Nineteen

hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song

i love uu take care x

Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS

A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up? 

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

DON’T STOP.

༄ sypnosis. you ramble about one of your recent adventures while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he’s working.

༄ note. small and quick fic i wrote inspired by an arabic poem: “don’t shorten your speech, i love your details.” by zaid al hourani. didn’t re-read it. repost.

༄ tags. al-haitham x female reader. just fluff, bits of angst and comfort.

“so then, i walked up towards the cave and you won’t even guess what i saw..”

you were rambling about your recent adventure out in the deserts of sumeru while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap. al-haitham was at his desk in his study, busy scanning through the stack of papers and scrolls in front of him.

you’d told him earlier that you could just leave him alone if he needed some space to finish his work, however al-haitham insisted that you’d stay with him.

as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud, he loved having you near him in any type of way. it’s somehow comforting and it takes his mind off of all the stress he’s having about his work as the akademiya’s scribe.

you continue to happily tell your tale while your eyes were focused on al-haitham’s face. however most of the time his eyes wouldn’t look back at yours at all— not even sparing you a quick glance.

al-haitham’s distant gaze was solely focused on the words that were written down on the papers before him.

he was silent and only nodded or hummed ever so slightly while you talked to him. gradually, your boyfriend stopped those small reactions all together.

it left you with a weird, tinge of disappointment in your chest. of course, you hadn’t expected al-haitham to full out react to your story since he was busy. plus, he usually doesn’t give too big of a reaction anyway.

you still felt like a nuisance for sitting on his lap as he worked, even though al-haitham verbally asked you to stay with him earlier.

you hadn’t noticed that your voice was trailing off the more you got lost in thought, yet al-haitham was quick to realise.

it didn’t look like it to you, but your boyfriend had been listening all along. he was skilled at multi-tasking and especially at the moment, where it came to dividing his attention between you and his work.

“keep going, love.” the scribe finally replies with the slightest of a smile as he keeps reading the contents of the document, “i promise, i’m listening.”

one of his hands move to hold onto yours. his thumb rubs over the skin of your palm, fingers slowly massaging the flesh. it was his indirect way of comforting you.

you smile softly at al-haitham’s words and actions before continuing your story. despite it all, you decided to keep the unnecessary details out of the way and focus on finishing your words as soon as possible so al-haitham could complete his duties afterwards.

“my love.”

your boyfriend’s voice interrupts you mid-sentence and you stop talking to look at him with a puzzled expression, “yeah?”

al-haitham sighs softly, putting his pen down and pushing the papers to the side for the time being. your heart felt like it stopped and your stomach dropped; did he want you to stop? does he finally find your rambling too distracting?

“you’re cutting the details.” the scribe says as he gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

“huh?” your eyes widen at his words. you didn’t even know how he caught up on such a minor thing.

al-haitham brings your hand up to his lips and places a few delicate kisses on each of your knuckles. his warm breath on your skin and the affectionate glimmer in his eyes as he finally looked back at you were almost too much to bear.

“please, do not shorten your speech, my dearest.” he whispers, moving his lips up to kiss each of your fingertips. “speak your mind. i promise that i will be here to listen to every word you utter.”

it was in that moment that you realised that al-haitham had been paying full attention to your words this entire time. it couldn’t be otherwise since he easily figured out that you were leaving out details.

al-haitham slowly adjusted you on his lap by holding onto your hips and bringing your body closer to his— your back pressed against his chest.

“can you do that for me?” he eventually adds, looking at your eyes and then at your other facial features which he fancies equally.

to say that you were flustered by the sudden attention from your boyfriend was quite an understatement, though either way, you nodded.

“y- yeah, sure. i will.” you manage to get those words out before clearing your throat.

al-haitham smiles softly at this and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “there’s my girl. thank you.”

your boyfriend then continues to pick up his pen again while his other hand stays on your waist. his fingers absentmindedly play with the fabric of the clothes you’re wearing.

you pick up your story from where you had left it at; this time recalling it without any details missing— just how your boyfriend likes it.

👁️❔❔❔

you hear some ruckus and wonbin cursing out loud in the room next to yours. stifling in your laughter, you thought it was wonbin probably being a perfectionist and complaining that he can't do something right on the first try

the door of your shared bedroom opens and there stood wonbin who was holding his hand up with a big frown on his face

"what's wrong?" you ask, trying to hold in your giggles seeing his face all stressed out.

wonbin hisses in pain all of a sudden, blowing on his finger causing you to stop giggling.

you stood up and walked over to your boyfriend who still stood silently by the doorway. you watch as he motions to his bleeding finger.

"oh my god, what happened?!" Immediately grabbing wonbin's hand and inspecting it as he starts to explain what happened just moments ago

"the strings of my guitar broke while i was practicing and it cut me" he winces, his middle and ring finger throbbing as blood oozes out

seeing that it was only a tiny amount of blood, you didn't worry too much but knowing how dramatic your boyfriend could be, you decide to play doctor.

"oh no! we need to patch that up straight away! come here" you drag him to your shared bathroom and had him sit on the toilet lid as you rummage through your cupboards to look for your emergency first aid kit you had lying around

wonbin watches you quietly, smiling to himself as you work your magic on him. rinsing off his blood on the sink, putting some alcohol on a cotton pad and rubbing it on his finger and finally putting on a bandaid that had cats on it

"there. all cleaned up" you smile gently at your boyfriend. he was now all patched up and ready to go back to practicing. "let me know if it still hurts or something" you murmur, putting all the stuff you brought out back to the kit.

"you missed a spot" wonbin remarks, eyeing his now bandaged finger.

you make a confused sound and inspect his finger again. "what do you mean? it's all covered?" you ask, confused. he was messing with you and you know it

wonbin sighs dramatically, closing his eyes as he falls limp on the toilet.

"you forgot something" he mutters incoherently that you barely heard a thing

"what?"

wonbin clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. talk about being a drama queen

"you didn't kiss it! now i'm in pain forever and ever and ever" he drawls, looking up at you with those big eyes of his.

"is that so?" you tap a finger on your chin as you pretend to think about on what to do next

wonbin huffs and crosses his arms, turning his whole body away from you

you let out a loud laugh before grabbing wonbin's hand. kissing it with a loud smooch sound

"there. is my baby alright now?" you hummed, tugging on his arm before pulling him into a hug

wonbin doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, his head resting on top of yours as he softly mumbles, "yes"

you look up at him, giggling before puckering your lips, wanting a good ol' kiss. to which of course he happily pecks your lips.

you both stay in that position for a while. just embracing each other as he sways you from side to side.

"i almost thought i needed to amputate my whole hand off if you didn't kiss it better in time" wonbin whines, pulling you closer to his chest. you laugh harder than before. in disbelief at how dramatic wonbin can get when it's just the two of you

"i hate it to break it to you bin, but you don't have much time to live now that you've been infected" you tease making him laugh

"well, if i die then who's gonna make you cum with just my fingers?"

"WONBIN!"

"A FAVOR FOR A FAVOR," with GENSHIN IMPACT.

synopsis: he helps you with something and it's only fair you pay him back, right? (mondstadt vers.)

characters: dom! aether, venti, albedo, diluc, and keaya x gn! sub! reader

includes: (nsfw themes) aether's a menace, sweat kink, darcyphillia, rough sex, cumming inside, venti's a menace, fucking in a cathedral, wall sex, clothed sex, size kink, albedo's a menace, spanking, hot/cold play, orgasm denial, fingering, thigh grinding, outdoor sex, diluc's a menace, mister kink, begging kink, slapping, spit kink, deepthroating, blowjob, lmk if i missed smthg.

aether, the outlander.

aether is always doing favors for people, but when it's with you, it's never a chore. you needed help clearing out a domain, and you offered to do something to compensate him sometime. and now that he's finally alone with you, he gets the chance to finally use that favor you owe him.

-- "fuck, you're so hot, [name]." he smiles as his delicate, yet scarred, fingers trace across your tear-covered face. he lays above you, sitting on your torso, pinning your hands down as he admires your beauty. even through through pain and battle, you manage to stay as perfect as ever.

aether was thanked profusely for helping you with this domain, and the challenge was a little hard, resulting in a bit of ripped clothing and a bunch of sweat dripping down your body, while he was only left with a major problem in his pants.

and he just couldn't resist himself. plus, you owed him a favor after all. and you both wanted it, so what's the harm?

his smile is almost maniacal as he drags his tongue across your tears and sweat dripping down your face. the tears from the minutes of torment on your delicate nipples and hole. "you're disgusting aether," you gag despite being turned on. "yes, but you love it, darling."

he had to be quick to fuck you, because you automatically get kicked out the domain after 16 minutes. around 6 minutes have passed already, leaving 10 more minutes of torture to continue.

aether leans down and licks your lips, the salty taste of tears and sweat coming onto your own tastebuds. the kiss is quick, rushed, but still desperate. he finally gets off your stomach, "on all fours." he demands.

this commanding voice he has turns you on to unimaginable extents, and you do as he says. after all, the clock is running and the both of you've still yet to cum.

he pulls his pants down just enough to spring in growing cock out. it leaks milky white precum, and it looks a flushed red, just like his face. you're already prepped, his torture on your hole proof enough. he lines himself up and thrusts in quickly, the strength of it propelling you forwards.

your face smushed into the hard domain floors, and your hips were harshly grabbed by the blonde fucking you. "a-aether slow down!" you wail, using one hand to try to push his hips back, but it's far from enough to stop his brutish thrusts against you.

"can't, darling. there's only --fuck-- 4 minutes left and we have to cum and collect our rewards, remember?" he uses this as an excuse to fuck you harder, his nails digging into your hips and pulling you further back into him. his thrust get faster somehow, and you're used like a fucktoy in his hands.

"aether, i-i think i'm c-cumingg~!" you wail, feeling the high of orgasm quickly approaching. aether can tell, he's about too to, and he only thrusts faster to make the approaching high all the more satisfying. "fuck! me too!"

with a particularly deep thrust, spurts of aether's hot load paint your insides white.

you and aether both moan loudly, the sound echoing throughout the domain. you collapse on the domain floor, aether's cum dripping out of you.

you both pant. he slaps your ass, "get your clothes on and lets get our rewards and i'll take you back to mondstadt so we can finish, 'kay?" you nod, tears still slipping from your eyes. he helps you up, your legs still wobbly from your endeavors.

wait- it finally hit you. he said he can finish when he gets back, right? here, he was bound to 16 minutes, who knows what he can do with endless time on his hands? well, i guess you'll have to be the lucky traveler to find out.

venti, the windborne "bard".

you needed help with getting atop a mountain, and venti was conveniently there for you to make a little wind rift to boost you up. it was a favor, one you'd have to soon repay. although he could have used the nice view of your ass as a reward, he needed something more.

-- "v-venti! you're gonna get us caught!" you quietly wail as he fingers you faster inside a closet at the church of favonius. a service in worship to lord barbatos was going on not too far away, the same lord barbatos who was toying with you.

venti curls his fingers in a particular way that has you release a high pitched moan, quickly covering your mouth in embarrassment. he chuckles, thrusting even faster and curling his fingers even deeper into the spot that makes your vision white.

"for someone so scared of being caught," he places a kiss on your neck, licking the area over, "you sure do make a lot of noise. but let's see how loud you can get, yeah?"

your mind regrets even allowing him to get as far as leading you away from the church but your body is happy it made the decision of letting him drag you away from a holy service in order to make some unholy deeds happen. in most situations, it's mind over body. but for venti, your body's desire outweighs whatever logical thoughts you had.

he removes his fingers and licks them clean, much to your disappointment, resulting in a whine, "don't worry, [name]. this will be much better than what my fingers can do." he chuckles again, removing his pants and jerking his cock to full size. your eyes widen in surprise as you notice his large size despite his small stature.

"venti, there's no way that can fit. you aren't seriously gonna put it in me, right? venti? venti-" you panicked at first, scared of his initial size. he was huge! but you stopped panicking when he finally thrusted inside, stretching you open.

he ignores your concerns, only focused on the feeling of your wrapped around his cock. "you're so cute windblume~ remember, i'm doing this because you owe me a favor. consider this my compensation for helping you that day! plus, i'm sure that even if you hadn't owed me this we still would have found ourselves doing this at some point."

a high moan escapes you lips as you claw at venti's back, careful not to rip his delicate clothing. he continues to thrust into until he's balls deep inside you. pulling out until only the tip is in, he thrusts into hard, fast, and deep. you shake in his arms, quietly moaning out his name in hopes he'd slow down. but there's a slim chance he'll do it.

after all, he's the god of freedom in his own church and you're a consenting traveler who's willing to be a god's plaything.

albedo, the kreideprinz.

albedo has always been one for "if you give, you take." he's a generous soul, but he still must be repaid if he does you a favor. and since he gave you warmth in the freezing cold of dragonspine, it's only right that he takes something in return, correct? and who knows, maybe what he takes could benefit the both of you on this cold dragonspine night.

-- "tell me dear, are you feeling warmer now?" albedo breathes down your neck, one hand toying with your hard nipples and the other using two fingers to loosen you for his cock. you could feel his hard on against your ass, and it felt big.

in his camp, you could feel the warmth of a nearby fire which warmed you up instantly, but it suddenly felt too hot. "i feel too hot, 'bedo." you whine as you feel him pull your nipple a bit too hard.

he chuckles, "you told me you wanted to be warmer, so i made you warmer." he pulls your face close to his, kissing you and only adding to the heat forming between your legs

after striking a nerve deep inside you with his fingers, you moaned out loudly, almost shamelessly arching your back against him. "'bedo, too hot! i think i'm gonna cum!" you start grinding against his fingers and back onto his clothed dick.

"you are? really?" he questions condescendingly. you throw your head back further onto his shoulder as he speeds up his fingers. "cumming! i'm cumming!" and right before you cum onto albedo's pretty fingers, he pulls out, forcing you to not reach your orgasm.

the tears stream down your face switch from pleasure to pain. "albedo, please! wh-why'd you pull out?" you whine, grinding against him in hopes of received some sort of pleasuring friction.

albedo doesn't like this. he removes his hand from you nipple has it join his wet fingers on your hips to stop you from grinding. "i had to pull out because you said you were too hot. i would hate to make you too hot, dear."

you don't even think about what you're doing, only wanting to reach the high that was taken away from you. you try to pry off albedo's hands off your hips, pulling and hitting him. "'bedo, please! just keep fingering me! i'll suck you off afterwards or let you fuck me however you want, just continue please!" despite your fruitless efforts, you continue to try and grind against him.

he stares at you coldly, almost as harsh as the frozen winds that got you in this situation. "that's not very nice, now is it, dear?" he pushes you off him and pats his lap. shit. you just got yourself in more trouble than a single orgasm was worth.

you bend over his lap, mentally preparing yourself for whats to come. "m'sorry 'bedo," he shushes you in return, sliding is cold pointer finger drown your back and onto your ass. he rubs it gently, almost like he wasn't about to ruin you. he gives one harsh smack, demanding you count. and you do, until he reaches 12 and he starts to the knead the sore skin of your ass.

"archons, you're pathetic. i can feel you even through my pants. remember, if give you something, i will take in return. so i'll give you this punishment and i'll take you as i please. it's stupid how you think you have a say in this matter, dear."

diluc, the darkside of dawn.

diluc was a fair man. willing to help to an extent even with nothing in return. but when it came to sweet little you, in need of saving from some hilichurls, he was willing to help in a heartbeat without even needing compensation. but when you offer to do as he pleases, he was more than willing to lose his fairness all in the favor of finally taking you.

-- "m-mister diluc! what if someone from the adventurer's guild sees us? we're in public!" diluc only shushes you with a slow but desperate kiss. it leaves you wanting more, and you only wonder if it's your fault for offering to pay him back in such an unholy way. especially in the middle of windrise when you were supposed to be on a picnic? how shameful.

you whine into his kiss, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him closer to your lips. diluc only thrusts deeper inside you, kissing you more desperately as you moan into his lips.

he loves this feeling. you being putting in his hands. he loves the control, -- the kind, fair man he's painted himself as is starting fade away as he feels you clench around him, moan into his lips, and pull him closer like a lover.

he relishes in your warm embrace, finally pulling away from your lips to kiss at your pebbled nipples. you moan- a sweet, yet loud out escaping from your lips. he kisses your nipples, licking across your chest before he works his way to your neck to leave hickies.

"thank you, thank you thank you, thank you, thank you!" you babble mindlessly, removing your hands from his hair and to the blanket underneath you, gripping it tightly.

he goes back to your lips, kissing you deeply as he keeps his steady pace of thrusting into you. the kiss is short, and he pulls away to ask you a question. "what are you thanking me for?" he asks. tears stream down your face.

yes, you're greatly indebted to diluc for saving you but you're already sore and you've barely been fucked. "i-" he slaps you across your face, annoyed with your stalling.

"remember, [name]. you're the one who wanted to pay me back. can you not handle your own decision?"

kaeya, the calvary captain.

kaeya isn't really one to help someone out unless it's commanded of him. but for you, his darling subordinate, he'll do anything. but you just can't get something for nothing while dealing with him. with his help clearing out some of your paperwork, you now owe him, and he's sure to not let your forget.

-- "poor slut can't take anymore?" he taunts. you're on your knees in front of your boss sucking him off like some common whore. you're not, you're only giving him whats due. with kaeya, there's not even a point in trying to change his mind. if he wants his cock down your throat, he'll get his cock down your throat.

but luckily you're more willing, and he'll only push you down further on his surprisingly huge dick. "just like that, slut." he groans, leaning his head back with a groan and pushing your head down further. "juustt like that."

you choke on his cock, the spit and precum being barely enough lubrication to make his cock slide easily in your throat. tears stream down your face and kaeya's eye meet yours. he only smiles, pushing your head down slightly further as a tease.

it felt good, the burn of the throat feeling like nothing compared to the satisfaction of pleasing your boss. the more you gag, the more your throat clenches around him, and you can tell kaeya's absolutely losing it.

he moves your head up and down his cock swiftly, pulling you off suddenly and jerking his cock to his release. and when it finally came, warm spurts of white cum ended up all over your face. he pants heavily and looks down at his creation.

before him kneels a desperate, panting, cum-covered slut for him and him alone to use. he uses him thumb to smear some cum over your lips and force you to taste it. the salty taste makes you gag, but it still tastes good. "open." and you open your mouth obediently. he spits in your mouth, "swallow." and you do obediently.

kaeya chuckles at your ruined face and he can only think ow much he can ruin your body. you're still in his debt, afterall.

"now that i've ruined your pretty little mouth, how about i ruin something else?"

that pretty little star necklace wonbin always wears. it hanging down in front of your face as he finds his position on top of you. the way parts of the chain glimmer from the tiny bit of light shining through the blinds. you follow with your eyes the way it sways back n forth following the pace of his hips. the motion feels like its putting you in hypnosis. the motion reciprocates what hes literally doing to you. he puts the pendant between his mouth if he notices it hitting your face repeatedly. but you like it. you like watching it swing faster the faster he moves. sometimes you even reach up for it with your mouth. an innocent necklace yet your mind fills with corrupted thoughts when you see it on him ⭑

forget me not

(kaeya x reader)

he promises to take you out to dinner, but he never shows.

“Would you like to place an order now hon?” The waitress asks softly, making you look from your empty wine glass up to her soft eyes.

“Ah, if I can order another glass of wine that would be nice! I’m still waiting,” you look outside the big window next to you, seeing the sky much darker than when you first sat. “I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.” You turn back to her smiling, repeating the same thing for the fourth time for the past two hours trying to convince yourself more than her that he’ll show up. He always does.

“Of course, I’ll be back with the bottle in just a minute.” She nods, turning to get you more of what you requested.

You don’t remember the last time you drank, heck you don’t even drink much to begin with but it’s all you can do to kill time. You don’t want to eat without him and spoil your appetite, he will show up soon.

You know he’s busy, he’s the Captain of the Knights so it’s expected. When he proposes the idea of going out you couldn’t hide your excitement. Anything to do with Kaeya was your favorite.

You arrived at the restaurant the time he told you to be there, at 7pm. The clock reads 9:30 now but it’s ok, it’s understandable. He’s the captain of the Knights after all.

The lights surrounding the small restaurant eliminates the busy nightlife in Mondstadt. You eye the people who are passing by, smiling at the elderly people who walk with their significant others, the parents holding their children’s hands as their laughter fills the air. But your eye catches something from afar.

The familiar head of blue hair among the people walking by. Your stomach erupts with butterflies seeing him finally. Walking down the stairs to the main shopping area in Mondstadt. But as he inches closer you see he isn’t alone. He’s walking with someone, no. He’s holding onto someone who’s leaning on him.

Your eyes squint a bit, trying to see if what you’re seeing is correct. But you see him smiling with the woman next to him mixed in with everything else and your heart goes heavy.

You see his smile much clearer now that they both are closer, he has his arm hooked around hers, almost as if he is holding her upright to keep her from stumbling and she’s giggling at him, eyes wide looking up at him leaning into him as much as she can.

The two walk past the restaurant and down towards Diluc’s tavern, Kaeya didn’t even glance at the restaurant you were currently sitting in waiting for him. Not once, he kept his eyes on the girl the whole time.

You reach for your pocket watch with a heavy hand and flip it open, seeing the time 9:45 pm. Almost three hours, three whole hours and he’s with someone else. He forgot.

You quickly finish the last of your wine and blink. Did he actually forget?

You wave your waitress down when she passes you, making her stop.

“Actually, can I purchase a whole bottle of wine please?” You ask her and she nods, her smile falling a bit at your expression. Your eyes look glossy.

He promised you a night out after so long. You’ve both been so busy with work this sounded so nice but it was too much to ask for apparently. He had more important matters.

Diluc makes his way down the street to his tavern and spots you sitting alone in the restaurant. Glass of wine in hand and solemn look on your face.

His eyebrows furrow. “Why are they out alone right now?” He thinks.

Part of him wants to stop and check in, but part of him knows to not get into people's business. He doesn’t want to sadden you further by making you talk about it. But if he makes another run in a while and still sees you in there, he'll stop by.

Diluc pushes the door to his tavern open, his eyes fall on Kaeya and Amber helping a woman who is belching into a bag, Amber is rubbing her back and Kaeya is holding napkins for her. This makes Dilucs mouth from the line. ”What's going on?” he thinks.

“I got her from here. I’ll take them Barbara just in case.” Amber helps the woman up to her feet and walks to the door, Diluc holds it open for them.

“Thank you, I'll make sure to check in with Albedo and Jean tomorrow.” Kayea waves her off, eye falling on an unamused looking Diluc.

“Your plus one got sick?” Diluc speaks up, making Kaeya’s smile drop.

“Not my plus one, a subordinate.” Kaeya answers flatly, not even laughing at such a dumb joke.

“Why bring one of your knights here?” Diluc asks, taking his coat off, rolling up his sleeves.

“They were exposed to a potion in Albedo’s lab, he suggested bringing them here. He said grape juice might help sober them up, where else would I go to get it when you sell the best.” Kaeya shrugs, making Diluc hum.

“You’re not drinking?” Diluc raises a brow at Kaeya when he realizes there’s no alcohol in front of the captain.

“Nope, I already feel like I’m forgetting something, if I drink I really won’t remember. I’d rather not.” Kaeya sighs, a looking out the window.

“I saw y/n on the way here.” Diluc brings you up, at the sound of your name Kaeya looks at Diluc again his eye brightens. His focus now is on what Diluc has to say.

“My darling? Did you talk to them? What are they doing out this late?” Kaeya smiles, though he’s confused. You’re never out this late.

“They were in the new restaurant down the street, they were drinking.” Diluc clears his throat at the last part.

Kaeya tilts his head. “Alone? What do you mean by drinking?” Kaeya asks

“They had a glass of wine in their hand, they were sitting alone at-

Kaeya tries to think of why you’d be out so late, you don’t have any appointments this late. You didn't tell him you were meeting anyone. His eye catches the calendar behind Diluc and feels his heart drop when he notices the date.

“What time is it?” Kaeya cuts Diluc off.

Diluc pulls out his pocket watch and sighs. “Just hit 10pm” he shows Kaeya and sees the color drain from his face.

“Oh no.” Kaeya stands up in a flash. Before Diluc can question him he’s out the door.

His legs don’t stop. It’s so dark out and you’re alone. How long have you been waiting?

Kaeya sees the restaurant come into view and sprints faster, throwing the door open the instant his hand makes contact with the knob.

The restaurant goes quiet, the few customers and waiters in there stare at the Captain who seems to be out of breath.

He ignores the stares, his eye scanning the vicinity for one person and one person only.

But it's strange, you're not here. He walks further to the back and sees an empty table with a coat that looks familiar.

He sees a waitress clearing empty wine bottles from it, quickly making his way to your coat.

“Excuse me,” Kaeya greets the older waitress and she smiles at him.

“Hell- Captain Kaeya hello! What brings you here?” the waitress smiles.

“I'm looking for someone. Do you know if the person that was sitting here left?” He asks, seeing the waitress’ smile drop a bit.

“Why yes. They were here for a while but they left not too long ago. They had drank a lot of wine and ordered no food. I offered to walk them home since they seemed a bit off balance but they said it was ok. I realized they left their coat a bit too late. I had gone out to tell them but they were already gone.” She explains, feeling sorry for you.

Kaeya feels his chest tighten.

“Thank you. If you don't mind, can I take the coat with me? I'd like to give it to them myself.” Kaeya asks.

“Why of course how sweet of you.” the waitress nods her head, gesturing with her hands for him to take it.

“Thank you.” He quickly thanks the waitress before turning around.

“Wait.” She calls out, making him turn around.

“If I can bother you to check on them right now, I'm worried. If you do stop over there please take this.” she walks past him to the front counter, grabbing a bag.

“I had intended to give this to them since they didn't eat the whole time. They refused, however.” The waitress hands Kaeya the bag of food and he nods.

“Of course, I was planning on stopping by. Thank you for your concern."He thanks her, turning to leave the restaurant. The waitress can see how uneasy Kaeya was from his face, she knows that you were waiting for him all along. When you got up to leave, in your drunken state you told her to tell Kaeya you went home and not to worry.

Kaeya steps out and the cold night air hits him. Did you walk home without your coat? It's freezing. Kayea feels even worse.

His legs walk at such a fast pace, not daring to slow down.

Did you make it home safe? Are you ok? Why did you leave alone?

He starts to run, almost sprint. His mind is racing with the worst.

He turns the corner to your house and stops in his tracks. He sees you. However, you’re not inside the house. You're sitting on the porch leaning on the wall. It's freezing.

His legs move fast again. He drops to his knees when he makes it to you. Grabbing hold of your arms to wake you.

You're freezing to the touch.

“Darling? Hey.” he shakes you a bit and you stir from your sleep, blinking your eyes.

“-ts so cold.” you whisper.

In seconds you feel a coat draping over your shoulders, then a soft fabric around your neck.

Your vision clears and your eyes make out who's in front of you.

Your eyes immediately begin to burn.

“Hey hey, love I’m so sorry please don't cry. I promise I didn’t mean to forget my love, things just happened and it slipped my mind.” He pulls you in when he sees your eyes glossy. His own eyes start to burn.

“Archons, why are you sleeping outside? Do you understand how dangerous that is?” He questions, pulling back a bit seeing you now refusing to look at him.

“I-it was so embarrassing. I sat there while so many people walked in and out. I saw you with someone else and it looked like you were having fun. I was a-alone for hours. I left the restaurant and I left my k-key in the coat of my jacket.” You feel your lip tremble a bit, you’re trying your absolute hardest to not cry but he’s standing right in front of you looking so guilty it hurts.

“That person you saw with me was a subordinate, I wasn’t doing anything else with them while I was out. I was ordered to take them to the tavern to get grape juice to get rid of the effects from a potion they had gotten exposed to. Love, please.” He explains, tone serious as his hands run up and down your shoulders, making you feel warm again.

“It wasn’t my intention.” His whispers, hand coming up under your chin making you look at him.

“Never ever walk home alone again. Not in this state.” He pleads, face full of concern, his eye scanning you making your own eyes burn more.

You notice his white scarf is gone then look down, realizing that’s what he put around you when he found you here.

“I just wanted to s-spend time with you.” You hiccup tears now freely falling down.

He leans in, kissing your cheek, then your other one, up to your forehead, your nose, your chin and stops in front of your lips. You feel his warm breath fan over you and you relax at his simple touch.

“My love, please don’t cry.” His eyes close and he takes a deep breath. He was so worried but you're in front of him, you’re safe with him.

“You have me, I’ll spend as much time as you want until my time is due I promise.” He leans back abit, opening his eye taking you in.

You look tired, you drank and you never do. He put you in this state and it pains him.

“You promise? You promise me i-I’m not thinking the worst, that you still want me and you’ll stay with me?” You ask.

Kaeya doesn’t respond, he leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. Hands holding you softly as he gives you another one, and another and another until you're out of breath.

“I swear to the archons above that I want nothing more than to call you mine alway and forever if you’ll allow me.” He pulls back, thumbs wiping any remaining tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

And they do, more spill out. Having your doubts and feeling insecure gets to you often but Kaeya is so patient, so understanding. Him assuring you, being here right now, apologizing proves he meant no wrong. And you believe him, you trust him. You know he wouldn’t do that now, him being here proves so.

“Darling, let’s get you inside, it's freezing.” He stands, holding his hand out to help you to your feet. Placing his hand on the small of your back when you wobble.

“I’ll explain everything better, in full detail of what happened today once you're inside, once you eat, I promise love.” He assures you still holding onto you, not wanting to let go just yet. You nod, holding his hand abit tighter as he unlocks the door to your shared house, ushering you to walk in first. Seeing him this worried, him running here when he realized he forgot. He found you and immediately checked on you. You have doubts often, but seeing him right here cleared any doubts about today. You will listen to what he has to say and believe him because he’s here that’s all that matters right now. Kaeya is here, he’s yours and you won’t doubt him. Not when he looks at you with such loving eyes and holds you so gently, not when he cares so much. He’s here and that’s all that matters now, but most importantly Kaeya didn’t forget.

_________________

author’s note: hiiii lovelies!!! :D it’s been ages since I’ve posted UGH IVE MISSED WRITING SM! :( I’m sorry for the small hiatus. I wasn’t ok but it’s better now, I notice when I feel the most hurt or pain I write the most it helps me convey what I feel and I love writing, you all giving feedback and enjoying them makes me love writing too! I hope you enjoy, I hope you’re taking care and all in good health MWAHHHH IVE MISSES YOU ALL SO MUCH!^~^<33! (ALSO THIS ISNT EDITED so sorry for any errors!)

✦◦ attention

summary. once wanderer ignores you, and you won't even look at him?

notes. wanderer x gn!reader / fluff / referred to as "kuni."

author's thoughts. this is my first time posting on tumblr! here's a nice and short fic to begin this blog.

You huffed as you walked away from the Wanderer, your back facing him. He sighed in irritation before grumbling something under his breath. He was quick to follow you.

“Quit it, will you?” He said as he treaded your heels. You were walking fast. Not that it bothered your boyfriend. As much as you hated to admit it, he was faster than you. And if he truly desired it, he could simply fly ahead of you. But right now Kuni simply gave pursuit, attempting to get your attention.

“C’mon, talk to me. Stop ignoring me,” He continued protesting. You didn’t even bother turning around, looking at him or acknowledging him. Your pace was quick, your steps nimble and light footed as you easily traversed the forestry terrain.

One time. One time Wanderer ignores you, and this is what he gets? One time he turned away from you to converse with the traveller and you refuse to even look at him? 

You had a nonchalant expression on your face. You’d sometimes wave your hand dismissively as if swatting away an annoying mosquito. In your head though, you were amused by this situation. See how Kuni likes to be treated this way, hm?

Admittedly, this was pissing off your boyfriend. His patience was not what he was known for, and he looked very much close to snapping. 

Suddenly you felt a firm grip on your wrist. You let out a soft yelp as you were spun around, now forced to face your dear beloved. His gaze stared down at you, and his presence was domineering. 

“Talk to me,” He nearly snarled. You swallowed thickly. The Wanderer was stubborn, but so were you. You scoffed, saying absolutely nothing, turning your head away. 

And yet, even that option was thrown out the window. Kuni’s fingers curled around your chin, tilting your head back up to him. His stare piercing into your soul. His lips in a taut line.

“...Pay attention to me,” He said, his voice soft and low. Under the dappled light of the trees, you could see his face dusted a faint pink hue.

You arched a brow, amused at his words. Still no words escaped you, wanting to see how this entertaining event could now turn. 

The Wanderer muttered curses before interlocking his fingers with yours. He pulled you closer by your waist, your bodies pressing against one another. He brought your hand up to his mouth. Kuni’s lips parted, a puff of warmth hitting your skin. He pressed a kiss flush against the back of your palm. 

Kuni’s lips stayed glued onto your hand for a second longer before pulling away.

“There.” He let go of your hand, crossing his arms. “Is that enough for your whiny self to talk to me now?”

You smiled, cheeky and mischievous, before planting a kiss on the Wanderer’s cheek. 

“I’ll think about it,” You mused.

Kuni rolled his eyes, his fingers finding yours as he dragged you along with him, the tips of his ears red.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

the very first night.

summary. the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

pairing. lee heeseung x fem!reader genres. romance, angst, smut; exes to lovers!au, roommates!au word count. 19.7k

warnings. explicit sexual content (oral sex, protected sex), alcohol consumption, profanity a/n. this was originally written for a different group but i decided to repost it here! title is from the very first night by taylor swift. thanks for reading! :)

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Lee Heeseung looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Heeseung probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Lee Heeseung has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Heeseung speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Heeseung had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Beomgyu, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Kim Minjeong, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Heeseung says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Heeseung moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Beomgyu’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Heeseung’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Beomgyu and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Heeseung stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Heeseung would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Heeseung have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Minjeong, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Minjeong is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Heeseung has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Minjeong: hows the apartment??? did u make Heeseung clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Heeseung: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Heeseung that your separation from Minjeong truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Heeseung seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Heeseung’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Jung Sungchan’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Jung Sungchan. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Sungchan, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Sungchan says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Sungchan’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Sungchan seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Sungchan waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Sungchan complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Sungchan nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Sungchan’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Sungchan’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Sungchan aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Sungchan casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Sungchan? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Minjeong lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Sungchan said makes sense. You and Heeseung are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Lee Heeseung, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Heeseung might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Sungchan shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Heeseung and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Sungchan hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Sungchan offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Heeseung if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Heeseung has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Heeseung in the eye, after your conversation with Sungchan. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Minjeong. When you told her about Sungchan’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Minjeong that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Heeseung and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Heeseung unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Heeseung.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Heeseung purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Heeseung already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Beomgyu had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Beomgyu would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Beomgyu’s precious cutlery.

While Heeseung wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Heeseung to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Heeseung’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Heeseung piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Lee Heeseung. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Heeseung continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Heeseung’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Heeseung stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Heeseung. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Minjeong’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Sungchan said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Heeseung I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Heeseung are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Beomgyu’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Heeseung’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Sungchan is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Sungchan nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Minjeong accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Sungchan always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Heeseung. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Sungchan round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Sungchan asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Sungchan looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Sungchan admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Sungchan. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Sungchan finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Sungchan pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Sungchan looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Sungchan looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Lee Heeseung is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Heeseung can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Heeseung weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Heeseung is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Heeseung glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Heeseung looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Heeseung’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Minjeong right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Heeseung can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Lee Heeseung doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Minjeong was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Yeonjun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Minjeong lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Minjeong hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Minjeong might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Yeonjun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Heeseung sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Heeseung is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Heeseung to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Heeseung is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Minjeong was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Heeseung makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Sungchan is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Heeseung is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Sungchan is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Heeseung is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Heeseung, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Heeseung seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Heeseung grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Heeseung likes it.

SEVEN

Sungchan drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Sungchan didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Sungchan is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Sungchan doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Heeseung, but Sungchan is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Heeseung aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Sungchan.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Sungchan are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Minjeong about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Heeseung?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Heeseung interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Minjeong you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Lee Heeseung has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Heeseung’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Heeseung tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Heeseung said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Heeseung’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Heeseung can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Heeseung’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Sungchan picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Sungchan’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Sungchan discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Sungchan finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Sungchan. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Heeseung.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Heeseung’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Sungchan makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Sungchan leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Heeseung’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Heeseung kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Heeseung clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Lee Heeseung might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Lee Heeseung doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Heeseung can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Heeseung is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Minjeong was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Choi Yeonjun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Minjeong was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Heeseung lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Heeseung’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Sungchan, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Sungchan: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Sungchan and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Sungchan places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Sungchan flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Heeseung; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Sungchan waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Heeseung—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Heeseung with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Sungchan’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Heeseung stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Sungchan standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Sungchan reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Sungchan,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Heeseung shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Sungchan. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Heeseung, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Sungchan.” You glare at Heeseung. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Sungchan coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Heeseung moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Sungchan supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Heeseung nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Sungchan. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Sungchan. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Sungchan nods, giving Heeseung a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Heeseung.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Sungchan is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Heeseung, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Heeseung are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Sungchan lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Sungchan nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Sungchan is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Jung Sungchan.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Sungchan’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Sungchan is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Heeseung doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Sungchan directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Sungchan looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Sungchan jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Sungchan looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Heeseung calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Sungchan, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Heeseung to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Sungchan. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Sungchan opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Heeseung a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Heeseung crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Sungchan together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Sungchan wanted to kiss you, but Heeseung interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Heeseung being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Heeseung’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Heeseung, and the other excited to explore what Sungchan could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Minjeong is back.

Minjeong is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Heeseung’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Minjeong stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Heeseung might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Minjeong updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Choi Yeonjun. She doesn’t know about Sungchan, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Heeseung.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Heeseung leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Minjeong already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Minjeong echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Heeseung dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Minjeong lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Heeseung, nor your newfound ones for Sungchan.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Minjeong only turns and stares at Heeseung. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Minjeong calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Heeseung tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Minjeong what happened, she would immediately make sure Heeseung doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Heeseung emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Minjeong grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Minjeong to notice.

Heeseung pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Heeseung looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Minjeong grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Minjeong round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Heeseung following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Minjeong wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Minjeong bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Lee Heeseung.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Minjeong squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Minjeong explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Minjeong consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Heeseung not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Heeseung’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Minjeong. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Heeseung? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Minjeong says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Yeonjun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Minjeong cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Heeseung, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Heeseung and Sungchan and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Sungchan to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Heeseung. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Minjeong pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Minjeong wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Minjeong grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Sungchan to Minjeong was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Sungchan and it’s Minjeong, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Minjeong and Sungchan are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Minjeong can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Heeseung had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Heeseung were together for a long time, huh?” Sungchan asks you quietly, once Minjeong is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Sungchan licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Jung Sungchan gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Sungchan,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Sungchan to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Jung Sungchan. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Minjeong walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Sungchan chimes in, and adds, in true Sungchan fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Minjeong glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Sungchan teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Minjeong agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Sungchan grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Sungchan asks you out again three days after Minjeong leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Jung Sungchan compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Lee Heeseung has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Lee Heeseung and Jung Sungchan: Two sides of the same coin.

Minjeong’s question resonates in your mind as you and Sungchan walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Sungchan puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Sungchan. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Sungchan whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Minjeong’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Sungchan.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Heeseung’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Heeseung glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Heeseung pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Heeseung thought you and Sungchan were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Heeseung too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Heeseung shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Sungchan?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Heeseung to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Heeseung’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Heeseung crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Heeseung,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Heeseung. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Heeseung, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Heeseung’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Lee Heeseung, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Sungchan; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Heeseung groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Hee,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Heeseung that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Heeseung only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Hee, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Heeseung looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Heeseung doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Heeseung who cockily asked you if Sungchan was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Minjeong like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Lee Heeseung, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Heeseung were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Heeseung broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Heeseung. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Minjeong is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Choi Yeonjun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Sungchan doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Heeseung are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Sungchan were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Sungchan’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Sungchan’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Sungchan. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Sungchan,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Sungchan looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Jung Sungchan gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Minjeong’s orders!” Sungchan calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Heeseung huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Sungchan everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Minjeong?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Sungchan’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Sungchan,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Heeseung pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Minjeong hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Heeseung.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Sungchan came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Sungchan get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Beomgyu, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Heeseung swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Heeseung,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Heeseung’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Heeseung’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Heeseung smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Sungchan’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Heeseung says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Heeseung stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Sungchan from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Sungchan with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Heeseung’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Heeseung sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Heeseung sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Heeseung works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Heeseung leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Heeseung quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Heeseung tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Heeseung waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Heeseung bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Hee?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Hee.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Heeseung to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Heeseung enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Heeseung grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Heeseung can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Heeseung thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Heeseung. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Heeseung chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Sungchan and Minjeong are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Minjeong still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Sungchan remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Heeseung and Minjeong decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Heeseung agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Hee. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Heeseung.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Heeseung rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Heeseung giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Heeseung’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Heeseung broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Heeseung don’t need that.