Yawnazzz - Yuna ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) ᯓ★

18+ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 .ᐟ

𐙚 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 : 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𐙚 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⇢ 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗋.

𐙚 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : smut- 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈n ... 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀!

𐙚 𝗐.𝖼 : 10.8𝗄

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗅…𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗒𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀…𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌! :)

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍

The pitter-patter of the rain befalls your roof, the sound echoing in your ears as you stare out the window of your room. Greying clouds shrouded the sky, covering what little left of the sun was visible in the storm brewing on what was supposed to be a lovely sunny Sunday afternoon. Well, it still is lovely.

Usually on days like these, the floor of your room would be cold to the touch of your feet and the only thing offering you comfort would be the covers you would hide under your bed; which you were in as of now with some extra warmth beside your lying body. You turn your head to the side to face the sleeping figure next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist securely like it was held on by a lock. The dark strands of hair fall on his face perfectly, covering his closed lids so gently it barely poked his skin. You make use of the time to study his features, his sharply curved nose, his inviting plump-coloured lips to counting all the spotted moles perfectly decorating his soft skin.

He looked perfect in this state of his yet there was a heaviness pulling the back of your throat, the palpitations of your heartbeat increasing the more you tried to hold in from bursting into tears. It was exhausting, having to rationalize yourself and bury the feelings that arise when looking at him like that. It felt so right and wrong all at the same time, you blame nobody but yourself for the demise brought to your own heart.

His chest was moving up and down pace fully as his breath softly contacted your face, the tip of his nose inches away from brushing yours; ever so gentle and vulnerable like that next to you, holding you as he continued to slumber like the world outside never grew dark. It was really, a lovely Sunday afternoon. Well, that was until you heard the sound of your younger brother’s loud chatter and footsteps covering up the walls of your house, sounding closer each second as he made his way up the stairs to his room next to yours.

Immediately snapping yourself out of your daze from the loud bang of his door closing shut, your eyes widen in horror as they are still locked onto the boy’s face next to yours. This was not good. You had to wake him up quickly before anyone finds out he was ever here, in your bed; before your brother finds out his best friend was lying next to you. “Sunghoon! Wake up!” you hiss under your breath as you shake his arm, trying your hardest to be gentle with your touch yet making it known how urgently he needs to act. “Hmm? What?” the boy groans, eyes still fully closed and no attempt of waking up was made with the arm around your waist instead tightening and pulling you closer to him. “No, wake up! Jungwon is home.” You try to pry yourself off his hold and hope he gets up this time with the mention of your brother, his best friend. And how this was not a situation any of you wanted to deal with right now.

“Oh.” Finally, Sunghoon opens his eyes and unlike your panicked ones, they are tired. Maybe even sad? Who knows, but you did feel your heartstrings pull a little bit at the sight of his locked gaze, feeling all sorts of bad at how you ruined his peaceful sleep to have to go running out in the rain that probably caused him to feel what you assumed was sad. You stop your movements of trying to get his grip off your waist once your eyes stay on each other’s for a few beats too long, not entirely sure why he was still in place. The longer the silence and the sound of only your breaths and rain outside took over the moment, the warmer you felt your cheeks turning. Seeing him like this felt like a new angle into things when he is awake and staring right into the window of your soul.

For some reason, what were mere minutes felt like an eternity that you seemed to find yourself lost in his captivation, searching for meaning behind every glint that shone in the pupils of his dark brown orbs. You could see yourself in them staring right back at you and you wonder if he sees the same thing as you.

“Right, I better go then.” He snaps you back to the reality of the moment, the reality of the situation you need to get out of. The warmth of his skin disappears as fast as he pulls himself away from you, rolling over and getting up from your bed in search of his scattered clothing on the floor. It seems he does not waste any time in getting ready to leave, putting himself back into one piece presentable enough like whatever happened before the sun rose never did. You did not take any offense to it though, knowing how it goes. He is your brother’s best friend. It was never meant to happen, ever.

Sunghoon walks over to your table and bends a little as he fixes his hair a few more times in front of your vanity mirror, glancing at the reflection of you sitting on the bed watching as he does so. You had the covers wrapped around yourself now, holding it tightly together as the cold of the air finally catches up with you. The boy clears his throat and stands straight again, turning around to face you with his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. “I’ll text you.”

You look up to him with a similar sentiment you fake with a smile, nodding slightly at his words. “Be careful, it’s raining.” And with that, he makes his way out of your room in stealth and much experience with this already, not without first planting a swift peck on your cheek and escaping out of your house successfully into the wet steps outside. To his car parked a few jogs away from your house behind the yellowing trees where Jungwon would not notice. Just like every other time for the past two months. 

Two months of sneaking around in sealed secrecy, spending most of your time together intertwined in each other’s beds. You don’t remember how exactly it all started, damn sure alcohol was the cause of it though. How drunk you both must’ve been that fateful night at whoever’s turn it was to host the house party of the week. But you do remember the first touch of how his big hands cupped your face. The first mesh of your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Thus, spiralling down the road of not being able to keep your hands off each other no matter how hard you both tried to (not hard enough). He was intoxicating you with the taste of his lips, his cock, and offering you the pleasures of vulnerability like you never had before. In simple terms, he was the best fuck you ever had and kept having. See how you’re stuck in a predicament?

You do wonder if there was ever more he felt with you, even for just a second but you never dared venture into those territories of asking questions. This whole thing was a problem in itself and maybe you just didn’t want to face the reality by talking about it more. Sunghoon and you had your share of moments, exchanging stories, getting to know each other bit by bit and sharing intimate touches that never carried any sexual nature. But at the end of the day, you know he only sees this as a hook-up, an agreement you’ve found yourselves in to give and take from one another. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though, having to suppress how fond you’ve grown of him and ignoring the growing sentiment but you let the guilt gnaw you freely, losing the light sparkling in you in his company only to be reignited on the next meeting.

It was a miracle Jungwon never realised, not having even the slightest clue about what was going on inside his own house with the two people he was the closest to. There were times you’d both almost slip up, Sunghoon having come out of your room a mere second too early or too late before your brother disappears; or when he’d eye fuck you in front of a group of people be it at a party or even under your own roof with Jungwon standing right next to him. If he did notice, he never brings it up and sometimes that gets your hopes up of maybe, just maybe he doesn’t care. But seeing from time to time how he’d bring up girls’ names to Sunghoon and talk freely as boys do when you’re around, you prefer to assume he was absolutely clueless. 

You lie back down on your bed, exhaling a sigh when your head hits the softness of your pillow. You fish your phone out from under it and squint at just how bright the screen is, finding your brother’s contact to call him. “Are you home?” you ask feigning a sleepy voice when he picks up, glancing out the window as you wonder if Sunghoon had reached home safely in the heavy-paced rain. “Yeah, like for a while now. Practice ran short cause of the rain and Sunghoon never showed up, again. Did you just wake up?” you could hear the tinge of annoyance in your brother’s voice as he mentioned his best friend’s name on the phone.

Your brother and Sunghoon were in the college football team, having their semis of the season coming up soon; and with how serious the team was set on victory, they would have practice even on Sunday mornings sometimes. Sunghoon was one of their best players and with how much he has been missing weekend practice lately for ‘family emergencies’, it is validated that your brother who happens to be the captain of said team put his annoyance on said boy.

“Y/n?” the knock on your door and Jungwon’s voice calling you out from behind it startles you, not realizing he ended the call when you failed to respond to him. You put your phone away and get up from your bed, putting on a hoodie over the thin fabric of your shirt before opening the door to your brother, who had one ear pressed against your wooden door almost falling head-first into your room.

“What are you doing?” You watch him stumble on his feet as he tries to stand back up straight, arms crossed resting against your chest. “I thought you died.” The younger just shrugs as if that was a reasonable enough answer, walking away from you and down the steps of the stairs. “Come down, I’m gonna heat the pizza.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckle a little to yourself at his antics, closing the door of your room before hurrying down the stairs.

                                                 • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Again?” You sigh to yourself at the sight in front of you at the doorstep. Another Friday night, another drunk Jungwon was to be let in and carried to bed. Lucky for you, his best friend was the one who brought him home, supporting one side of Jungwon’s weight on his shoulder. “Yeap, I tried to stop him but you know how stubborn he gets.” Sunghoon offers an apologetic smile as he practically drags the boy by his shoulder into the warmth of your house.

“Just leave him on the couch.” Plopping him down onto the couch of the living room, you drape the throw blanket over him, watching as he slept through with a snore. You watch him for a bit more, bending down to brush a little of his bangs away from his face before making your way back to where the kitchen was, opening the fridge in search of some cold bottled water. You hear the footsteps following you and finally stopping right behind you, you can feel his breath prickling the skin of your neck. Clearing your throat, you try your hardest to ignore the reddening of your cheeks. You had to keep your cool.

“May I help you?” you don’t bother turning around, pretending to look for more things in the fridge as you keep your focus on it longer before picking up two bottles from the side. “Yeah, you could. I deserve a thank you, don’t you think?” pushing the fridge close, Sunghoon encases both of his arms around your waist and pulls your back to land on his chest, chin resting on top of your head so easily. Damn him for being so tall. Letting out a deep exhale, you dismiss his hold off you easily before turning on your heels to face him this time, having to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Thank you.” You say with a short smile enough to come off genuine on your lips, pushing one bottle of the water in your hand to his chest, forming some distance between the two of you. It’s bad enough he had your shorts riding up a little from his back hug before, it was getting tougher by the day to act nonchalant as if he doesn’t make your heartstrings tug at the sight of his teeth showing when he smiles ever so innocently to you.

Knowing you'd go around in circles trying to put a stop to your 'relationship' only to go back to him again, you had to control yourself. Glancing to the couch in the living room where your brother sleeps, you remind yourself why it is important you do this. Sliding away from the compromising position Sunghoon has put you in, he watches with confusion forming on his face at how you walk off to lean on the kitchen counter facing him but avoiding his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brows furrowed deep you'd think they were connected by now. His asking that question makes you scoff in disbelief at how oblivious he was trying to play as if everything was just alright. "What's wrong? This. This is wrong. We can’t keep doing this, Sunghoon.” you softly answer, not wanting even the walls of your kitchen to hear what you'd have to open up about tonight, let alone Jungwon in the next room. The boy rolls his eyes at your words, having expected to hear of the same thing you've been repeating for the past two months of your 'relationship'. He knows why you feel the way you do and he knows why you think what you have to do is right but he decides to stick in denial of the fact that everything in front of him could crumble in an instant. 

Sunghoon walks over to you and holds you firm by the waist this time, slotting one knee in between your thighs as he leans himself closer to your body. You gasp at the sudden movement, not being able to move out in time before he takes one grip off your waist and pinches your chin with his thumb and index finger to face up at him. "Are you sure?" he whispers under his hot breath trickling your lips, your eyes engrossed in his like chains pulling you in. Causing you to abide, yet again.

One heartbeat ticks before Sunghoon leans in and crashes his lips onto yours which you immediately return with haste. One minute it was slow, the next messy with your hands roaming around each other and tongues slipping past lips to connect with saliva dripping down your chins. His knee under your covered core settles in quickly and so do you sitting on it, grinding your way through the heat engulfing you whole with lids barely open but you do not close them completely, reality setting in like a switch in your brain. Your fingers gripping his hair to pull him closer before are now pulling it away in one swift motion, lips left bare and connected only by the air you struggle to catch.

"No, we can't. I'm serious.” Your change in demeanour to his usual flirtatious ways confused him. It wasn’t shocking, not the first time this ‘routine’ of yours came before giving in to him anyway but this time, it felt different. Like you’ve made your mind up and are choosing to take a stand on the choice he so much despises to believe. Sunghoon furrows his brows deeper now lines were forming on his forehead, hand reaching out to hold yours that seemed much farther than it used to be as you push him off of you.

“Please, I’ve told you again and again that everything is going to be fine, Y/n and-“

“What if it’s not going to be fine, huh? What if everything goes to shit and Jungwon, you, me- everything just falls apart? I-I don’t want anything to change.” You whisper-shout and pull your hand away from his grip once again, folding your arms and tucking your fingers away out of his reach if he ever tries to hold you again. It would make everything much, much harder to handle. Turning away from him, you sigh to yourself and walk towards the couch trying to clear your head of all the jumbled thoughts making you not see straight.

It was the right thing to do and you assured yourself a million times in your heart, knowing you weren’t one to take risks of even the smallest things that could change the trajectory of your family relations. Or get caught up in the downfall of their friendship? Hard pass. Yes, you knew it was wrong from the moment your eyes laid on Sunghoon that night and for two months consecutive; the notion to put a stop to it only came now. Who could blame you, really?

Sunghoon follows behind you and stops a few steps away, one hand ruffling his hair messily in frustration. If only he had the right words to say to convince that persistent head of yours to stay. “I get it, I do. Listen to me, I-“

“I think you should leave. It’s late, thanks for bringing Jungwon home.” You cut him off immediately before he could continue whatever he’s come up with to sway your decision, deciding to look up and face him dead in the eye. His arms fall limp to the side with eyes staring right back at you, pupils moving around endlessly trying to find just anything, any reasoning he could use in your eyes; yet all he witnessed were the trembling of your lips. With a heavy sigh, he says what he always does before leaving. “I’ll text you.”

Sunghoon picks his feet up and starts walking towards the front door and opens it, walking out with one last look at your face though you’re not focused on him anymore. He gazes at you crouched down beside your brother one last time before shutting the door taking all of himself that he gave to you with him. Hearing the soft thud of the lock was when the tears you’ve bit your tongue holding it in started falling down your cheeks.

And he does text you that night and all the nights following, but you always leave them unopened.

                                                • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The gust of wind blows in signal of fall passing through, messing up the bangs on the side of your face to much dismay. It was reaching 4 pm now as you sat on one of the picnic benches outside the library alone, hoping to catch up with some of your notes from class while waiting for Jungwon to finish up with football practice. Not for another hour though.

So you sit there, studying; well trying to at least, constantly being distracted with thoughts floating around in your mind. Some were about school, some were about trivial matters you won’t even remember by the end of the night. And some were about Park Sunghoon, the boy you swore to yourself not to contact anymore. It was impossible though, unlocking your phone now to read another one of his text messages in your notification bar from last night that you left unopened for reasons you deemed would help in your ‘journey’. Wasn’t this what no contact was all about?

“Can we talk, please?”

You sigh at the words slowly ingraining in your brain the longer you stare at it, not realizing the figure planting himself to the seat opposite you. “Whatcha doing?” you blink in surprise at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide slightly as you look up from your phone to Jake’s face smiling at you with his hands clasped together resting on the table separating you. He wasn’t a stranger but you didn’t know him well enough to say he was a close friend; more of an acquaintance? Classmate. Sure. Jake Sim was in your sociology class, always kept himself engaged in lectures and was pretty well known around your major mates. You’ve been in group projects with him several times but the exchange between you two never exceeded the academic level of interest before.

“Waiting for my brother.” You say with a smile, locking and tucking your phone back into the pocket of your jacket. “Jungwon, right?” Jake tilts his head to the side when he questions, the smile never leaving his lips but he looks so innocent it almost made you want to pinch his cheeks. “You know my brother?” “Everyone knows your brother, Y/n.” a small chuckle leaves his lips now, and you can’t help but do the same. He was right. Everyone did know your brother, the captain of the football team. How could you forget for the slightest how popular your brother actually is? How popular him and his friends were?

It grows quiet for a few seconds, not sure if you were meant to wait for Jake or you to say something else or anything at all to continue the conversation, which didn’t seem like one that bore any importance as of now. Jake still had his hands held together on the table, smile evidently growing wider as he kept his eyes on you like he was studying you. Your eyes carelessly did the same; seeing him up close under the warm sunrays shining through the cracks of leaves that tower over you both. Undeniably he was good-looking looking with a tinge of innocence playing in his expression. He seemed benign, genuinely pleasant and confident that you don’t care to wonder why he was well-liked among your peers.

You open your mouth slightly but before any words built up in your mind could come out, Jake softly taps the table and stands. “Well, I’d like to keep you company longer but I need to get home now.” It wasn’t expected of him to stay with you after that little exchange anyway but somehow a speck of disappointment fills you.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” Jake rubs the back of his nape sheepishly with a wide grin, not able to keep his eyes on you so confidently this time around. And to think he was incapable of being shy around you. “Y-yeah, sure. Okay.” You weren’t any better than him though, the tip of your ears heating up at the sudden invitation. “Great. I’ll text you!” with that he walks away, turning around after a few steps to wave you goodbye accompanied by a smile. For some reason, your ears grow hotter as you wave back at him, not entirely opposed to this newfound excitement starting to bubble in the pits of your stomach. You watch him a little longer as his silhouette grows small and disappears into the distance, smiling to nobody but yourself now.

You glance off towards the other side where you can hear the football players yelling in the distance from the field, holding your breath momentarily when you meet Sunghoon’s eyes. Standing at the side of the field, staring at you as he wipes off the sweat dripping down the tips of his hair. Being quite far away, you couldn’t make out clearly the way his face expressed dissatisfaction but with those thick brows of his, anyone could see the way they quirked up from a mile away. He’s been trying to contact you for the last week and this was what he had to see after you not responding last night? Who was that guy anyway? Sunghoon tongues the inside of his cheek in annoyance, scoffing when he catches you looking away and pretending like he didn’t exist.

No matter how much he tried to text, call, or anything- he kept himself behaved and respectful every time he was in near proximity of you much thanks to Jungwon. The boy was desperate but he wasn’t about to let another drama unfold in the midst of him trying to get a grip of present matters. He doesn’t know how long more he could stand watching you from afar, not being able to hold you close like before- he didn’t know how to handle being rejected. It was close to torture-no, it was absolute torture having to watch you greet him when he came over to hang out with Jungwon, only to scurry off in your little shorts back to your room and lock yourself in there till he was out of sight.

It was a mental battle for him, knowing at some point you were right about not wanting to hurt Jungwon in the long run of continuing whatever you had between the two of you. He knew that, he understood that. But what about him? What about the true feelings that he realized was a little too late to admit he had for you all this time of just ‘messing around’? He sighs to himself and tries to brush off his thoughts, tossing the towel to the ground before running back to his teammates huddled up in a circle. Letting go of you just seemed impossible in his books.

                                               • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 

The next day, you were surprised to find Jake standing out the hallway of your lecture hall with a cup of coffee in each hand. His eyes travelled around the sea of students exiting the hall after your morning class, grinning ear to ear when he spotted you walking over. “Good morning, this is for you but it’s hot, so be careful.” You stop to stand right in front of him, biting down your lips to stop from smiling too widely in hopes he doesn’t get how embarrassingly happy you were of this surprise. How does he know you even had class this morning right here? Maybe because he had classes next door, idiot. How does he know what coffee you’d even like? Why was he being so friendly with you? You take the cup from his hand and notice the way his cheeks turn a little hue of pink when your finger brushes against his. “Thank you, Jake. That’s so sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome, and before you think I’m a creep for knowing your schedule- I just happen to have classes next door at the same time as you do here every week. So I’ve seen you walk by a few times.” What, he's a mind reader now? Taking a small sip of the drink, you hum in approval as the taste of hot coffee washes over you and smile up at Jake’s intrigued face. “This is really yummy! Thanks again, Jake.” “I’m glad you like it.” He nods with satisfaction painted over his face, glancing around the hallway momentarily to concede the decreasing amount of students present now.

“So, are you free right now? Want to go to the library and study?” Jake asks with a tilted head, taking a longer sip of his coffee as if trying to hide half of his face. You take a look at the watch on your wrist and damn, you were hoping to fill your empty stomach up before your next class. “Um, actually- could we get something to eat? I haven’t had breakfast so..” trailing off your words, you glance down to your feet before meeting his eyes apologetically. Maybe he really wanted to study and here you were, asking to go eat instead. What if he really just wanted a study buddy for the semester and he thought you were trying to hang out with him? It is almost noon so that’s perfect for lunch so why would he even ask to study right now but what if- damn you and your overthinking.

Instead, Jake looks at you with slightly widened eyes and you were hoping that didn’t mean anything bad. “Yes, of course! I’m sorry, I should’ve asked to go to lunch instead. We can go to the library after if you’re still up for it.” Not sure why you found his reaction endearing, you lightly chuckle and nod along to his words as he leads the both of you out of the building and to the cafeteria of the campus. It wasn’t a long walk from where you were so not much awkwardness was present in your conversation, but that was thanks to how easygoing Jake was as a person.

He’d ask every little thing in that head of his about you and he never seemed to run out of questions or hold back from them, despite evidently feeling shy prior. You notice the way he had this captivated look on his face whenever you answered and sometimes they were pretty long answers but he didn’t seem to mind one bit that you were spouting all sorts of trivial matters at this point. You liked that about him and don’t question anymore his intentions of getting all friendly with you, easing up to him quicker than you’d expect. From then on, you’ve shared most of your meals on campus together, studying together when you could find the time and there were times he’d just ask you to hang out with him, doing nothing but talk. It felt refreshing, a (not so) new face taking your time up you almost, almost (not at all) forget the face that hangs around in the background of your life.

Sunghoon was definitely aware of your newfound friend; watching, glaring, judging every little interaction you had with Jake every time he’d see you. Always, always with Jake. Smiling, talking, laughing. Was he that funny that had you giggling your way all through lunch? Anyone with eyes could see that Jake was being flirtatious with you, or maybe that’s just what the younger boy wanted to believe to justify his feelings of envy. Have you forgotten about him and all those moments you’d laugh at his jokes? Sunghoon catches himself smiling whenever he remembers them and sighs in defeat when he realizes it would never be a sight he’d see again.

Unless he decides to finally take matters into his own hands. He was not going to let you go just like that, despite your bullshit reasoning about caring for Jungwon’s feelings or whatever you’ve been saying. It just felt unfair knowing how you really felt about the ‘relationship’ but choosing to end it anyway. It felt selfish and Sunghoon wanted to at least, make you listen and be selfish of his feelings for once- pushing back the regret slowly creeping in before it’s too late to have done something.

                                            • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 

Two weeks pass by and spending time with Jake has added productivity into your routine; being that it used to be only studying and occasional social life activities with your friends; and hooking up with your brother’s best friend. It was good to distract yourself with Jake, though you hated how you thought of him that way. It wasn’t your fault Sunghoon was still intruding on your life when he saw an opportunity, making it impossible for you to dismiss him or even get over him completely these past weeks.

He was with Jungwon more often than not these days, always coming over to your house for hours on end it felt intentional to mess with you at this point. He wasn’t even keeping to himself like he used to around you in public, making small talk last longer and teasing you as if you’re the one he’s best friends with and there was no reason you could justify giving him the cold shoulder in front of your brother. Jungwon never found it odd or out of character though, deeming it as if your relationship had always been this way.

You hate the way he still looks at you the same way he used to; with so much fondness and attachment no matter how menacing his words try to sound when he satirises you. You hate the way his scent fills up the air around your house now, taking you back to all those times he spent being so close to you. You certainly hate the way he lingers his touches on your skin, letting his hand brush softly on yours when he passes you things or placing his hand on the arch of your back when he wants to walk by you. It seems like anything you tried to do to put it all in the past crumbles down and pulls you back in like everything was still in the present.

Mostly you hated yourself, for letting your thoughts wander on and on about him on sleepless nights, for even letting him still make your heart skip a beat with that smile of his. It seemingly gets more difficult when you can hear his voice in Jungwon’s room, both of them yelling or arguing about whatever game they were playing that Friday evening before heading out to some party happening the same night.

Jake was coming over to work on a paired project you had for Sociology and it being the first time stepping foot into the home you share with Jungwon, you hoped it’d be some sort of an ideal comfortable place to get school work done. Definitely underestimated your brother’s loud voice and your household. You make your way to his door and rap a couple of hard knocks on it to send a hint that maybe, you weren’t in the greatest of moods right now. Jungwon opens the door with a quirked-up brow and you try your best to not glance away from his face to the one behind him. “What? I’m busy.” 

“Jake is coming over to study so keep it down a little okay? I really-“

“Jake? Jake Sim?” Sunghoon chimes in and cuts your words off, standing up from Jungwon’s bed and walking over to stand next to him with arms crossed over his chest. This time, you had no choice but to look at him and you pray to God he doesn’t see the way your feet fidget.

“Yeah, they’re like going out now or something,” Jungwon responds instead of you, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world as he walks off to pick his phone up from the bedside table. Sunghoon stays put though, arms still crossed and now leaning his side against the door frame as he intensifies his look on you. It felt like you were being interrogated for a crime you had yet to commit with the way he was looking. “We’re not! Just-just keep it down okay?” you raise your voice a little higher to talk over Sunghoon’s towering figure, only earning an agreeing whine from your brother.

You roll your eyes in annoyance, taking a step back from the door to turn and walk off before Sunghoon grips your wrist momentarily and pulls you back to face him.  “Are you coming to the party later?” The boy questions and this time Jungwon looks up from whatever got his attention on that phone of his awaiting your answer. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, you should. Invite Jake, though I’m sure he’s already going so he’ll probably ask you.” Sunghoon says in such a nonchalant manner, giving you a smile that seems so fake like he meant to let you know it was. Alarm bells ring in your little head every time he mentions Jake’s name but you try to ignore them, not wanting to delve deeper into why it bothers you. To stop overthinking was to stop thinking in the first place. 

“Whatever. Maybe.” You decide to brush it off and walk away as quickly as possible back to your room, holding yourself from sparing a glance back at his watchful eyes as you close your door shut. “Have fun!” Spending another second a breath away from each other would shatter the wall you’ve built up completely.

                                              • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Okay, let’s take a 5-minute break and we can wrap this up for tonight,” Jake says as he leans to rest his back on your bedside, both of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of your room with laptops and research papers cluttered around. The clock reads 10 pm now, not having realised time flew by so quickly and you felt it though that’s unusual given doing school work was boring and draggy. Guess having Jake around your company made time work differently. You smile and nod in agreement at his suggestion of taking a well-deserved break. It was taxing trying to read the words written in those papers with him being in your room; well at least for the first 20 minutes until the only thing that could annoy you more than feeling anxious was the boisterous peals of laughter echoing next door.

“Sorry about my brother and his friend.” you huff out having to apologise on behalf of such things you couldn’t control but to your surprise, Jake didn’t seem to mind it at all. “Nah, it’s all good.” He shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle under his breath which somehow increases assurance that you had nothing to worry about. “Anyways uh- there’s a party at my friend Jay’s later. You should come with me.” There it was, the invitation you previously had rejected in your head but now- with the way his puppy-eyed smile slowly convinced you? It’d be cruel to say no. “Sure, but I need a little time to change.” 

The physical space between the two of you seemingly grew closer without you noticing, only the bumping of his knees into yours takes you to recognise this. The shade of his eyes differs from a few seconds ago with the light on your ceiling reflecting on them it settled like tiny little stars. They gaze at your dark brown ones longingly and you don’t know why your hands are getting clammy.

“No matter what you wear, you’d still be the prettiest girl there.” Before you could respond with words instead of just widened eyes and tinted cheeks, Jake gradually leaned in closer to you with a hand reaching out to cup your cheeks. The moment felt still, the air held back down your throat from exhaling and all the thoughts in your head paused. You glance down at his lips and every single second your heartbeat increases he is getting closer and closer to touching yours. Sure, you were aware of the growing uncertainty between the two of you after hanging out endlessly but you never did decide on what to call it. Friendly banter? Flirting for the sake of humour? Jake seemed to have his mind made up with this forward move and all you could think about at that very last second was how Sunghoon used to call you pretty. 

“My pretty girl.” 

And then a loud laugh echoing through the house kills the moment. Speak of the devil. It was like he knew what was happening behind these walls that separated the two rooms and he had to remind you that he was still living in the back of your mind. Jake immediately pulls his hand away from your face and clears his throat, the switch from confident to fluster taking over him. The moment fleets away and snaps like a flash, the trance-filled air evaporates from your systems which quickly takes you back to reality.

“Sorry.“ Jake ruffles his hair in an attempt to hide his eyes but you notice the smile he bites back from showing. You do the same in averting your gaze with how hot your face was getting, shaking your head in dismissal at his apology. “It’s okay.”

“I think we can continue the project on Monday. I’ll wait for you downstairs and we can go?” The flustered boy says while packing his things and stands up after, expression clean like nothing ever happened. “O-okay. I won’t take long.” You get up on your feet and nod, watching him close your door as he leaves and now all alone you stand there, gathering everything in your head to figure out what just happened. And- why was your blood feeling warm again like relief had washed over you? Whatever. You shake those thoughts away and stumble to your wardrobe, picking out the first top and short skirt in sight and changing quickly while adding a few touch-ups to prim your appearance. 

Walking down the stairs slowly you hear chatter in the living room and when you do land on the final step, the sight of Jake casually conversing with Sunghoon and your brother on the couch welcomes you. They didn’t seem aware of your presence at first, engrossed in their little discussion and you slowly make your way to them.

“Well, don’t you look pretty?” Sunghoon was the first to blurt that out when you came into view, earning questioning (a little weirded out and a “dude!” mostly from Jungwon’s) glances from the other two. He’s never openly complimented you, especially in front of your brother and what in the world does he think he’s doing that now? You blink in astonishment at the sudden forwardness he was showcasing, even more surprised the younger did not seem to think it was a misstep on his part at all. Jake decides to let it slide and smiles at you as he stands up. “You do look pretty.”

He might not have heard it but the scoff Sunghoon lets out under his breath rings right through your ears. “Are we done? Can we go now?” Jungwon stands up as well now, groaning along his steps towards the front door with Sunghoon following suit from behind. “Yeap, see you guys there.” He says without even a glance back, implying they are heading out in Sunghoon’s car and you were left to go in Jake’s. It had you hesitant to be alone with him once again, unsure whether the conversation would pick up where it got interrupted.

Much to ease your worries though, Jake appears to have moved past the recent events, effortlessly slipping back into his usual self as he drives you to Jay's place. Talking and laughing with you like he always would, devoid of any awkwardness you mentally prepared to face. 

                                            • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Arriving at the party, you were welcomed by a music-blasted house full of drunken students, the smell of booze thinning through the air and a ton of new faces you had to meet. Jake introduces you to his friends the moment they spot him arriving, learning that despite being third years just like you- they were all good friends with Jungwon and Sunghoon who were in their second and always attended Jay’s parties. It’s no surprise Jungwon never mentioned to them he had an older sister all this while and that it was you, given how dumbfounded their faces expressed when you were introduced.

“C’mon, let me get you a drink.” Jake holds his hand out to take yours, leading the both of you through the swarm of bodies to the kitchen counter where a variety of bottled alcohol were lined up for your choosing. He releases your hand to grab one, pouring its contents into a red cup mixed with what he explained was apple juice before passing it for you to try with anticipation in his eyes. “Good?” “Great.” You nod and smile in approval as the taste of liquor mixes in your throat but it doesn’t burn like it should thanks to the added condiment. Jake laughs softly in relief and makes one for himself, bumping his cup with yours for a little ‘cheers!’ before taking a sip and exhaling in delight at the taste.

You were not one in favour of much drinking even when you do attend parties with your friends but to relax with Sunghoon still roaming around nearby and at any given moment could catch you off guard, you decided why the heck not. 

After a few more leisurely sips, Jake gently gestures with his chin towards a cosy, unoccupied couch nestled in a quieter corner of the living room. With a warm smile, he reaches for your hand once more, guiding you towards this inviting spot where you both settle in next to each other, finding comfort in the serene ambience of the less crowded area. “I’m really glad you decided to come with, you know,” he states when he catches you turning to smile at him, confidence from the early spur of the moment in your room seeming to have returned. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Cause I like hanging out with you. Plus, you tell the funniest jokes known to mankind.” You roll your eyes playfully at his bantering remark, nudging his side softly. “Not as funny as the ones you tell, Mr Sim.” Jake’s laughter infects you, drawing you into a lively exchange where conversation flows like it usually does with him.

You seemed to be really enjoying yourself and when Sunghoon sees you from across the room where he’s leaned up against the wall with his own condiment in hand; getting up to presumably head to the bathroom, he wipes the frown he wore while observing your interaction with Jake and quietly follows you.

Admittedly, he was very jealous of Jake. Of anyone and everyone who got to receive your warm reactions he used to be the reason of. With other eyes around the room glancing and looking at you in ways only he allowed himself to do so felt like fire charring through his skin and veins. The alcohol he kept chugging every time your voice grew clear to his ears that he could make out the words in detail, was certainly not helping his mind be kept sane at this point. 

Turning the tap off and giving yourself a once over in the mirror of the bathroom you found empty in the back, a sigh falls from your lips. Looking straight into your reflection you no longer see yourself with expressions earlier directed to Jake. No, not when you were alone once again under the coarse fluorescent lighting with a swarm of thoughts coming back to haunt your mind. You don’t know why the fact Sunghoon was here at the same party as Jake bothered you so much, after the whole compliment he decided to throw out in the open you felt defeated.

For one, Jake was a decent guy and you weren’t so naive to throw out the option of venturing into your relationship with him more than just friends. Plus, he wasn’t your brother’s best friend- Jungwon already thinks you’ve got more going on. All positives, no cons to be detected. But one, he was not Sunghoon. You groan in frustration and curse yourself, why the fuck does this guy have such a hold on you that you couldn’t even do this one thing right? It’s over and done with, you’ve got to stick with your decision no matter how long it takes for you to convince yourself that.

A loud knock from the door startles you from overthinking (your personality at this point) and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Drunk people and their impatience with bathrooms, especially when occupied never cease to tick you off. “Yes, yes I’m done,” you grumble while straightening your skirt, stepping towards the door to unlock it and before you can even open it fully; Sunghoon forces himself in and bumps you to stumble backwards as he shuts the door and locks it.

The hair on your skin stands and shock waves wash over you, not fully comprehending what exactly is going on. He takes notice of your bewildered expression and smirks, back leaning against the door with eyes gazing at you with nothing but grey in them. It’s quiet for a few beats, save the faded-out music playing in the background from the party happening outside this small room you were seemingly trapped in.  

“What are you doing?” 

"What are you doing?" he questions back, a hint of attitude present in the tone. Bafflement spreads across your face, and he pushes himself off the door, walking forward slowly and stopping just right in front of you. Sunghoon had both hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans as he towered over you, prompting you to tilt your head up to meet his eye. With a gentle motion, he removes one hand from his pocket, brushing aside the bangs that have fallen on the side of your face. His finger then traces a slow, deliberate path up and down your arm, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Threw me away for that guy, huh?” a playful pout formed on his lips now, moving down his hand from your arm to wrap around your waist with a tight grasp pulling you to bump his chest. Red colours your features from the contact and there was no way to hide it at this point, being so dangerously close to him everything in you weakened by the minute. For a flicker, you don’t even recall Jake, or his name or him being the context of the conversation. Your mind grows more cluttered it is like everything was upside down, with Sunghoon’s mere touch of skin sending your brain into a wired mess. 

“Thro- I didn’t throw you away, Sunghoon. I told you why-“

“You probably have no idea, but I’m quite a jealous man.”

Before you can respond, Sunghoon leans in, capturing your lips with a fervent kiss. You taste the yearning in his kiss and, almost instinctively, you return it with equal intensity. Any remnants of your defences crumble, and you know there's no point in trying to rebuild them, especially now as you fully succumb to him. Moments like this remind you why you typically don’t drink alcohol. Though there wouldn’t really be a different outcome even if you were fully sober; knowing and finally admitting to yourself that you do want this. You want all of him.

The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as he pushes you up against the edge of the sink. One of his hands remains tightly gripped around your waist, anchoring you to him, while the other slowly travels down to the hem of your skirt. With a deliberate motion, he lifts it slightly, allowing his hand to slip underneath, where he firmly grasps your thigh, pulling you even closer to him. A moan escapes through your connected lips as you feel his hand firmly gripping every inch of your thigh and tracing along the curve of your ass, his touch sending electric sensations through your body.

Your hands roam eagerly over his broad chest, fingers threading through his locks and pulling him closer like your life depended on him. Sunghoon seizes the momentary parting of your lips, his tongue sweeping in to explore the wet warmth of your mouth. He skillfully intertwines his tongue with yours, drawing you deeper into the kiss, his movements becoming more eager and vigorous.

Breaking the kiss briefly, a thin strand of saliva glistens between your lips, hinting at the raw desire that lingers. "You think I don't see the way he looks at you?" he whispers huskily, his eyes now a darker shade. "Flirting with you, touching you—God, it's so fucking annoying.” Your mind too clouded to respond, you tug on his shirt, urging him back into the kiss, but he hesitates, teasingly resisting your pull. The fingers resting on your dampened cloth underneath start to circulate and that just sends you into a drive of lusting need for him, now. 

"And you choose to wear this skimpy ass skirt around him—around me, all wet like this,” Sunghoon murmurs, frustration evident in his voice. "I swear, you'll be the death of me." With a sigh, he reconnects your lips with his, each moment growing hotter than the last. You moan in between kisses, your own hands now gripping onto his shirt to tug and pull him even closer, bodies pressing against each other. With that eagerness coming from you, Sunghoon holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds without breaking the kiss. Your gasp disappears into his mouth as the intrusion takes you off guard.

“F-fuck.” Unable to hold it in, you let out a moan and pulled away from his lips with your eyes closed shut surrendering to the pleasure overtaking your senses. He doesn’t stop kissing you though, moving down to the side of your neck and you tilt your head giving him an easier excess in smothering your bare skin with kisses and marks you really hoped would be easy to cover up tomorrow.

“You’re mine. My pretty girl.” the way he exhales those words tickles your skin and makes the hair on your body stand up as if electrified, the fingers pumping in and out of you intruding harder than before. Your senses grow hazier by the second and a sting shoots through your veins at the feel of Sunghoon’s teeth sinking on your flesh and he sucks on it, lips not leaving your neck only to grow rougher when you give his locks a harsh pull. 

“M-mhm.” you bite your lips hard from stuttering out any coherent words, gasping for a little bit of air to come soothe your quickened heart when Sunghoon pulls himself away from you. He grips both sides of your panties from underneath your skirt and pulls them down as he gets on his knees directly in front of you.

The rush of cold air breezes through and tickles your exposed core making you squeeze your thighs together which earns a playful smirk from the younger's lips. He then leans his face close and has his hands gripped onto your thighs for support before he dives under your skirt to give your wetness a clean lick. The warm feel of his wet tongue on your folds jolts you in a gasped surprise, making you pull onto his hair harder as you wobbly stood against the sink praying your knees didn’t decide to give up so easily. He didn't seem to mind the aggressiveness, more so enjoying it now as he gets on the same level with the flick of his tongue and saliva all combed up around your core.

“M-mhm, right there.” you bunch your skirt up now to get a good view of him under you like this, his eyelids closed as he hungrily swirls his tongue around and inside you with quenched thirst trying to taste every inch of your dripping wetness. It’s a sight you wish you could take a picture of and stare at forever.

Sunghoon opens his lids a little to gaze up at your face, both hands on your thighs now going up to grip the cheeks of your ass harshly as he accelerated his pace. Guiding you to ride his face with his hands, your vision starts to blur at the heightening sensation brewing in your stomach with every jab of his tongue. The sloshing sound of wet licking and the groans vibrating through your folds with such a face clamped up between your legs, you were reaching to release quicker than intended; wanting to devour the moment of pleasure a little bit longer but it wasn’t really a choice you could’ve made.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- I’m cumming-” the words grow a pitch higher with your moans as you grip onto his hair fully, coming undone right into his mouth for his senses to devour all of you, and he doesn’t stop licking even when your insides were throbbing. After a few breaths, Sunghoon licks your bare flesh clean and finally pulls away from your core, standing back up to his feet to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. He doesn’t leave out the swift swiping of his tongue on your lips for you to have a taste of yourself.

“Tastes so fucking good, my pretty girl.” The room felt like it was spinning, nothing was making any sense but it felt too good to be probing for any. Getting a morsel of what you’ve been missing for the last month has made you long for more- an addiction that fed you a little too well. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” Sunghoon says in the silent seconds of the moment and grabs to hold the sides of your waist again. He then turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, pushing himself up on you until your skirt rides up even more to feel the hardened bulge in his pants making you grip onto the sink tightly to balance yourself. The look on both of your faces stares back at you from the reflection, plumped-up lips and reddened skin paint the view of the state you are in.

What a turn of events- you really had faith in yourself to not end up in this exact situation again and maybe if you just avoided gaping at what was in front of you, you might feel a little better about yourself; not that any ounce of regret would stand in the way of any of this.

The boy snakes up one hand over your shoulder to hold a grip on your jaw, making you look straight into the mirror while using the other to unzip his pants down. He knew what was going on in your head and wanted to make sure you saw this; saw the truth of what you both really feel. “Say it, admit it, whose are you?” he growls and gives your earlobe a little suck until it turned red, pushing you down to bend over the sink with your bare ass fully pressed against him. That makes you lose your balance a little, hands once gripping the sink swiftly falls off to the side and he instead takes hold of your waist again seeing how you struggled to stand in place in such a position. “Y-yours, I’m yours.” 

A smirk recreates on his lips while he pulls his boxers off and you see this through the mirror, eyes trying so hard to focus on him but immediately failing when his sprung-out cock presses against you. “M’ gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever forget that.” Sunghoon inclines forward to plant a soft kiss on the back of your head before thrusting himself into your still throbbing wetness with a loud grunt. “Fuuuuck, I missed you.” As he starts to catch his pace, the lump forming on the back of your throat threatens to let the tears in the brim of your eyes fall. You missed him too.

The fill of his length pulls you into overdrive with how much ecstasy is streaming through your veins with each pump he pushes in you. The sound of skin slapping on skin gets faster and louder, only covered by the moans and groans falling out both of your lips. Sunghoon had his eyes closed momentarily as he pulled his head back, swimming in the sensation of your walls clenching on him, enveloping him with such a warm welcome it felt like home.

“A-ah, feel so full.” “Yeah, baby? You like feeling me all in you?” You nod along your moans that you don’t even try holding back anymore, despite being in the bathroom of someone else’s house which, who cares at this point? The people outside were probably all gone in their respective vices and nobody was bothering you, yet. Opening your eyes only to meet Sunghoon’s shaded ones reflected in the mirror, and seeing him fucking you in such a view with his hair all dishevelled and tongue constantly licking his lips; how could you not fall to your knees for this man?

“Fuck, fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I’m gone baby.” he breathily pants with furrowed brows, hand reaching out to bunch up your hair and giving it a pull to make your back arch while he uses another hand to trail up your chest, groping onto your boobs over your shirt so harshly you were sure his hands were printed on your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“F-feels s-so good, Sunghoon, mhm fuck.” You weren’t sure if saying that made him angry or more turned on but with the way his hand from your chest made it way up to encircle your neck and his pace growing quicker than before you could barely keep your legs upright; you figured it was the latter. “Yeah, baby say my name again. Say my name and I’m gonna cum all in you.”

“Mmnn! I’m a-almost there Sunghoon please-” The tears plunge from your eyes and the saltiness glistens your lips, gulping down the lump in your throat forming when he continuously slams his tip on your walls. “M’ gonna fill you up so good, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming” He says this through his breath barely reaching your ears, too busy indulging in your own pleasure as you ride out your high clenching yourself around his warm spill filling you to the brim.

The vigour of pleasure you felt made you see nothing but white, the air rising so hot and clammy it made you feel like combusting. Sunghoon gives it a few more pumps to make sure his load doesn’t spill out in a mess and groans at the aftermath of it all, leaning forward again to kiss your head before pulling out of you slowly. Your waist throbbed in pain when you do stand up straight again and turned back around to face him, but you seemed still stuck in a daze to focus on that.

The room fills with nothing but the panting of your breaths hoping to slow down your heaving and the burning still buzzing in your brain. Sunghoon pulls his pants up and fixes himself in the mirror with a satisfied smile etched on his face, and you watch him reach out to take some tissue from next to the sink and bend down in front of you yet again. You look down at him with a quirked-up brow and he looks back up to you still wearing the same expression. “C’mon, let me clean you up.” he then proceeds to do so, wiping every inch of your core and thighs clean from any excess that could (hopefully not) spill down later on.

It takes you back to those times he used to take care of you after fucking you until you saw stars; this habit of his making your cheeks burn up like it was the first time. Sunghoon throws the used tissue away and gets up on his feet, eyes no longer grey but complete of longing, gazing into yours once again drawing you in. He leans in closer to brush his nose against yours before planting the softest most loving kiss on your lips and you wish it lasted a lifetime. “I missed you, Sunghoon.” you blurt out first this time after pulling away and it comes to both of your surprise that you didn’t stick to denying and hurting his feelings anymore. What did they say about growth? 

“Y/n, I-“ Sunghoon begins with a desperate plea in his tone, hands clasped on yours but was immediately cut off by the knocking of the door from continuing. Ah right, you were still in Jay’s fucking bathroom. Realisation seemed to hit only seconds later, both trying to shush the other from erupting with laughter. “Let’s go outside first.” You say with an assuring hold on his hand, reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. “Sor-“Taking a step out, you gasp at the sight of widened eyes looking straight back at you and Sunghoon, most probably in horror.

“What the fu-“

physically in my house but mentally in mingyu's arms

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for. 

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them. 

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones. 

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces. 

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. 

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that. 

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt. 

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind. 

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner. 

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen. 

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago. 

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake. 

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

guys, i just saw that jungwon just confirmed a new album on a recent talk show. i am just here to say, fuck belift. enhypen has literally been overworked to the max to the point where their members are literally injured, yet still being forced to perform. please spread awareness of enhypen and how they are humans too and not just belift’s fucking entertainment dolls. tagging to spread awareness: @flwrstqr, @yuvany, @koppiielullaby, @sleepyseoo, @dioll @wonsprincess, @mioons

MY ALBUMS FINALLY CAME 👹👹👹👹👹

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