i tried my best in making research when i firstly wrote this fic but i don't have first-hand experience, so sorry in advance if this won't be 100% accurate.

you had a gut feeling today was going to be off for you, but you dismissed it as your usual anxiety for social interactions, even the smallest ones like greetings when going shopping.

but now, now you regret not listening to your inside voice begging you to stay at home today. you could have stayed in your boyfriend venti's sleepy hug all morning, he wouldn't have minded one bit. in fact, he even begged you.

you asked yourself if he did perceive something, and again you regret not staying in bed.

you thought it was going to be fine, running small errands around mondstadt like buying groceries for the week and commission wagner to repair an old heirloom.

after getting all the groceries you needed you were about to pay blanche, a couple of people standing behind you as you were searching in your wallet for the mora. you were feeling a bit dizzy, your vision blurring a little. you were feeling bad for making other people wait, but your trembling hands made it difficult for you to grab the coins.

the woman standing behind you groaned once again at your slowness, her patience running thin as she probably had other errands to do.

«if you don't have enough money to pay or you're just that stupid you can't even count the coins then next time ask for the delivery service! people can't wait for you, little princess!» she yelled, pushing you aside in such a rude way you almost fell on the ground with your bags.

the other woman standing in line and blanche looked at you with pitiful gazes. you felt tears pricking at your eyes as you felt your body petrifying on spot. you knew what that feeling was, but you had to push it through. with your hands still trembling you put the right amount of mora on the counter and took your bags, heavy feet dragging you along the streets.

your chest felt tight and heavy, every breath suffocating, gripping on your lungs in an iron grasp. you didn't know where your feet were taking you, but as long as you were away from the people's inquiring gazes that was okay. you knew people were looking at you, you could feel the bitter tears sliding down your cheeks.

you found yourself in a lonely alley. it was good, you thought as you slid down against a wall, the bags in your hands falling on the ground as you started sobbing. your tears mixed with the droplets of sweat running down your temples and neck. you felt the collar of your shirt dumping, but you didn't care.

the more you cried and the more the ache in your chest worsened, your quiet sobs turning into hiccups.

a gentle breeze hit your face, drying the tears on your cheeks. a shadow loomed over you before kneeling down to reach your eye level, and even through the tears the teal and dark blue braids were unmistakable.

«why is my pretty cecilia crying?» he whispered with that gentle tone that was reserved to you only, his beloved.

venti sat beside you, an arm wrapped around your shoulders and the other encircling your front, his hand resting on your tear-stained face. he pushed your head on his shoulder, not minding the tears and sweat staining his clothes, it didn't matter. your well being, now, was his most important thought at the moment.

you didn't talk, still feeling dizzy and nauseous, your throat hoarse from crying and the choking feeling from the worst part of your panic attack. a gentle wind brought fresh air in your lungs and you squeezed venti's hand in a silent "thank you". his lips left a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

you two stayed in the alley for a while, your boyfriend soothing your mind and your soul as you regained consciousness of your surroundings. the after effects of your attack left you with wobbly legs, but it didn't matter, since venti carried both you and the groceries back home.

in the warmth and safety of your home you felt much better, but your boyfriend's arms would always remain the safest of havens, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace.

© the-guardian-kitsune 2024 do not copy repost translate or feed to ai