127 😝

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE SAND STONE.

WORDS - 4,319.

RATING - G+.

SUMMARY - with troubles with her new ability to teleport, suiren finds herself in a sandy abyss that holds the sand stone that could help her complete the capture of all the magical stones; unaware that a greater surprise waited for her to come back home.

feedback would be appreciated!

previous chapter - chapter seven.

The day Sakura had wanted, had come, Suiren’s team had accompanied the family for a morning brunch and currently Sakura had been thrown compliments on her cooking; she had stood by the end of the table with her hands on her hips and she had worn her favourite yellow apron that had complimented the colour scheme the lady was known for.

She had a short smile on her face that mirrored the gratefulness that had been directed from the people who sat around the expensive table, her eyes briskly examined each head before she made way to bring more food onto the appliance. “Thank you, I’m glad that we’re able to officially meet each other, our schedules were so busy I never thought this day would come,” Sakura said---the moment she sat herself at the head of the table, Sensei Ren respectfully nodded his head towards her.

“I’m glad that I finally get to properly meet you, Lady Uchiha, Suiren takes so much after you,” Sensei Ren said and comforted, Sakura’s smile stretched.

“Oh,” she laughed. “Suiren takes after her father much more,” she replied and instantly, the woman had felt graceless energy rise upon them, and in quick remorse, the lady had diverted her gaze to the hot fare beneath her.

“How did the mission go?” Suiren questioned in hopes to direct the conversation into a different route.

Suiren had been told that Team Thirteen had travelled to the Hidden Sand, also known as Sunagakure, [the Village Hidden in the Sand], she wasn’t told much more, thus she had waited for her team-mates to return so she could listen to all the details.

“There were terrorists blowing up places,” Raiden said.

“Don’t the Sand Village have Ninjas to take care of that?” Suiren asked and as Raiden had shrugged his shoulders just as inquisitive as Suiren he resumed eating his food.

“Hokage-sama probably gave it to us because he didn’t want to make us feel like we had to level down to baby missions due to what happened,” Akane snorted and quickly Suiren had shot her a look.

Sarcastic, she had sent Akane a flat smile. “Well, I’m sorry,” Suiren apologised.

With a winning look on her face Akane winked at her. “There were talks of the Sand Stone,” Akane said, “that’s probably what they were looking for.”

“The Sand Stone?” Suiren repeated and immediately everyone turned to look at her. “If they were the looking for the Sand Stone, that must mean they were Prism Members.”

“No,” Raiden shook his head, “they looked different than the ones we saw before in the Prism Tower.”

“What if the Prism Group is much bigger than we think?” Sarada suggested and before the short-haired girl continued with her explanation, Sakura stepped in.

She had a look on her face that showed she did not want the topic of the Prism to cloud brunch time and immediately the entire group acknowledged it. “Please,” Sakura pleaded, “let’s focus on our food and the happiness we feel right now,” the woman smiled and without any hesitation, everyone had followed through.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

Himawari had taken after both her mother and father, with the bright blue eyes and two whiskers on both sides of her cheeks she had sometimes looked uncanny, Himawari, the ten-year-old sister of Boruto, had always been known to be a kind girl, a tolerable version of her loud-mouthed brother, the two looked similar, but between the two, Himawari was the sibling who took after her mother’s dark hair colour.

Currently, Suiren had sat in their living room, it was only the two of them in the building, Hinata, the Uzumaki matriarch had gone out for a chore, and Boruto had been with his teammates while Lord Hokage had business in the Hokage Mansion. Suiren had sat on their sofa, comfortably her body had been laid against the couch while Himawari sat beside her, the young girl could tell that Suiren hadn’t necessarily been interested with what had been on the screen and just followed along because it was what Himawari wanted to watch.

As thoughtful as she was, Himawari glanced towards the shirt Suiren had worn and noted that she had a Starfire shirt on. “I like your shirt,” Himawari smiled, the young girl had been known for her love for the famous band, while her brother had hated it, it was more reason for the little girl to blast the group’s music.

“Thank you,” Suiren smiled as she looked down at the clothing piece, she returned her solid gaze into the direction of the Uzumaki girl, “do you know them?”

“Do I know them?” Himawari echoed, “I love them! My favourite song is Illusion,” she explained, “the memory of you, is the only thing I have in my mind,” she began to sing; her bright eyes fixed for Suiren to continue the song, awkward, Suiren sat up and pulled her legs against her chest.

“Maybe it was the colour of your eyes, maybe it was the way your forehead wrinkled to frown, either way you had me wrapped around,” Suiren continued and happy the young girl resumed to sing along to her favourite song, her body language hyper and giddy.

Humoured, Suiren wrapped her arms around her legs curious to why a young girl like her knew such a depressing song. “Do you like sad music?” Suiren asked and with a shrug, Himawari returned her sight to the show.

“If I like a song, I’ll listen to it,” she hummed and fascinated, Suiren raised the both of her eyebrows.

As the circumstance had returned to the both of their eyes glued on the screen, Suiren had suddenly been captivated by the frames on the tables, the picture frames that displayed a happy family, as much as a confident girl Suiren displayed herself to be, the long-haired girl couldn’t help but feel, jealous. Envious of their captured moments that included them having a picnic, appearing at a festival or having fun at home.

“We’re not as happy as you think,” Himawari muttered and shocked Suiren snapped her head towards Himawari who had now fixed her gaze on the Uchiha.

“What do you mean?” Suiren asked, “at least your father is here.”

“I know,” Himawari agreed, “he’s just a really busy person, and it hurts Boruto so much to the point it gets him angry.”

Humoured, Suiren laughed through her nose. “I remember, like how he paints on the Hokage faces as an act of rebellion,” Suiren brought up which had made Himawari laugh as well.

“You must miss your dad,” Himawari said and for such a young girl to empathise with her and comprehend that the lack of a father presence can hurt deeply, no matter how much she could deny it, a sob had tried to release from the back of her throat but Suiren had hastily captured it.

As she held back a tear, Suiren covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, this doesn’t really happen,” Suiren quickly apologised and hastily, the green-eyed girl stood to her feet while Himawari shadowed her movements.

“I’m so sorry,” Himawari sadly apologised and Suiren shook her head.

“It’s not your fault,” Suiren replied, “I just need to use the bathroom,” Suiren said and shortly after, the girl had escaped to the restroom, she had planned to throw cold water against her face, it was what she had needed, mayhap it was someone who was outside of her situation that spoke about his absence, but Suiren had felt her body heat with sadness, but there was a coldness in her feet that had made her figure tremble.

She took in a deep breath as she twisted the tap loose and shortly after the sound of water slapping against ceramic appliance occurred, as she cupped water with both of her palms Suiren eventually threw the icy temperature against her face before she looked into the mirror.

Her features the same but there had been a uniqueness with her pupils, dilated to the point that she could barely see the green-ness she was aware of, thus, she leaned closer to get a better look and suddenly everything around her had changed, instead of the bathroom she had entered---she had been admist a sandy area.

Confused, Suiren turned around, between the light flow of sand that carried and flew around her, quiet choir-like hums occurred, which had Suiren fleshed with anxiety. She had restricted herself to speak, to not alert anything or anyone that could attempt to hurt her.

A spike of sand had slowly begun to rise from the ground and each second the sand had rose, the humming noise had increased. Confused, Suiren furrowed her eyebrows, suspicious to what it had been. Had it been the Sand Stone? Was she in Sunagakure?

Curious, Suiren pulled herself closer to the sand spike, willing to learn the answer but the choir-sound had erratically increased, which had caused Suiren to clasp her ears at the ear-damage, and over-whelmed, she had screamed.

“Stop it!” She shouted and eyes screwed shut, Suiren cowered her body as the noise began to over-take her, as she began to feel like she had been dragged down the noisy pits of hell, the girl had suddenly been yanked backwards by a magical force that had her returned to the bathroom and in the same position she was in---ere she had been pulled into the sandy abyss.

Aside from the sound of running water, the noise that had come from Himawari who had repeatedly knocked on the door had aided Suiren to return to reality. Exasperated, Suiren quickly turned off the tap water and briskly wiped her face with a clean towel before she twisted her body in direction of the sealed door. “I’m coming!” Suiren called out as she put the face towel back, the long-haired girl had taken one more look at the still mirror ere she exited the toilet.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

Tired, Suiren had lazily walked towards home with the lunch box given to her by aunt Hinata, as much as she had fun being around Himawari, she had been refreshed with how hyper-active the young girl could be, she had remembered telling it to Lady Hinata who had laughed and said she had gotten that trait from her father.

The long-haired girl had been happy that she had been able to return back home but the second she had perceived that the place she had once known as home had been left completely destroyed, heartbroken and confused the girl had let out her second scream; while from the corner of her eyes she had seen a recognisable short-haired woman quickly running towards her.

Shizune.

Who was known to be Suiren’s god-mother, Tsunade’s apprentice alongside her mother Sakura, she had served Tsunade when she became the Fifth Hokage and served the Sixth and Seventh as well. “Suiren!” Shizune called, the sounds of her heels loud as she had hastily made way towards the young girl.

“Auntie Shizune?” Suiren questioned, over-whelmed by the unfortunate events she had walked into, Suiren had felt her mind swirl into a panicked state as she wondered of the whereabouts of her mother and sister. She had pondered if they were in danger and were in need for help, but her mother and Sarada were known to be strong women, so Suiren had forced herself to keep faith.

Yet, the apologetic look on Shizune’s face had Suiren’s lip quiver in fear and once again, Suiren’s eyes went wide but Shizune placed a hand on Suiren’s shoulder with a look of comfort. “What happened, isn’t what you think it is,” Shizune said and in relief, Suiren loudly sighed as she placed a hand against where her heart was, while an awkward dry chuckled had emerged from the back of her throat, she had almost felt herself tear up at the thought of her little family gone.

“We know how bad your mother’s temper is,” Shizune said, “Sarada challenged the legitimacy of your mother being the birth mother of the two of you,” she then explained, “and it led to that happening,” she had then awkwardly smiled as she twisted her gaze to the damaged home.

Once more, Suiren dropped her shoulders, disappointed in both her mother and sister. “Your belongings have been taken to the apartment your family will be staying in for a while during the time we build the new Uchiha home.”

Upset, Suiren crossed her arms as she allowed Shizune to take her to her new building, which would be in an apartment complex, for her, it would be a huge change, depending on the size of the apartment, Suiren was used to areas that carried a lot of space. However, as much as Suiren had been annoyed of the broken home she had walked into, which had unironically symbolised the state of her little family, Suiren couldn’t help herself but focus on what Shizune had informed her. “Sarada questioned our mother if she was our true mother?” The young girl muttered, offended herself, Suiren placed her hand against her chest aware of the humoured look that Shizune carried.

“Are they at the new house?” Suiren asked.

Shizune turned to look away with a troubled look on her face. “They’re a bit pre-occupied with something.”

Confused, Suiren perked her right eyebrow. “Of what?” She questioned, hands on her hips a little annoyed that she was left out.

“I cannot tell you,” Shizune forwardly responded. “They don’t wat you to interfere with what is going on.”

Offended, Suiren gently clicked her tongue as she continued to follow Shizune down the direction of her new home. Aware that the moment her mother and sister return to her, they’d be in for profound questioning.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

The moment Suiren had entered the apartment, she had claimed the second biggest bedroom, truthfully, the little girl had wanted the biggest bedroom but had to be reminded that the largest bedroom has to be for her parents which had left and opening for Suiren to say, “parents without the s.”

Shizune had then kindly aided the girl to become comfortable in her new home before she left, and after everything had been finished, Suiren had unpacked the food she had been given by Lady Hinata and began with her fare. The table she ate on had been simple, which had made Suiren consider telling her mother they’ll need to go shopping soon.

As she had eaten the microwaved food, she had remembered how Boruto would always boast about his mother’s cooking, which she herself had considered impeccable. Yet, as much as Suiren had wanted to enjoy the fare she had been disturbed with low whispers that had begun to cloud her mind.

She had recognised the voice, but couldn’t put her finger on who the voice belonged to. Bothered, Suiren raked her fingers through her hair as she had forced herself to chew on the food, but the taste had slowly begun to make her sick, along with her senses over-whelming her---her vision began to blur. Suiren had thought it could’ve been because of the low blood sugar gene she had received from her mother, but this commodity felt different.

Ill, Suiren had placed her hand against her heart, lightly terrified of the unknown root of the situation, but as much as she had wanted to be aware of what was happening, the girl had fell against the floor and had unconsciously embraced the darkness that had speedily taken her to a new realm.

She had immediately recognised it when she woke up, and had deemed the area to be darker and colder than usual. As she had shuddered, Suiren had firmly hugged herself, first, to warm herself, second, to protect herself. In search of the boy, the girl had carefully walked around the atmosphere but he was nowhere to be found.

Tired, Suiren had neared herself to the spot she’d always go to sit down but the second the girl had reached the area, deep shudders and whimpers had emerged into the dark space. Alert, Suiren briskly perked her head up, suspicious, she had followed the sound and had finally found the poor boy who had shaken in fear, he had cowered his body, long fingers in his dark hair as he whispered and cried a bunch of muddled words as little specks of tears dropped against the cold ground.

His voice shook, in a state of fear the boy had almost lowered his body until Suiren had decided to reach to touch him, thus, immediately, the boy had smacked his hand away from her, alert. “Don’t touch me!” He loudly screamed, paranoid of the pressure around him, the second he saw a recognisable figure jump back due to his hasty violence, the boy quickly twisted his body towards her surprised.

“I’m sorry,” Suiren apologised, hand over the hand he had touched, the girl’s wide eyes had slowly and calmly returned to normal as he eventually recognised who she was.

“Why are you here?” He breathed and just as perplexed as the boy, Suiren shook head.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I want you to calm down.”

Exasperated, the boy turned away from her. “I can’t,” he responded and without fear, Suiren reached for his arm, aware that she could get an ill response she had still put her bravery forward and pulled the boy to where she was going to sit.

The place had been colder than before and the young girl had been aware that the temperature had reflected the commodity of his emotions and to stop that from happening, Suiren had pulled the boy to sit down next to her. Unsure, the boy had allowed the long-haired girl to do what she had wanted to him, slightly apprised that Suiren had not wanted to hurt him.

She had then chuckled. “It’s so fucking cold,” she whispered and he hadn’t said anything thus she had returned to focus on her palms as she gently leaned the side of her body against his. One hand horizontally on top of the other, Suiren had calmly focused on what she had wanted to do.

Gently, a calm flame had evoked from her palms, a pretty orange flame with fire tints and specks had smoothly warmed the two teenagers who had immediately calmed down due to the glow. Surprised, the boy had softly sat up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. “How did you do that without incantation?” He curiously inquired and calm, Suiren had gently hushed him as she continued to allow the fire to heat the both of them and as time smoothly passed, the boy could feel himself eventually calm down.

Unaware, Suiren had leaned her head against his chest comfortable by the safe hearth that had now radiated from his skin. Mild, the boy had gently pressed the nub of his chin against the top of her head as he silently watched how the flame had smoothly danced against her palms.

“What happened?” The girl calmly asked and still secretive, the boy pursed his lips together unsure if he should tell her or not.

Used to his mysterious behaviour, Suiren remained calm and joined to watch the warm view that had lived on the face of her hands until the male had eventually spoke. “I’m an experiment for someone.”

Stunned, Suiren looked up at him, her dark green eyes currently in lock with his usual ice-like grey orbs, though, forthwith, there had been a difference to the coldness of his eyes, it was as if the ice had finally begun to melt. Empathetic, Suiren knitted down her eyebrows as her eyes encouraged him to continue speaking, yet, with the small sentence he had told her, the girl had comprehended why he was so hostile. “I’m sorry,” she politely whispered.

He sneered as he pulled away from her, compared to the different nights she had appeared in his dreams, this current time, the boy had sat closer to her than usual, he was at arm’s length and had looked at the cold stony floor in deep thought. With her lips pressed into a thin line, she had hoped that they were going to have a more comfortable and emotional conversation, yet, Suiren had speculated that mayhap she had trust in him too much. As she had stopped using her flame, she had become aware that the atmosphere was colder compared to when she had entered.

“I come here almost every time I go to sleep,” Suiren said, “don’t be afraid to open up to me, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I’ve heard of that before,” he snapped and dryly humoured, Suiren raised the both of her eyebrows, as she had considered that there would be no more progression between the two of them, she had pulled herself up to her feet.

Aware that the boy had watched her every move, Suiren had dusted the light dust and dirt off herself as she prepared herself to exit the realm.

“Kawaki,” the boy finally said and confused, Suiren twisted her perception towards his direction. “My name is Kawaki,” before Suiren could react anymore, the mind portal she had already created to take her back home had been formed, and the only kickback Kawaki saw on her face was the dazed expression that she had worn before she had been taken away.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

Startled, Suiren loudly gasped as she had returned to reality, she had placed her hand against the hearth of her throat and had become aware that she had been back to the position she was in before she had collapsed. She had still been alone and the food she had barely eaten had sat cold.

Uncomfortable, Suiren pulled herself off her feet to wash her hands and face, and the minute she had been in the bathroom, the girl had heard the front door open, and alert, Suiren head had perked up in autopilot, aware that she had recognised two of the chakra energies that had entered the home, but there was something different about the extra one that had joined them.

Confused, Suiren strolled to the lightly sealed bathroom door---while the voices of her mother and sister had seeped through the corridor, Suiren had exited the bathroom, ready to drill the two women on their latest adventure, but the moment her eyes had landed on the two women, Suiren’s eyes examined the masculine figure who bored a cloak over his body, eyes dark like Sarada’s and a gentle look on his face that had held years of history and wisdom that flicked a memory in Suiren’s brain.

She had paused as the trio had finally figured that Suiren had stood in the corridor that led to the main bathroom, the soft light that had Suiren under a warm spotlight, had revealed the still and dazed look Suiren had on her face---while she had observed the shocked expression the tall man had worn on his. Suiren had known that her mother and sister had left the village but she didn’t know that they’d return with the man she had reticently longed for a long time.

Her father.

“What the fuck happened?” Suiren questioned and angrily, Sakura furrowed her eyebrows.

“Language!”

Defensive, Suiren raised up her hands, self-righteous in her demeanour, “I’m sorry I didn’t expect my dad who I haven’t seen or heard from for a very, very long time to just casually walk through the door!” Suiren said and each word she had pronounced had jumped an octave that had represented her anger and alarm.

Awkwardly, her father, Sasuke had turned to look at his wife who had then closed the door behind them. “Something happened that had caused your father to return,” Sakura said, tired, she had kicked off her sandals, aware that Suiren hadn’t planned to drop her temper anytime soon, the pink-haired woman had silently wished she didn’t have the anger she had that passed onto her twin daughters.

“Oh right, so Sarada left to find our father because she thought you weren’t our mother?” Suiren said as she slowly began to lose her confidence, as much as she had wanted to display herself as someone assertive, her father could see the over-whelmed scrutiny his youngest daughter had on her face.

The moment he noticed the expression on Suiren’s face he took the initiative to calm the essence of the conversation. “We should all calm down; we can sit down and talk about it---”

“I don’t want to,” Suiren seethed, “you don’t get to come here and decide to have a family talk while being MIA for multiple of years---”

“Suiren,” Sarada sadly reached out, empathetic with Suiren’s irate emotions, but too ruffled Suiren shook her head.

She had no intentions of feeling calm over this, she herself had been surprised that her twin had been placid and harmonious when she walked into the apartment, when it was Sarada who had been the most emotional between the two of them. “No!” Suiren called out. “You three can talk amongst yourself, I’ll be in my room.”

Thus, without second thought, Suiren had angrily stormed into her bedroom as she had then flung herself against her bed after she had closed her door. She had sulked against her pillow, Suiren had wished he hadn’t come on such an erratic moment, but deep within she had always known that she had wanted her father back, but on the other hand, she had always ignored the angry commodity she had directed towards him and on the random night that he had come back, those feelings had spilled on autopilot.

masterlist

it's as the prophecy foretold... two trucks, having sex

LMAOOO I CAN'T WITH THIS IM SORRY Y'ALL

In Another Life

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Rome, 79 AD

The bustling streets of Rome pulse with life as you make your way through the crowded forum. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafts through the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and citizens going about their daily business. You adjust your stola, the flowing garment feeling unusually constricting today as you hurry towards the Temple of Venus.

“Watch where you’re going!” A gruff voice shouts as you accidentally bump into a burly man carrying an amphora.

“My apologies,” you mutter, quickening your pace. Your heart races, not from the near-collision, but from anticipation. You’re running late for your clandestine meeting with Charles, the young patrician who has captured your heart.

As you approach the temple, you spot him pacing nervously at the base of the steps. His toga gleams white in the afternoon sun and his usually perfectly coiffed hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it anxiously.

“There you are!” Charles exclaims as you draw near. His face breaks into a relieved smile, and he reaches for your hands. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

You can’t help but return his smile, your earlier stress melting away. “As if I could stay away,” you tease, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “Though I must say, your choice of meeting place is rather bold. The Temple of Venus? Are you trying to tell me something?”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “Perhaps I’m simply hoping the goddess will smile upon us,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “After all, we could use all the divine favor we can get.”

Your smile falters slightly at his words, reality creeping back in. “Have you spoken with your father?” You ask, unable to keep the worry from your voice.

Charles’ expression grows serious. “I have,” he says, leading you to a secluded corner of the temple grounds. “He’s ... not pleased, to say the least. He still insists on the marriage to Claudia.”

You feel a pang in your chest at the mention of Charles’ intended bride. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Charles replies firmly. “That my heart belongs to you and I won’t marry another.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles,” you whisper, “you know the consequences-”

He cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t care about the consequences. I love you, Y/N. I won’t let my father’s ambitions or society’s expectations keep us apart.”

You lean into his touch, torn between elation and fear. “But your family, your position ... you’d lose everything.”

“Not everything,” Charles insists. “I’d have you. That’s all that matters.”

You’re about to respond when a commotion near the temple entrance catches your attention. Your blood runs cold as you spot Charles’ father, Senator Leclerc, striding towards you, flanked by several burly slaves.

“Charles!” The senator bellows, his face contorted with rage. “Step away from that girl at once!”

Charles instinctively moves to shield you. “Father, please,” he begins, but the senator cuts him off.

“Silence! You shame our family with this ... this dalliance. I won’t stand for it any longer.”

You feel Charles tense beside you. “It’s not a dalliance, Father. I love her.”

The senator’s face grows even redder. “Love? You know nothing of love, boy. You have a duty to your family, to Rome. I won’t let you throw it all away for some common girl.”

“She’s not common,” Charles argues, his voice rising. “She’s extraordinary, and I won’t let you or anyone speak ill of her.”

The tension in the air is palpable as father and son face off. You want to intervene, to de-escalate the situation, but you’re frozen in place, your heart pounding.

Suddenly, one of the senator’s slaves moves forward, reaching for Charles. Without thinking, you step between them. “Don’t touch him!” You cry out.

Everything happens in a blur. The slave’s hand connects with your shoulder, shoving you back. You stumble, your foot catching on the hem of your stola. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself falling, tumbling down the temple steps.

“Y/N!” Charles’ anguished cry is the last thing you hear before pain explodes through your body and the world goes dark.

You drift in and out of consciousness, aware of frantic voices and the sensation of being carried. Charles’ face swims into view, streaked with tears.

“Stay with me, love,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, to reassure him, but no words come. The pain is fading now, replaced by a strange numbness. You manage to lift a hand to Charles’ cheek, wanting to wipe away his tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I love you, Charles. In this life and the next.”

As darkness closes in, your last thought is a desperate hope that someday, somehow, you’ll find each other again.

Genoa, 1348

The acrid smell of smoke and death hangs heavy in the air as Charles makes his way through the narrow, winding streets. His eyes water, both from the stench and the unshed tears he’s been holding back for days. The plague has ravaged the city, leaving behind a trail of devastation and despair.

Charles pulls his cloth mask tighter over his nose and mouth, though he knows it’s likely futile. He’s a physician, one of the few brave — or foolish — enough to still tend to the sick. But today, he’s not seeking out patients. He’s searching for you.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice muffled by the mask. “Y/N, where are you?”

A nearby door creaks open, and a haggard face peers out. “Keep your voice down, fool,” the old woman hisses. “You’ll bring the afflicted running.”

Charles ignores her, pressing on. His heart races with each step, fear and hope warring within him. He hasn’t seen you in days, not since you left to care for your ailing aunt. The memory of your parting plays in his mind, as vivid as if it were happening now.

“I have to go,” you had said, your eyes filled with determination and fear. “She has no one else.”

He had tried to dissuade you. “It’s too dangerous. The plague-”

“I know the risks,” you’d cut him off. “But I can’t abandon her. You’d do the same if it were your family.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It was one of the things he loved most about you — your unwavering compassion, even in the face of danger.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he’d pleaded, pulling you close. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

You’d kissed him then, soft and sweet. “I promise. Nothing could keep me from you, my love. Not even death itself.”

Now, as he rounds another corner, Charles clings to that promise like a lifeline. “Y/N!” He calls again, desperation creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar figure stumbling down the street. His heart leaps. “Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and Charles feels his world tilt on its axis. Your face is pale, your eyes glassy with fever. As he watches in horror, you collapse to the ground.

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, rushing to your side. He gathers you in his arms, his physician’s training warring with his lover’s panic. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes, love.”

Your eyelids flutter, and you manage a weak smile. “Charles,” you whisper. “You found me.”

“Of course I found you,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll always find you. Now, let’s get you home and take care of you.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, it’s too late. The plague-”

“Don’t say that,” Charles interrupts fiercely. “It’s not too late. I’m a physician, remember? I’ll cure you. I have to.”

Despite your condition, you manage a soft laugh. “My stubborn love. Always fighting the impossible.”

Charles lifts you gently, cradling you against his chest. “Nothing’s impossible when it comes to you,” he insists, starting the journey back to his home. “We’ve overcome so much already. Remember when we first met? You were convinced a lowly apprentice physician could never court a merchant’s daughter.”

You smile at the memory. “And you were determined to prove me wrong.”

“Which I did,” Charles says, a hint of his old cockiness creeping into his voice. “Rather spectacularly, if I recall correctly.”

“Mmm, yes,” you murmur. “That night under the stars, when you recited all those ridiculous poems ...”

Charles chuckles. “They weren’t ridiculous. They were romantic.”

“They were terrible,” you counter weakly. “But your heart was in the right place.”

As they near Charles’ home, your breathing becomes more labored. Fear claws at Charles’ chest, but he forces it down. “Stay with me, love,” he pleads. “We’re almost there.”

Once inside, Charles lays you gently on the bed. He works tirelessly, applying every treatment and remedy he knows. Hours blur together as he fights against the inevitable, refusing to give up hope.

But as night falls, he can no longer deny the truth. The plague is winning and he’s powerless to stop it.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s time to let go.”

He shakes his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. “No, I can’t. I won’t lose you again.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Again?”

Charles pauses, unsure where that thought came from. “I ... I don’t know. It just feels like I’ve lost you before, somehow.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps in another life,” you muse. “But in this one, we found each other. We loved. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not enough,” Charles insists, his voice breaking. “We were supposed to have more time. We were going to get married, have children, grow old together.”

“We’ll have that chance,” you say with surprising conviction. “If not in this life, then in the next. Our souls are bound, Charles. I feel it. This isn’t the end for us.”

Charles wants to believe you, but the grief is overwhelming. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know our love,” you reply, reaching up to touch his face. “It’s stronger than death, stronger than time itself. We’ll find each other again, my love. I promise.”

As your hand falls away, your eyes close for the last time. Charles pulls you close, his body wracked with sobs. “I’ll find you,” he vows through his tears. “In this life or the next, I’ll always find you.”

Days pass in a haze of grief and determination. Charles throws himself into treating the sick with renewed vigor, heedless of the risk to himself. And when the telltale symptoms begin to appear — the fever, the chills, the aching limbs — he faces them without fear.

As he lies in his sickbed, Charles’ thoughts are only of you. “I’m coming, my love,” he whispers to the empty room. “Wait for me.”

His last conscious thought is a fervent hope that somehow, somewhere, you’ll be reunited once more.

Paris, 1789

The streets of Paris echo with the sound of angry voices and marching feet as Charles makes his way through the city’s winding alleys. His heart races, not from the exertion of his hurried pace, but from the fear of what’s to come. The revolution has begun in earnest, and his world is crumbling around him.

“Charles!” Your voice cuts through the chaos, and he turns to see you running towards him, your skirts hiked up to allow for faster movement. “Thank God I found you. We have to go, now!”

He grabs your hand, pulling you into a shadowy doorway. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s not safe!”

You cup his face in your hands, your eyes blazing with determination. “I couldn’t leave without you. The mob is heading for your family’s estate. We need to get you out of the city.”

Charles feels a rush of love for you, even as fear grips his heart. You, a baker’s daughter, risking everything to save him. “And what of you? Your family?”

“They’re safe,” you assure him. “Papa closed the bakery and they’ve gone to stay with relatives in the countryside. But you ... Charles, they’ll kill you if they find you.”

He knows you’re right. His family name, once a source of pride, is now a death sentence. “Where can we go?” He asks, his mind racing.

“I have a plan,” you say, tugging him back into the street. “There’s a farmer who owes my father a favor. He’s agreed to hide us until we can secure passage to England.”

As you hurry through the streets, the sounds of the mob grow louder. Charles can’t help but look back, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he’s leaving behind.

“Charles, focus,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, a group of revolutionaries rounds the corner ahead of you. Their eyes lock onto Charles, recognition dawning on their faces.

“Aristocrat!” One of them shouts, pointing an accusing finger. “Seize him!”

“Run!” Charles yells, pulling you in the opposite direction. You flee hand-in-hand, weaving through the narrow streets as shouts and footsteps echo behind you.

“This way,” you pant, yanking him down an alley. “I know a shortcut.”

You lead him through a maze of backstreets, the angry voices growing fainter. Just as Charles begins to hope you’ve lost them, you emerge onto a main road … and straight into the path of another group of revolutionaries.

“Halt!” A burly man with a tricolor sash shouts, leveling a musket at Charles.

Charles pushes you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Please,” he says, raising his hands. “We mean no harm. We’re just trying to leave the city.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re Leclerc’s boy, aren’t you? The one who’s been helping nobles escape?”

Charles feels you stiffen behind him. He’d kept his activities secret, even from you, to keep you safe. But now ...

“Yes,” he admits, straightening his spine. “I’ve been helping innocent people escape persecution. If that’s a crime, then I’m guilty.”

The man’s face twists with rage. “Traitor to the revolution!” He spits. “You’ll pay for your crimes against the people!”

As the man raises his musket, time seems to slow. Charles is acutely aware of your rapid breathing behind him, of the sweat beading on his brow, of the hammering of his heart.

“No!” You cry out, trying to push past Charles. “Please, he’s a good man! He’s helped people, saved lives!”

“Y/N, don’t,” Charles pleads, holding you back. He turns to face you, drinking in the sight of your face, committing every detail to memory. “I love you,” he says softly. “In this life and the next.”

The words trigger a flash of memory — or is it déjà vu? Charles has a sudden feeling that he’s said those words before, in another time, another place.

The moment is shattered by the deafening crack of the musket firing. Charles feels a searing pain in his chest, and then he’s falling, the world tilting sideways.

“Charles!” You anguished scream seems to come from far away. He feels your arms around him, cradling his head in your lap. “No, no, no. Stay with me, my love. Please!”

Charles tries to speak, but only a wet cough comes out. He can taste blood in his mouth. The pain is fading now, replaced by a spreading numbness.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Tears stream down your face as you bend over him. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a hero, Charles. My hero.”

He wants to tell you how much he loves you, how meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him. But the darkness is closing in, and he can feel himself slipping away.

As his eyes flutter closed, Charles has a strange sensation of déjà vu. He sees flashes of other lives — ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa — where he loved you and lost you. Or did you lose him?

With his last breath, Charles makes a silent vow. Somehow, someway, he’ll find you again. In the next life, you’ll get it right. You have to.

The world fades to black, but Charles isn’t afraid. He knows this isn’t the end. It’s just another beginning.

You hold Charles’ lifeless body, your sobs echoing in the suddenly quiet street. The revolutionaries stand awkwardly, some looking ashamed, others defiant.

“What have you done?” You cry out, your voice raw with grief and anger. “He was a good man! He helped people!”

The man with the musket shifts uncomfortably. “He was an aristocrat,” he mutters, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.

You look up at him, your eyes blazing through your tears. “He was a human being,” you say fiercely. “And you murdered him.”

As the reality of what they’ve done sinks in, the crowd begins to disperse. You’re left alone with Charles, cradling his body in the middle of the street.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “In the next life, my love. I promise we’ll be together again.”

As night falls over Paris, you sit vigil over Charles’ body, your heart broken but your spirit undefeated. Somewhere deep inside, you know this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just another chapter in a love that spans lifetimes.

London, 1942

The steady tick of the clock on the mantle seems to echo through the small London flat as you pace anxiously, your eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The air raid sirens have been silent for days, but the tension in the city remains palpable. It’s been weeks since you’ve heard from Charles, and the knot of worry in your stomach grows tighter with each passing day.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. Your heart races as you rush to answer it, hope and fear warring within you. But instead of Charles’ warm smile, you’re met with the solemn face of his fellow RAF pilot, James.

“James,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “What is it? What’s happened?”

James removes his cap, twisting it in his hands. “May I come in? I’m afraid I have some news about Charles.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as you step back, allowing James to enter. You lead him to the small sitting room, your movements mechanical, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance.

“Please,” you say, gesturing to a chair. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

James perches on the edge of the armchair, his discomfort palpable. “There’s no easy way to say this. Charles’ plane was shot down over the Channel three days ago. We ... we haven’t found any survivors.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, driving the air from your lungs. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be right. Charles is too good a pilot. He promised he’d come back to me.”

James leans forward, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Charles was one of the best pilots I’ve ever known, but the Jerries caught us by surprise. There was nothing he could do.”

You sink onto the sofa, your legs suddenly unable to support you. “Tell me what happened,” you demand, your voice stronger than you feel. “I need to know everything.”

James nods, taking a deep breath. “We were on a routine patrol over the Channel. Everything seemed quiet, and then suddenly the sky was full of Messerschmitts. They came out of nowhere, diving out of the sun.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Charles ... he was incredible. He managed to take down two of them before they could even react. But there were just too many of them.”

You close your eyes, picturing Charles in the cockpit of his Spitfire, his face set with determination as he faced impossible odds. It’s an image that both comforts and devastates you.

“I saw his plane take a hit,” James continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He was trying to draw their fire away from the rest of us. The last thing I heard over the radio was him saying, ‘Tell Y/N I love her. In this life and the next.’”

A sob escapes you at those words, so achingly familiar. “He’s said that before,” you murmur, more to yourself than to James.

“I’m sorry?” James asks, leaning closer.

You shake your head, unsure how to explain the strange sense of déjà vu. “It’s nothing. Please, go on.”

James nods, though he looks at you curiously. “His plane went down fast after that. We searched for hours, but with the weather and the waves ...” He trails off, leaving the grim implication hanging in the air.

“So there’s still a chance?” You ask, clinging to a shred of hope. “If you didn’t find ... if there’s no body, he could still be out there, right?”

The pity in James’ eyes is almost unbearable. “Y/N, I know it’s hard to accept, but the chances of survival in those conditions ... it would take a miracle.”

You stand abruptly, pacing the small room. “Then I’ll believe in miracles,” you declare fiercely. “Charles is strong, and he’s a survivor. He wouldn’t leave me, not like this.”

James rises, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I understand. Charles spoke of you often, you know. He loved you more than anything in this world.”

“Loves,” you correct him sharply. “He loves me. Present tense.”

James nods, not arguing. “Of course. I’m sorry, I should go. Is there anything you need? Anyone I can call for you?”

You shake your head, suddenly desperate to be alone. “No, thank you. I just ... I need some time.”

As you show James out, he pauses at the door. “Charles was more than just my commanding officer. He was my friend. If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thank you, James. That means a lot.”

As the door closes behind him, the flat seems to grow impossibly quiet. You lean against the wall, feeling as though you might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

Your eyes fall on a framed photograph of Charles, taken just before he left for his last mission. His smile is radiant, his eyes full of life and love. You pick up the frame, tracing his features with a trembling finger.

“You promised,” you whisper to the image. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Charles, laughing as he spun you around in the park on your first date. “You know,” he had said, his eyes twinkling, “I have the strangest feeling I’ve known you forever.”

You had felt it too, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, of coming home. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life,” you had joked.

Charles had grown serious then, cupping your face in his hands. “If that’s true,” he had said softly, “then I’m certain I loved you just as much then as I do now.”

The memory is too much. Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, still clutching the photograph to your chest. Sobs wrack your body as the full weight of your loss crashes over you.

“Come back to me,” you plead between gasping breaths. “Please, Charles. Find me again. In this life or the next, just find me.”

As you kneel there, lost in your grief, a strange calm settles over you. Deep in your soul, you feel a certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Charles will find each other again.

You have to believe it. It’s the only thing that will get you through the long, dark nights ahead.

Berlin, 1961

The cold November air bites at Charles’ face as he paces along the western side of the Berlin Wall, his breath forming small clouds in the dim light of dawn. His eyes scan the imposing concrete barrier, searching for any sign of movement on the other side. He checks his watch for the hundredth time, willing the minutes to pass faster.

“Come on, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”

As if in answer to his plea, a small pebble arcs over the wall, landing at his feet. Charles’ heart leaps as he bends to retrieve it, unfolding the small piece of paper wrapped around it.

I’m here, the note reads in your familiar handwriting. Same spot. Be careful.

Charles moves quickly to a section of the wall where a drain pipe creates a small blind spot from the watchtowers. He pulls out a compact mirror, angling it to catch a glimpse of the other side.

“Y/N,” he whispers urgently. “Can you hear me?”

“Charles!” Your voice comes back, barely audible. “Thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“I’ll always come for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Are you alright? Did anyone follow you?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “I was careful. But Charles, we don’t have much time. They’re planning to move me to Moscow next week. This might be our last chance.”

Charles feels his stomach drop. “Moscow? No, we can’t let that happen. We have to get you out of there tonight.”

“How?” You ask, a note of desperation in your voice. “The security has been tightened since the last escape attempt. There are patrols everywhere.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I have a contact in the American sector. He might be able to help. But Y/N, it’s risky. If we’re caught ...”

“I know,” you interrupt. “But I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be loyal to a system I despise. And I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.”

His heart swells at your words. “I feel the same way. Okay, listen carefully. Meet me back here at midnight. Wear dark clothes and bring only what you can carry in a small bag. I’ll have everything else ready on this side.”

“Midnight,” you repeat. “I’ll be here. Charles ... I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says softly. “More than you could ever know. Be safe, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

As Charles turns to leave, he’s struck by a sudden, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He’s had this feeling before when talking to you, as if your souls have known each other across lifetimes. Shaking off the strange thought, he hurries away to set the plan in motion.

The hours crawl by as Charles makes preparations. He meets with his American contact, secures false documents, and plots the safest route to the western sector. As night falls, he returns to the wall, his nerves on edge.

Midnight comes and goes. Charles waits, every muscle tense, straining to hear any sound from the other side. Five minutes pass. Then ten.

“Y/N?” He whispers urgently. “Are you there?”

Silence answers him. Charles feels panic rising in his chest. Something’s wrong.

Suddenly, the night is shattered by the sound of shouting and dogs barking. Floodlights blaze to life on the eastern side of the wall.

“No,” Charles breathes, horror washing over him. “Y/N!”

He presses himself against the wall, desperate to hear something, anything. The chaos on the other side grows louder. Then, cutting through it all, he hears your voice.

“Charles!” You cry out. “Charles, help me!”

Without thinking, Charles begins to climb the wall, heedless of the danger. He has to get to you, has to save you.

“Stop right there!” A gruff voice shouts in German. Charles freezes, realizing he’s been spotted by a guard on the western side.

“Please,” Charles begs in German, “You don’t understand. There’s someone over there who needs help. I have to-”

His words are cut off by the sharp crack of gunfire from the eastern side. Charles’ blood runs cold.

“Y/N!” He screams, no longer caring who hears him. “Y/N, answer me!”

But there’s no response. The night falls eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of hurried orders being given in Russian.

Charles slumps against the wall, his mind refusing to accept what his heart already knows. You’re gone. He was too late.

Hours pass in a blur. Charles remains by the wall, numb with grief and shock. As dawn breaks, he hears someone approaching from the western side.

“Mr. Leclerc?” A voice says softly. It’s his American contact. “I’m so sorry. We ... we heard what happened.”

Charles looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “Tell me,” he says hoarsely.

The man sighs heavily. “She was caught trying to reach the wall. There was a struggle. The guards ... they didn’t hesitate to use lethal force.”

Each word is like a knife to Charles’ heart. “Did she suffer?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“It was quick,” the man assures him. “If it’s any consolation, our sources say her last words were about you. She said, ‘Tell Charles I’ll find him again. In this life or the next.’”

Charles closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Those words ... why do they sound so familiar?

“Mr. Leclerc,” the American says gently, “it’s not safe for you to stay here. We need to get you out of Berlin. There will be questions, investigations.”

But Charles barely hears him. His mind is reeling, flashes of memories — or are they dreams — flooding his consciousness. Ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa, revolutionary France, war-torn skies over the English Channel. In each scene, he sees your face, hears your voice promising to find each other again.

“This isn’t the end,” Charles murmurs, more to himself than to the confused American.

“I’m sorry?” The man asks.

Charles stands, a strange calm settling over him. “Nothing,” he says. “You’re right. We should go.”

As they walk away from the wall, Charles makes a silent vow. He will live, he will remember, and he will find you again. Somehow, somewhere, in another life, you will have your chance at happiness.

The Berlin Wall may have separated you in this life, but Charles is certain now that your souls are bound across lifetimes. And no wall, no war, no force on earth can keep you apart forever.

Abu Dhabi, 2025

The roar of engines fills the air as Charles crosses the finish line, clinching his first Formula 1 World Championship. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Charles barely hears them. His eyes scan the barriers, searching for one face among thousands.

As he brings his Ferrari to a stop, he sees you pushing through the throng of celebrating team members. Your eyes meet, and suddenly everything else fades away. Charles leaps from the car, not even bothering to remove his helmet as he runs towards you.

“We did it!” He shouts, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. “We actually did it!”

You laugh, tears of joy streaming down your face. “You did it, Charles! I’m so proud of you!”

He sets you down gently, finally removing his helmet. His hair is matted with sweat, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. To you, he’s never looked more handsome.

“No,” Charles says, cupping your face in his hands. “We did this together. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a passionate kiss. The world around you explodes with camera flashes and cheers, but neither of you notice. In this moment, you’re the only two people in the world.

As you finally break apart, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs. “In this life and-”

“And all the others,” you finish, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over you.

Charles pulls back slightly, his brow furrowed. “You feel it too, don’t you?” He asks. “Like we’ve said these words before?”

You nod, a bit dazed. “It’s strange. Sometimes when I look at you, I get flashes of ... I don’t know, other times, other places. But it’s always us, always together.”

A grin spreads across Charles’ face. “Maybe we’re soulmates,” he teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Charles! Y/N!” A voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching. “Sorry to interrupt, but Charles has to get weighed.”

Charles nods, then turns back to you. “Wait for me?” He asks.

You smile, giving him a quick kiss. “Always,” you promise.

As Charles is whisked away for obligations, you find yourself lost in thought. The strange feeling of familiarity, of a love that transcends time, has been with you since the day you met Charles. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, afraid he’d think you were crazy.

The podium ceremony is a blur of champagne and cheers. Charles’ radiant smile never wavers as he hoists the trophy, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd. When it’s finally over, he makes a beeline for you, ignoring the clamoring reporters.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, taking your hand.

You raise an eyebrow. “What about the press conference? The team celebrations?”

Charles shakes his head. “They can wait. Right now, I just want to be with you.”

Hand-in-hand, you sneak away from the track, laughing like teenagers as you dodge team members and journalists. Charles leads you to his car and soon you’re speeding down the winding roads of the Emirati capital.

“Where are we going?” You ask, the wind whipping through your hair.

Charles grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ll see.”

As the sun begins to set, Charles pulls off onto a small dirt road. It leads to a secluded hilltop overlooking the valley below. The view is breathtaking, the entire landscape bathed in the warm glow of twilight.

“Charles,” you breathe, taking in the scene. “It’s beautiful.”

He comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You turn in his arms, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “What are we doing here, Charles?”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly looking nervous. “Y/N, do you remember the day we met?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course. I was lost in the paddock and you offered to help me find my way.”

“The moment I saw you,” Charles says softly, “it was like ... like coming home. Like I’d been searching for you my whole life without even knowing it.”

Your heart races as he continues. “And ever since then, I’ve had these ... dreams, I guess. Flashes of other lives, other times. But always with you.”

“Charles,” you whisper, hardly daring to believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve had them too. I thought I was going crazy.”

He shakes his head, a look of wonder on his face. “Not crazy. Just ... connected. In a way I can’t fully explain.”

Charles takes your hands in his, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your skin. “I don’t know if it’s past lives or parallel universes or just some cosmic coincidence. But I do know this: in every life, in every version of reality, I love you. And I want to spend the rest of this life, and all the ones that come after, loving you.”

Your breath catches as Charles drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod emphatically. “Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

Charles’ face breaks into a radiant smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. He stands, pulling you into a kiss that feels like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

As you break apart, both of you laughing and crying, a sense of rightness settles over you. Whatever strange connection you share, whatever cosmic forces have brought you together time and time again, you know that this — right here, right now — is where you’re meant to be.

“I love you,” you say, looking into Charles’ eyes. “In this life and all the others.”

“And I love you,” he replies, holding you close. “Always and forever.”

The future stretches out before you, full of promise and possibility. And though you don’t know what challenges it might bring, you’re certain of one thing: whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

Just as you always have, and always will.

NIKI??

WHAT’S UP ?

📄 ◜ ────𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗴; 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲...

ʬʬʬ. 2024 pairing. nishimura riki x femoc!member req. nk getting jealous of ml with other 05-liners cw. jealousy, kabedon, teasing ( LIBRARY )

RIKI NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD SEE THE DAY WHERE he would be third-wheeling on his own date, but that was before he and Mila bumped into Harua and Taki while they were out and about on what was supposed to be a romantic outing with just the two of them.

Make no mistake, Riki was good friends with the two of them and had nothing against them personally. He was even glad to see them, happy to be reunited with his fellow 05’-liners. But somehow, it seemed they were a lot happier to see Mila than they were to see him — and that Mila was unusually happy to see them, too.

Since when were they close? Riki thought with a pout as he watched Mila reach up to ruffle Harua’s hair.

“How have you been?” Mila asked in a sweet tone, mirroring how one would speak to a baby or a cute puppy they come across on the road. It was one that was usually reserved for her boyfriends — the younger ones, especially — and so Riki was astounded to hear her use it on the Japanese male. Even more so when she cooed as Harua nodded happily. “Ah, what even? Why are you so cute?”

Cute? Cute? Riki clenched his jaw the slightest bit as he watched Mila smile at him with those eyes of hers, laughing at something he had said. Riki continued to stare at her, as if it would magically make her look his way. But the woman was none the wiser.

Now, Riki was not the possessive type, nor was he the type to be jealous of his girlfriend having male friends. But he couldn’t deny the twist in his gut as Mila continued to pay attention to the other two males while he stood right there, waiting for her to tell him that she was ready to resume their date.

Riki licked the insides of his cheek. He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor, nodding along to whatever the three were talking about so as not to seem rude. But his foot was tapping subconsciously, his eyes flickering to the time displayed on the face of his watch.

“By the way, were you two heading somewhere?” Taki asked, looking between the couple. “We’ll leave you to it, if that’s the case.”

“Huh? That’s okay! We don’t mind, right Ni-ki?” Mila blinked up at Riki, reminding the tall male of how small she looked in comparison to him. But while he would usually smirk at their height difference, he found himself noticing something else.

Ni-ki? Ever since they started dating, Mila never called him by anything other than his first name and a choice collection of pet names. He looked at Taki and he realised why. But still… It wasn’t like they would be confused— Taki would already know by default who Mila was talking about. She was only one of very few people who ever called him by his birth name these days, it felt too distancing for her to refer to him by his stage name— that was what everyone else called him, after all.

“Still,” Taki said, cutting through Riki’s thoughts like a blade, “we shouldn’t hold you back for too long— we have somewhere to be as well, so we’ll let you go now.”

Mila hummed. She nodded understandingly thought it was obvious she wasn’t too eager to let the duo go, given how she patted Harua’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as he bowed and departed. She sighed, waving at the duo as they walked away. “He’s just so cute…”

“I know,” Riki deadpanned, the smile he offered Taki and Harua as they left skipping form his face. “You only mentioned it like three times already.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, before turning on his heels. “Come on.”

Mila blinked before trialing after the young man like a puppy nipping at his heels, her wide eyes looking up at him in question. “Hey,” she called softly, her hand tugging on the sleeve of her jacket. “Are you okay?”

Riki scoffed under his breath. Who would be okay after they had to watch their girlfriend fawn over another man, even going as far as to call him ‘cute’? And when they were supposed to be going out as a couple, at that. He clocked his tongue as he pettily ignored her calls, instead speeding up his steps.

“Oh… Wait a minute, are you jealous?” When Riki didn’t respond, Mila giggled. “Really? I didn’t think you’d be that jealous, considering you hate being called cute… But you know, the way you’re acting right now is really cute too.” Mila smiled as she skipped alongside his long strides. He still refused to look at her, causing her to become even more endeared by his behaviour. “Hey, Ni-ki—!”

Riki clicked his tongue. In one smooth movement, he seized Mila’s wrist, pulling her into the emergency staircase that they happened to pass as they walked towards the exit of the Hybe building. Mila gasped at the sudden movement. She momentarily lost her balance, flailing forward at the sudden force. But before she could fall over, Riki trapped her between his body and the firm wall against her back — one hand on the wall above her and the other on her waist.

Mila froze, eyes wide as she stared up at him, breath caught in her throat at the sudden proximity. She swallowed thickly. “W-what are you doing…?”

It was meant to come to stern, scolding even. Yet under the heat of his gaze and his towering figure, the words came out breathless — just like what she felt in that moment. “It’s Riki.”

Mila gasped like a fish. “What?”

Riki smirked slightly at her flustered expression, taking on the redness of her cheeks and her avoidant gaze. But he schooled his expression before she could notice his amusement. “Call my name,” he said lowly, his deep voice causing Mila to melt on the spot. “You keep calling me ‘Ni-ki,’ earlier. But that’s not what you usually call me.”

Mila licked her lips, feeling that they had gotten dry. Riki subconsciously followed the action with his eyes, watching the way her pink lips parted to enunciate the syllables of his name. “Riki—”

His name barely left her lips before Riki’s were pressed against hers. The hand on her waist flitted to her jaw, tilting it upwards to allow him more access, his plump lips covering his in a kiss that could only be described as a stamp of longing— too firm to be tender, but too soft to be passionate. Just his mouth on hers filling her tummy with butterflies and making her knees buckle.

By the time Riki separated from her, she was reduced to a blushing mess under his smug smile. “That’s better,” he said. He raised a hand to stroke to stroke top of her head. “Noona’s a good girl.”

“What?” Mila stammered. He never called her Noona, but when he did, it was always intentional. Mila pushed his chest, but Riki noticed she didn’t use any force, instead resting her hands there helplessly — as if he had kissed all the strength out of her. “You spend too much time with Jake,” Mila muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Jake was right when he said that Riki seemed to only learn strange things from his hyungs — flirting, included. The man winked, a charming smile crossing his face, ironically proving Mila’s point. She sighed resting her head against her chest, her heart racing wildly against her own.

Riki was no bad boy, but with the way things were going, he definitely could turn out to be… Bad for Mila’s heart, that is.

TAGLIST @em1ejiee @menichoi @dracoslovergirl @rosas-in-the-garden @blossominghunnie @lovelypham @cornenhapovs

LOUD AND CLEAR | LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!deaf reader

summary: the 4 times that fans noticed the way lando was with you and the 1 time they finally realized why.

warnings: none i don't think

1.the garage whispers

fans noticed things, they always did, but sometimes their reasons were a little bit off, like with lando and his girlfriend.

you had been in the mclaren garage one day. while lando's world was loud, yours was quiet. you were completely deaf, you had cochlear implants but sometimes during race weekends they would get overwhelmed with the loud noise making it harder to process what was happening.

one thing that lando never failed to do though was lean closer for you to hear him. his head falling down so his lips were by your ear, making sure your implants could pick up what he was saying.

"you okay?" he asked you, his voice soft and gentle but still loud enough for your implants to pick up easily, his hand gently resting at the small of your back.

you nodded your head with a smile, "just loud" you say softly.

he nodded his head knowing you hated when he fussed over you and that if you got overwhelmed you'd either tell him or you would leave so he knew you were okay.

his hand came up to tap his heart 3 times, not exactly sign language but a sign that you both had started doing, the simple act saying "i love you."

you smiled and tapped your heart back before saying a small goodbye to him as he left to go get ready for qualifying.

the small whispers and acts didn't go unnoticed by fans though, their theories being far from the truth though.

user1: the way lando's so in love with her user2: watching them whisper to each other feels so intimate user3: WHAT DID HE SAY TO HER?

2.his little taps

lando didn't ever call for you, even when you could hear him. every time he wanted your attention he would simply tap you, a small shoulder tap, the squeeze of an arm, tap on the wrist, just something small.

one time that it was noticed by fans was when you were walking into the paddock together. lando had gotten stopped by some fans and as if on instinct his hand had come to tap your shoulder to get your attention

you turned to him with a small smile, watching as he didn't say anything simply gesturing to the group of fans letting you know he had stopped to sign some stuff, standing and waiting for him to finish with the fans before you guys continued. nothing had been said between the two of you, just silent communication which definitely caused an uproar between fans.

user1: why did bro tap her instead of calling for her user2: he's so in love he needs her to feel him before he speaks user3: they're actually so cute, the way he didn't have to say anything and she knew.

3.face offs

even when you were wearing your cochlears sometimes it was hard to hear so lando would always face you when he spoke so you could read his lips easier.

dinner? he was sat in front of you. talking with fans? he made sure you were stood in front of who was talking to you if you were with him. interviews? if you were watching he was always facing you in some way so you could see his lips.

fans picked up on the pattern easily. the way he always stood in front of you before he started speaking, or the way he'd turn your head, it confused them for sure not knowing the reasoning but they still speculated.

user1: lando being a soft boyfriend for the 200th time. user2: the way he always makes sure she can see him, i love them your honor :( user3: they're so in love it's sickening

4. the signs

it was a no brainer that lando would learn sign language when you guys started to date, despite being able to hear him with your implants he still wanted to learn so if you weren't wearing them he could communicate.

the moment the fans started noticing was during a podium. lando had just finished in P2 and while he was up there he had signed "i love you" to you. from there the fans had started noticing the smaller moments.

the small signs in the garage when he was talking to you, the random signs in interviews as if someone was watching that he wanted them to see.

a favorite clip would be during one of lando's twitch streams though. he was playing a game but suddenly had paused it turning to look in the doorway. you were off camera so they couldn't see you as you stood trying to get lando's attention without disturbing him.

what they did see though was the way lando turned to you and instead of saying anything he had signed with his hands, a silent conversation just for the two of you.

"sorry guys, just checking something," lando had said after turning back to the stream when you had left, leaving the fans confused.

user1: WAS HE SIGNING? user2: since when did lando know sign language? user3: was he signing to Y/N?

+1 the time where everything clicked.

you had been with lando in the paddock one day during a race weekend. at this point you were deaf to the world because the batteries for your implants had died. you were stood scourging for your spares in lando's bag when fans came up, getting lando's attention and trying to get yours.

they were confused when they called your name and you didn't answer until lando tapped you making your head look up from where it was buried searching in the bag on his back, a huge smile coming to your face when you notice the fans.

"hi!" you say as you come to stand at lando's side.

"she's deaf, she can read lips though so just make sure you're facing her when you speak," lando explained, signing with his hands.

the fans' mouths dropped, everything making so much more sense to them, the whispers, the small taps, the way he was always faced to you, the way he knew sign language.

while you talked with fans, taking a couple times to ask for repeats, lando was searching in his bag for your batteries, changing them out for you before a gentle hand came to your shoulder to not startle you as he put them on for you, the noise of the paddock filling your ears as they connected.

the both of you finished talking with the fans, taking a couple pictures with them before saying goodbye, knowing the announcement was about to break the internet.

user1: omg she's deaf it all makes so much more sense now. user2: STOP HE LEARNED SIGN LANGUAGE FOR HER user3: lando "i'd learn another language for her" norris user4: they are actually so cute

everything clicked for the fans after that day, and suddenly lando's love for you was so much bigger, because he didn't just love you, he understood you, and did everything he could do so you could understand him.

⋅ GENRES: older brother’s best friend & summer romance; angst, fluff & smut

⋅ PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

⋅ WORD COUNT: 35.7K

⋅ WARNINGS: implied age gap; mentions of a minor character’s death; mentions of alcohol and drugs; virginity loss; unprotected sex multiple times (three); a lot of art references as Jaeyun majored in Fine Arts, and i am not saying that there’s a scene where he paints the reader naked, but i am; body worship at some point; also biker!Jaeyun; and he calls the reader baby (valid warnings, in my opinion)

                  TRACK 04 OF TAKE MY HAND

Sim Jaeyun wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.

It’s not as if there was a written rule. No ink on paper or statement made it factual, but there was an understanding that his best friend’s little sister wasn’t someone he was supposed to fall in love with.

Yet, he did. And God — it had been a hell of a ride.

Phone calls from Park Jongseong never had been a good sign for Jake.

Jongseong hated phones, and in special — to make calls. Throughout the years of their friendship, the option had only been initiated by him as the last resort in the midst of the last resort; the keypad of their old dormitory breaking and leaving him out; his car running out of gasoline in the middle of the night; a forgotten file that supposedly could save Jongseong from failing his last law semester and made Jake run through half of the university campus on a winter morning to deliver it to him — and that was the problem of Jake receiving so few phone calls from his best friend. It doesn’t matter if he felt his shoulders stiffening as soon as he saw Jongseong’s name shining on his phone screen. Jake knew he needed to pick up.

It was almost noon when Jongseong called that day, the small shop busier in a way that only happened with the beginning of summer — the vacation season bringing an influx of tourists to Jeju and suddenly making everything a tiny bit more cluttered.

“Here’s the thing,” Jongseong said at the other end of the line. It was such a classic Jongseong way to start a conversation. Dramatic, and with a hint of urgency that Jake knew all too well. “I need a favor.”

“Good afternoon for you too. I am awesome, thank you. How about you?” Jake asked, making Jongseong huff at the other end of the line.

“I am serious,” he said. “Baby is giving me a headache and I need your help.”

“Your sister?” Jake demanded, his voice coming higher than he indeed and catching a few customers’ attention. Jake had never met you, not really. Everything he knew about you had been through these tiny pieces Jongseong gave through conversations, and although he knew you had given your older brother a few hard moments as you always seemed to reach for him first whenever you had a problem, Jake couldn’t imagine how he would ever be directly involved.

He turned around, his eyes focusing on the other side of the beveled glass. The sun fell warm and bright on the town and a myriad of bees hummed at the bushes on the other side of the street, the small insects enjoying the pinky-white blossoms that seemed to be disappearing as the summer kept settling on the island. Down the street, Mrs. Choi was also enjoying the beginning of the summer, leaning on the window of her bakery and screaming at Euntaek — her troublemaker grandson whom people there only cared to call Mrs. Choi’s grandson with a sigh.

“She has been trying this scholarship in the United States ever since she graduated high school, and now that she got it, out of nowhere, she decided to spend summer in Jeju — alone. I want you to be her emergency call,” Jongseong explained, catching Jake’s attention once again. “You are still living there, right? In your grandfather’s old house? Taking care of his pottery shop?”

It was a too practical way to describe the fact that Jake had run away to it — taking it as an inheritance when no one else wanted it, but Jake hummed in agreement.

“But Seogwipo is in the extreme south of the island, depending on the area she-“

“I know. It’s just in any emergency case, it would take several hours for any of us to arrive at the island.”

“Fine,” Jake conquered. “But why — why did she choose Jeju?”

Honestly, there was no reason for you to choose Jeju aside from your desire to leave Korea’s mainland. You had thought of Japan at first, the neighboring country being not even one hour and a half away by plane, but you didn’t know anything of its language aside from the small vocabulary you acquired by too many hours watching Ghibli animations and three months there seemed more stressful than having to deal with the whole expectation your parents’ had been putting on your upcoming university life in the United States. But then, someday you scrolled through a vacation website, and Jeju shone for you. It took fifteen minutes to convince your parents — an additional five to annoy your brother, but on the first day of summer, you took a flight to the Korean island and established yourself in a nice apartment downtown.

Yet, you had to admit, being alone wasn’t all the fun, especially with a landlord who seemed to prefer spending all his hours checking the security cameras rather than fixing your broken sink and had screamed at you for appearing with a stray kitten in the midst of a summer storm — a black furry thing that didn’t even have twenty centimeters but seemed to bother him as a lynx would. The nights were never quiet there and the city hardly slept, but instead of the soothing comfort you expect to find in it, you lay awake in your bed wondering if you had done something wrong. So when the landlord argued that the cat left or you left, you had no second thought before packing your belongings, and putting the cat in the pet carrier you had bought just a few hours prior almost as an omen.

You were too shrinking to call your parents for help not even two weeks into your supposedly independent vacation — too proud to give Jongseong the proof you weren’t ready to be on your own, so you put Sim Jaeyun’s address on the maps app and took the next bus to the small town where he resided, watching as the buildings disappeared and the fields of green tea turned boundlessly beneath the summer sun.

It took you exactly one hour and seven minutes to arrive at Seogwipo. With no transfers or changes, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — a pretty road running along the South Sea that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the stones. The busiest part of Jeju had been left by the downtown, tidy streets giving way to open roads and suddenly the hustling cities were part of another world — another reality. Even the skies seemed to acquire a new shade here.

There wasn’t much through the path, a convenience store, a library, a tiny bakery where an old lady sat by its door-

“Do you need help?” she asked. Her accent was strong, pure Jeju dialect which made you blink at her, taking a moment too long to make sense of what she had just said. You didn’t need help, honestly, your phone’s map seemed to be working just fine, but you felt bad about sounding impolite — especially in a place like Seogwipo seemed to be, so you smiled at her, immediately receiving the gesture back.

“I am searching for my brother’s friend’s house,” you said. “He supposedly lives in this street.”

“Tell me his name, I know everyone here.”

“Jaeyun — Sim Jaeyun.”

“Oh! Jake!” she exclaimed. “Yes, he lives straight ahead. I can ask my grandson to take you there.”

“No, it’s alright,” you broke in. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It’s not a long walk, but you are with a luggage and-”she paused, availing the pet carrier in your hands. “A cat?”

You looked at it too, catching the idea of an ear but before you could answer, she was already leaning inside the bakery, filling her lungs and shouting. “Euntaek!”

Euntaek appeared at the door, and if the old lady hadn’t told you he was her grandson it would have been impossible for you to notice their connection by yourself. They were the opposite in every way — where she was short and plump, he was tall and lanky with a mess of dark hair being bathed in the late afternoon sun.

He stopped in the midst of a complaint, his mouth suddenly curling in a smirk when he caught the sight of you. His gaze trailed your fluttering white silk sundress, following it all the way to your tights and then back to your face.

“This is Euntaek,” she said as he stepped closer. “My grandson. He is always here over the summer, so if you need anything don’t hesitate to come to us and ask.”

“Just Taek,” he mended, leaning to your side. He smelled like autumn — a musky perfume that Jongseong would have advised him to keep to the cold seasons, all together with a faint scent of tobacco. And you didn’t need to guess what was in the box on the front pocket of his t-shirt.

“Stop playing around and take her to Jake’s shop,” the old lady demanded. He straightened himself at her words, looking ahead at the street as if he was suddenly confused, but he didn’t retort — didn’t reply, when he looked back at you he was smirking again as if he was satisfied with the situation.

“Give me your luggage,” he said. And you obeyed, partly because you thought it would be good for him to have something to put his attention aside from your presence and partly because you were starting to feel tired.

Euntaek guided you through the street as the sun kept going down, your shadow stretching out so long that its edges were already blurring with the approaching night.

“Are you staying the whole summer?” he asked, out of the silence.

“No, I-” you paused. Being completely honest, you hadn’t thought of what would happen after speaking with your brother’s best friend. “I don’t know — probably not.”

“Well, it’s a good idea. You should stay in the city areas, nothing really happens on this side of the island.”

“It seems pretty nice to me,” you admitted.

Euntaek lifted a brow at you, his flirtatious attitude finally eclipsed by something else. “Where are you from?”

“Seoul.”

“Ah, a girl from the city-city,” he said. “I could hear it from your accent, but I guess it makes sense for you to like this end of the world then.”

You didn’t reply this time.

“We are here,” he announced. Just like the rest of the street, Jake’s shop was a single-story construction. White walls and a beveled glass framed by bare woods, just as most Korean houses had been built in the fourteenth century during the Joseon dynasty.

“Give me your phone,” Euntaek said.

“My phone?” you asked, looking at the device still unlocked in your hands. His phrase came with no question marks, no rapport, and you wondered if the was always like this — throwing demands that should have been questions.

“Yes,” he smirked. “In case you need something — Jake doesn’t have a car, he is always taking the old Beomseok’s pickup but I-” The ramble kept going on, but as you extended your phone at him, you had already turned back to the shop. You had once heard Jongseong telling your parents that Jaeyun had moved to Jeju to take care of his departed grandfather’s shop, being the only one who took an interest in the old man’s business. Your brother had even come to help at the beginning of everything, but you never had considered asking him what the shop was about, and now you wished you had so you wouldn’t be so surprised as you caught sight of the dozen pottery pieces — from small mugs to bowls and enormous flower pots, all glazed in the modest earthy tones of Jeju; green, blue, purple, and brown filling the wooden shelves at the fairest end of the room. Down the middle of the shop, there was a long table, and some pottery wheels, their sheer number indicating he not only did it but taught.

The shop was fairly empty, saved from a couple studying the row of mugs, and Jaeyun — standing with his back to the beveled glass.

Euntaek handed your phone back, and you pulled it inside of your purse without even looking at him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said.

“Anything you need just give me a sign.”

“Sure,” you said, already taking the handle of your luggage and stepping away.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy and pond-mud smell of clay taking over your senses as Jaeyun turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

Until now, you had never seen your brother’s best friend — not that you haven’t tried, but his only social media seemed to be Instagram and the absence of posts left you nothing but the group pictures your brother showed you once in a while, blurry things that had been taken on drunk states or taken so distant you couldn’t really tell what he looked like aside from the idea of his sun-kissed skin and his dark hair always curled and always growing past his ears — boyish as he seemed pretty, you remembered once thinking, but up close with the golden light of the sunset bathing over him, you noticed he was utterly staggering and you became uncomfortably aware of the sun touching your face, turning your cheeks warmer and warmer beneath his gaze.

“Jaeyun?” you tried.

“Jake,” he corrected. “Whenever I hear Jaeyun, I feel like I need to look back to check if my father isn’t here.”

You had already spoken his English name in conversations with your brother, rolled through the letters of it absently far enough times to be familiar with it, but there was something different on it now that you could put a face on it. The name fitted him, young and beautiful, cheerful and bright. You couldn’t help but hold the shape of his name in your mouth, try it on your tongue with its new taste and he tilted his head to the side, carefully studying you.

“Would you be Jongseong’s little sister?”

“Yes, I-” you exhaled. “I — Would you have a spare room?”

┈

It took Jake fifteen minutes to finish his talk with the couple and turn his full attention back to you, leaning on the cashier top as you rambled about the apartment downtown, the summer storm, and the kitten — even pulling the animal out of the pet carrier as an appeal, and then, finally, you rambled about the landlord demanding you to put it back into the streets and how you simply could not so you left only with half of the amount your parents spent on the apartment downtown.

You hadn’t really thought about it, but the words kept coming hurried and messed up, a single stream of phrases being pushed out of you, and you told him you were going to find a place somewhere, you just needed time — and a room for a few nights.

“So let me see if I understood,” Jake said. “You came to Jeju to spend the summer, got a nice place downtown but because of this kitten,” he stopped then, theatrically pointing at the animal in your hands. “You got kicked out without getting your full deposit back and you don’t want to call your parents asking them to help you find a new place nor simply want to go back home?”

“Yes, that’s — that’s exactly what happened.” You felt small when the words reached back at you — your whole world becoming so small and silly, and you braced yourself for Jake’s judgment, but he did not. He tilted his head once again, thumping his fingers unrhythmically against the cashier’s top and you weren’t certain if this was because he was considering your situation or because it was simply quite a lot to take in just a few minutes. But he sighed then, a soft gust of air passing through his lips.

“You can’t come here with a kitten,” he said. “It’s obvious that I would say yes.”

You must not have truly expected Jake to agree, because the surprise you felt when you heard his reply stunned you to silence, and in the stillness that followed, you finally noticed how fast your heart was beating. It hummed against your ears so loudly — you had been terrified now that you could think about it.

“For real?” you asked then.

“Of course,” he said. “I will just close the shop and I will show you the house.”

You followed Jake back into the street, not knowing what else to do aside from standing there — watching as he closed the door, playing with the key and locking it. Outside, the night was slowly setting in, moonless and warm.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” he asked.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “It’s a boy.”

“And have you named it?”

“Not yet. I am not even sure if I can keep him, I am leaving Jeju by the end of summer so I thought of finding a nice home for him here,” you blurted out, focusing on the small furry thing in your hands and when you looked at Jake again, he had already approached you. He was as tall as Jongseong, but differently from your brother he didn’t bottle you in the shadows and made a shiver settle on your spine. Instead, Jake was comfortably tall. He smelled like summer afternoons, like orange blossoms and that earthy scent that remitted the pottery pieces displayed on his shelves. “But I guess it should be correct to at least give him a temporary name, right?”

“Jeonchae,” he said. “I always wanted to have a pet with this name.”

“Jeonchae is it then,” you replied, and Jake smiled again, this time something beyond his polite lightness and you felt your heart keening, he had those types of smiles that took over an entire face. You couldn’t even react as he took the handle of your luggage from your hand, guiding you to a side path, countering the shop, and stepping into the back garden — or the front garden. It depended on where you were coming fro. His house stood on the other side of it, the design a perfect extension of the shop.

As Jake opened the front door and slipped in, you looked past him and into the hall. At first sight, the inside of Jake’s house was as plain as the outside. The same wooden frames and white walls you suspected he didn’t mind painting after he had inherited it, but as you walked inside, toeing out of your shoes, you noticed that the greatest of the place didn’t lay on the structure itself, but on the things. Nothing in the living room matched — not the green racks or the maroon couch. The shelves on the far wall were cluttered with books stacked between pieces of pottery and crafted figurines. The last afternoon light spilled through an open window, illuminating the room all together with the yellow lamps and everything was chaotic, bright, and unabashedly joyous.

And you were surprised to notice, you loved it.

Your family’s house was minimalist, bare even, everything almost planned to not indicate any of your personalities and you wondered how it would feel to have a place that showed exactly who you were inside.

“Nothing is exactly knew, but-”

“It is lovely,” you said.

“Kitchen’s over there,” he continued, pointing at the end of the room as if the open floor plan didn’t let it clear where everything was.

“This is my room,” he said, moving his attention to the first door in a row of three. You couldn’t even get a glimpse of the inside before he continued on, scrolling your luggage through the hardwood floor. “The door on the end far end is the bathroom and the laundry, seems a bit cluttered, but well, it is an old house — and here,”

“Can be your room,” he finished, gesturing for you to go in first. You did so, finally letting go of Jeonchae and allowing the kitten to hover over the room.

A bed lay in the center, only with the mattress. And although the windows had been flung wide open, showing the perfect view of the garden, a faint smell of glaze and paint remained in the room, something you couldn’t tell if it came from the pots of paint organized on the shelves, or the pottery pieces themselves — drying at the window frame.

“It was my grandparents’ room,” Jake clarified. “Now I just use it as-”

“A paint room,” you completed. “Is it ok if I look?”

“Yeah, I mean- yeah,” he whispered, rushing his fingers through his hair.

You crouched in front of the pieces, staying eye level with them. Jake had painted a few with the same earthy tones you had seen at his shop, but others he had drawn on it, gorgeous mixes of colors and styles. There were hills in the traditional Korean art style, and flowers in a modern — almost silly way. You could stay there, studying these pieces for hours and catching a different detail every time. But as you turned to say something to Jake, you caught the sight of a canvas leaning against the wall, a three-dimensional painting, with mountains coming out of the plain canvas that took your words away. Different from everything else it barely had colors. A mix of black and white and you could feel it, the struggle and the loneliness on the canvas. Your fingers tickled as if you wanted to reach for it — brush your fingers as if to tender the pain, but you forced yourself to remain still.

“My final project from my first university semester,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “How have you done it?”

“Lots of baking soda — Jay was so annoyed by the mess I made in our shared room.”

“My brother is a naturally annoyed person,” you said, immediately coaxing a snort of laughter out of him, the sound so silly, yet vivid that you didn’t notice a smile was rising to your lips in response until it was already there.

“Now you said the truth,” he said.

“Well, I will leave you to settle yourself,” he continued. “The wardrobe is empty, aside from a few bed sheets, I think. You can use anything here, and if the paint and pottery bother you, just put it out, I can sort it anywhere else.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “Honestly, thank you so much.”

“I would ask you what you want for dinner, but my acknowledgment as a cooker is very little, and there are no take-outs nearby so-”

“Could I help?”

“Don’t worry, Jeonchae is going to help me,” he said, slightly lending himself so he could reach for the kitten, scratching the back of his ears, and eliciting a low rumble of happiness.

“Aren’t you, buddy?”

You were surprised to see the kitten, in fact, followed Jake out of the room and through the house, rushing through the kitchen not only as if he knew the place, but as if he was already part of it.

┈

You weren’t sure how long you were going to stay at Jake’s house, so you decided to not unpack everything, making settling yourself into his spare room a quick task and by the time you stepped out to the common area, he was just taking the pan out of the six-burner stove and putting it on the table.

You almost laughed when you noticed his very little acknowledgment in the kitchen meant lamen and a bunch of leftover side dishes for the night, the takeout pots affirming nothing was made by him. There was something endearing about Jake’s clumsy maneuvering around the kitchen, a certain charm in his earnest attempt, but you couldn’t help but worry if his dinners always had been like this — you were a Park at the end of the day, meals not only being important healthy, but as a manner of caring for yourself and others, so you stopped yourself, trying your best to not show your worry when he caught sight of you.

“I hope you didn’t have high expectations,” he said then, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing like your mother’s or your brother’s — but it’ll fill you up.”

“I wouldn’t expect anyone to be like them,” you said. “Only high chefs love the kitchen as much as them.”

His eyes softened as he gestured for you to join him at the table.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he admitted, passing you one of the bowls. You weren’t surprised to notice it was handmade, irregular and pottery-crafted. You curled your fingers around the piece, relishing the coldness against your skin.

“Are your dinners always like this?” you asked. Jake looked at you at the other side of the table then, taking in how you hadn’t moved yet, and retrieved the bowl from you, ladling a heaping portion of lamen and placing it in front of you.

“You mean extremely unprepared and unhealthy?” he asked, and you gasped. You didn’t mean to offend him, but because you couldn’t find better words to describe it, you remained silent. “Most of the time, but once in a while Mrs. Choi brings me something, once in a while I simply do not eat, so we can say it’s not an every night thing.”

There was a pause, a skimpy moment full of awkwardness. But then, Jeonchae leaped at the dining table, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake. He spared a piece of meat to the kitten, quickly making the apology dice on your tongue, and just like that, the spell was broken.

“Jake,” you called. “What about I take care of dinner while I am here?”

“Oh no, she is surely a Park,” he teased, but he nodded at you, barely giving himself the time to think between a second and another, and making you suck your breath back.

"Really?" you asked. "I mean, I’m not like my mother or Jay as well-”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be like them,” he said, and that was it. It had been just your words in his mouth, but you couldn’t help but feel something very warm growing inside of you. It was the very first time you genuinely thought someone who knew your family, didn’t expect you to be like them. “But I would need to take you to the market tomorrow, I doubt there’s something usable in this kitchen.”

┈

You woke up to the street light spreading through the darkness of your room and a soft series of curses. At first, you couldn’t remember where you were. The scent of glaze and paint took you with a strange closeness, but then you remembered the discussion with the landlord, putting the kitten in a carrier, and taking the bus to Seogwipo to meet Jake — Jake.

You slide out of the bed, padding barefoot to the window, and opening it in time to catch your brother’s best friend adjusting the ladder closer to the house’s wall and taking the first step up to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked because Jake wasn’t possibly going up to the roof late at night although everything indicated it was exactly what he was doing.

Jake turned to you as fast as a complicated smile took over his features.

“Sorry, I woke you up,” he said, the certainty that he had been the one to wake you up stealing the question mark of his phrase and so you didn’t reply.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked then.

“A bit, yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

┈

There were stars, and there were stars at Seogwipo.

Some nights, back at home, you had lingered on your bedroom’s window, trying to catch at least a spare star above the city lights without much success, but as you sat by Jake’s side at the uneven tiles of his roof, and craned your neck to the vastness of the sky, you couldn’t help but sigh at the view, an appreciation sound that came from your bare heart. At Jeju there were never enough streetlights to obliterate the stars completely — you could always get a glimpse of them without much search, but at Seogwipo — so far from anything else, the stars created streams of silver and purple against the dark sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Was it what you expected?” Jake asked. “When you decided to come to Jeju.”

“I don’t think I had any expectations. Honestly, I barely considered it before I decided to come to Jeju. It was there and suddenly it seemed like a great option so I took it,” you said. “It’s just — are you the youngest in your family?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, as if he was suddenly confused, and in the heat of the moment, you continued. “I am not blaming Jay or my family, it’s not like this. But there is something about being the youngest child no one speaks about,”

“When you are the youngest, you live in the shadows of either their failures or their successes. It wasn’t my dream to go to the United States to study — it was my father’s. He couldn’t do it back at his time, so he tried to make Jay do it for him, but when Jay failed due to his grades, I became the next in line, and I have been living my whole life like this — trying to fulfill everything they want to not be the letdown of my family. When I passed the university interview, got the visa and everything, they started talking about their expectations and it made me realize that I have never lived a single day to myself, so I wanted to try — at least this summer before I go to the United States to live a life I never dreamed about.”

When you finished, Jake had been silent for so long that you thought he had zoned out — leaving you to talk to the vastness of the place. But you looked at him then, and he was there — with the same careful stare he had turned on you this afternoon, and making your cheeks grow warmer. It wasn’t like Jake was a stranger, he wasn’t, not really. You had co-existed on each other’s worlds for so long that it was almost peculiar to think you had met just a few hours previously. Yet still — you were not sure why you decided to tell him about your life like this. But you were hundreds of kilometers away from home, and it was summer, the season when people do things they would never think of. It was late at night, the world so still that it felt safe to let secrets be spilled in the wind, and Jake — he felt safe too.

“I do have an older brother too,” Jake admitted. “He has studied medicine in Australia and people love to praise him or say something like it must be hard for Jaeyun to have an older brother like you.”

A breath shuddered out of you with the harshness of his words, and his mouth screwed on something between a smile and a frown, his own history setting heavy on him, and making him pause, his gaze drifting downward. Jake watched as his fingers moved on his lap as if he was trying to sort his thoughts, and that was the moment you noticed whatever he was about to tell you was something he had been keeping for himself for years.

“It’s just like you said, I do not blame my family,” he started, the words leaving his lips a bit clumsy and strangely by the unused of being said. “But because my parents are doctors and my brother always knew he was going to follow their path, I grew up thinking I was the letdown of my family.”

“My grandfather, otherwise,” Jake continued. “He was an artist — not a very successful one as you can see from the house or by the fact that you probably never heard of him, but he loved it,”

“I used to come here every summer during my childhood, and whenever I saw him doing pottery — whenever I saw the happiness in him, I knew it was what I wanted to do too, but still, I was afraid I would disappoint my parents so I tried to followed their path and study medicine. I got into a university and went to the United States.” Jake had a dull tone, but it was almost like his canvas in your room — you could feel the pain in each syllable. “My grandfather died when I was there.”

You knew Jake’s grandfather had died — had picked the information in the echo of your brother’s conversation with your mother, but you never knew what the man had meant to Jake, and perhaps that was what made your heart keen as if you had just discovered his passing.

You reached out to Jake, placing your hand gently on top of his. It hadn’t dawned on you how intimate the gesture was until you felt Jake moving beneath your touch, but before you could pull away he had already turned his palm into yours, squeezing you, lightly, and reassuring.

“It’s alright. It has been five years already,” he said. “Somehow I already got to peace with this. But on his last phone call, he asked if I was happy — if I was doing what I wanted to,” he said. “And it stuck on me, you know? I wasn’t — so I came home for his funeral and decided I wasn’t going back to the States. I got into a university in Seoul, and well, I think you know the rest of the story. I graduated in Fine Arts like I always wanted, and came here to take care of his things.”

“I won’t lie and tell you it was easy — it wasn’t. When I told my parents what my plans were, my father asked me if I wanted to be poor like my grandpa. But what I am trying to say is that I understand you,” Jake said. “If you want to stay here during the whole summer to give yourself time, it’s alright with me — just be sure to live for yourself because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Make a list of things you have never done and want to do. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time here.”

A breeze picked up in the following silence, the halted air suddenly stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street. Seogwipo was so silent at this hour that you could hear the soft rustling sound as they moved.

“You sound wiser than my brother,” you whispered. “Maybe I should start talking to you instead.”

“Well, you know where to find me,” he whispered back, leaning to your side. He was just a bit too close, his scent taking over you all together with the summer breezes. And he might have noticed it too because he drew a bit back, rushing his fingers through his hair as his gaze focused on the skyline once again. You did the same.

“But it can be a dangerous thing — to get me,” you replied. “I can become really dependent.”

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it had been was forgotten once he had turned to you. Although the world had turned dim with the night, whatever remnant light now raced towards you — the rose and gold of the stars and street lights softly painting your skin. And when you looked back at him, Jake finally understood what a professor once had said, beauty was rarely soft or consolatory, it was quite alarming. He could feel his pulse jumping at his neck, the bare image of you stirring something inside of him.

“Should we go down?” Jake asked then. “I have to take you to the market before I open the shop and I don’t even know what time it is.”

But he was already slipping through the roof tiles, taking the first step down the ladder before you had even replied.

You carefully followed him, edging your way onto the roof, but the moment you looked down, you felt your heart contracting, shivers scattering through the line of your spine.

“Jake?” you called, your voice sounding quieter than you intended to.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I said I was a bit afraid of heights?” you asked, but he didn’t reply, his eyebrows furrowing as he peered at you. “I don’t mind being in a high place, but I can’t know how high it is.”

“You can’t look down?”

“It makes me vertiginous,” you admitted.

“Alright,” Jake said. “Let’s do it like this — can you sit on the edge of the roof and put your feet on the ladder?”

You nodded, heart thumping in your chest as you carefully shifted your weight and did as he said, finding the first step of the ladder with the sole of your shoes. Either the night had turned colder or your senses had turned very accurately due to nervousness, you felt Jake retreating the few steps he had taken down, and lingering closer to you, his whole body as warm as he sounded when he finally spoke again.

“Give me your hands,” he asked. “You can keep your eyes straight at the horizon or close them, I got you — Just don’t look down.”

You extended your hands at him, and he took it, his fingers curling around yours as he guided you down.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?” you asked suddenly, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes and check how he was doing it.

“Just a few more steps, baby,” he said, immediately making both of you stop, the endearing word whistling through the space between both of you. It’s not like you thought he meant it to be endearing. Your whole family called you baby, from your grandparents to your parents and brother — and even their friends. Probably whenever Jake had heard someone speaking about you the word simply came by, but hearing it in his voice felt different, a flush of warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

“I am sorry,” he hushed.

“It’s alright,” you said. “I guess Jay called me baby too much around you.”

“Yes,” he said, the confirmation coming as a tight exhale. “It happened so commonly that when he first said your name I had to ask who he was talking about and he managed to feel offended.”

You laughed at it, softly, and his mouth quivered in response.

“Just a few more steps,” he repeated then. And with the help of Jake’s steady guidance, you managed to make it down from the roof.

Jeonchae was already waiting at the door. You tried to not feel offended when the kitten once again chose Jake, following him through the house and only stopping when Jake did too.

“Good night, baby,” Jake said, reaching for his door’s knob. He seemed to want to say something more, but stopped himself, slightly shaking his head before he slipped into his room.

He wasn’t quite certain what came first — the thought of it being natural or the feeling of it being natural. But when he lay himself onto his bed, quickly being followed by Jeonchae, he couldn’t remember how his nights had been any other way.

You woke up to the soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of toast browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you.

Morning light flooded through the opened windows of the bedroom, the brightness of it catching you unguarded and making you blink a few times before you managed to roll through the bed, trying to catch what Jake was doing, but the gap in the door was small, a bare sliver that all you could see was his head tilted to the stove in concentration and his shoulders moving, the thin material almost giving you the outline of everything — you abruptly stood up, padding barefoot to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said, promptly extending you a mug. You wrapped your hands around the steaming cup, inhaling the bittersweet scent of coffee and vanilla.

“So you aren’t very fond of cooking dinner, but like breakfast?” you asked.

“I guess we all have one favorite meal.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you agreed. “But if I prefer baking what does it makes me?”

“A tea-time person, definitely,” he said. “Maybe you should meet Mrs. Choi, she has a bakery down the street-”

“An old lady? Not even one meter and a half? Gray hair and a really fierce accent?”

“I see that you already have met her.”

“She was sitting by her bakery door when I arrived,” you said. “Asked if I needed help, and made her grandson walk me here.”

“She made Euntaek walk you through one hundred and something meters?”

“Very fiercely, actually, but perhaps it was just her accent,” you admitted, quickly stealing a smile from him. It had been so quick — if your heart hadn’t keened to the sight of it you would think it had been an imagined moment.

“I thought about going to the market after breakfast,” he said. “Get the things you need, I genuinely only have eggs, three packs of lamen, and bread.”

“Well, you at least have something aside from lamen.”

“Don’t get too proud. Beomseok — a grandpa who lives at the end of the street sells eggs, and the bread is from Mrs. Choi’s bakery-”

“I am surely not proud,” you said, but despite the harsh choice of words, they carried no venom and Jake allowed himself to playfully pout at you. There was something adorable about his expression — almost puppyish, and you had to control yourself to not reach for him, ruffling your fingers through his locks and discovering if they were as soft as they looked.

“Don’t be so mean to me.”

┈

Euntaek had told you — more like warned you about the absence of a car in the midst of Jake’s possessions, always having to ask for the old Beomseok’s pickup. So when Jake told you he was going to wait outside, you had expected to step out to the view of a pickup — although you didn’t know what Beomseok looked like, much less his pickup. Or Jake simply standing there ready to walk you to the market, but not for a single second, you had expected to see him leaning on a motorcycle cruiser with two helmets in his hands.

The thing shone beneath the summer sun, all black, metallic, and nothing like Jake.

You had this odd conviction that often people matched their vehicles. Jongseong’s black Mercedes was made for him, just like your mother’s silver Audi was made for her, but where Jake was soft his motorcycle was hazardous. And you weren’t sure if it was conflicting or if you had just encountered a new side of him.

“No,” you said.

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his hand halting in the middle of the motion of extending you one of the helmets.

“Can’t we go walking or something?” you asked.

“Why?” he asked back.

“Jay also has a motorcycle license, and mom made me promise I wouldn’t ride with him.”

“You promise you wouldn’t ride with Jay — I am not Jay,” he said, which was silly, and he knew it, but you seemed to think it was funny, and it very much felt like a victory. “C’mon, it’s safe.”

“As life?” you asked.

Jake was trying to look unamused, but it was clear by the way the corners of his mouth twisted that he was fighting a smile as he looked through the street, taking in the path you had already walked. He watched the whole path from Mrs. Choi’s tiny bakery to his own shop before he moved ahead, the shops and houses you still didn’t know as if he was looking for something.

Bees hummed over by the bushes at the other side of the street.

It was so impossibly summer.

“Let’s do it like this: you are scratching the first thing on the list of things you have never done before,” Jake said, hurling a leg over the motorcycle. “Beomseok’s pickup isn’t here, so he is probably using it. Next time we go to the market I promise you we will ask for his pickup, but for today it’s our only option.”

“C’mon, baby. I got you,” he said, tentatively extending you the helmet once again. And there it was. Baby. The word being familiar and unknown. Soft and overwhelming. It shaped through Jake’s mouth as easily as it did on the night previously. And perhaps because of the lack of surprise, perhaps because of the new insight the daylight brought, but you finally got it. Jake didn’t call you with the fondness your parents did, nor with fierce overprotection Jongseong did. He took your nickname and made it all his. Teasingly as it was overprotective, careful as it was wild. And you felt something moving inside of you.

You stepped forward, taking the helmet and hurling your leg at the motorcycle by the time a breath should be taken.

Jake put on his helmet too, looking over his shoulder. He was ready to say something to you, but whatever it had been, slid and slipped as he felt you resting your head at his back, the side of your helmet pressed against his jacket as your hands slipped through his waist, finding the shirt beneath his denim and twisting the thin material of it until your knuckles turned white. Jake spread his palms above yours, warm and reassuring, summer always stuck in his skin.

“I got you,” he repeated, a little more breathless. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And then, there was just the air past your ears, the roam of the motorcycle and Jake.

┈

Jake’s neighborhood had only one market.

It was a small and unassuming building tucked away on a noncommercial street. The owner even seemed to live by the second floor as a few clothes hung on a line by the terrace, the white pieces fluttering against the blue sky and spreading a scent of flowery softening through the morning breeze. There was no parking lot, the door opened right on the sidewalk — not that it seemed to be necessary. The establishment was completely empty aside from the cashier, a girl not much younger than you and with such a bored expression that gave you the assurance that she certainly wasn’t spending her summer morning there by option.

She didn’t even stray her attention from her phone as you both stepped in, the faint din of the latest summer hit coming from her earphones being the only sound mixing with the whir of the freezers.

Jake promptly took the shopping cart at the side of the doors. And there was something so domestic about the whole thing — so intimate on the way he pushed the shopping cart around the aisles, you by his side, elbows brushing, and hands tucking on each other whenever you wanted to stop because it was easier like this. It made your chest ache and suddenly it felt unkind to think of Jake just as your brother’s best friend — all the acknowledgment of him being given by a third part, so you started an ask game. It was simple, this or that questions that weren’t even that deep, but Jake tilted his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about it every time. And when he started to ask them back, you smiled at him, cheeks a bit warmer because it was less that he was just being polite and more like he wanted to know you too.

You turned to the final aisle, being greeted by a dozen candies and snacks, boxes and packages in an aggressive assembly of colors and almost mockingly being in their majority from America.

“Jake?” you called. “Where — where did you live when you went to the United States?”

“Ventura,” he said.

“California?” you asked, and he nodded at you. “What was it like?”

“Similar to Jeju, actually, greenish hills, and blue seas. There aren’t many high buildings, and everything had been painted in white as if there is some type of regulation,” he told you. “Yet it never felt like home. I was so lonely there, sometimes I think that city broke my heart.”

“I am sorry that it has been like this for you.”

“But you know?” he continued. “If someday you feel like going there, I know my way — if you want company.”

“I would love to,” you replied. Jake held your gaze — just for a moment longer, yet it made something inside of you unfurl, and you nearly caught yourself saying something more.

“What are you going to study? In the United States?” he asked then.

“Law,” you said. Jake blinked at you before he decided to move his attention to the shelves, his fingers fumbling through the cereal boxes with a concentration too unpretentious to be unpretentious.

“Is there something else you would want to study? Aside from law?” he asked then. It could have been just a simple question, no different from all the others you had been making and answering. But perhaps because of how he asked it, it very much felt as if Jake had already divined all the nuances of your whole being.

If you were to tell the history of your family, law school was so entangled in it that it was impossible to not mention it. Your father’s mother had been a judge, a rare gem as your own grandfather used to say — although you weren’t sure if it was because she managed to get such a high position in a field women were so rarely seen back in their time, or something else. Your father’s father had a mind of his own, so ingeniously crafted that his university refused to let him go, and made him a teacher where eventually, your father came to study and met your mother, the daughter of two counselors.

Family gatherings had always brought Legal Language — even when it wasn’t necessary to. The word abrogate was more used than deny and you knew — to follow their path was the only way to truly blend in. Jake had understood it, perhaps all too easily, and it made your lips part, surprise stunning you for a moment.

“I never stopped to think about it,” you said, already stepping forward.

You tried to pretend you were not so excited when your eyes caught a familiar cookie on the topmost shelf, extending your hand at it without much success. Your fingers have not even skimmed through the package.

“Jake, could you-” you started, but he was already there, easily ending the few steps you had created within. One of his hands rested on your waist as the other reached for the packages for you.

“How many?” he asked. His voice threaded through your hair, and all of sudden your body became extremely aware of his proximity. Jake was all around you — all inside of you, when you breathed in, everything that came into your lungs was the scent of summer, that odd mix of orange and earth that Jake was.

“Five?”

“What are you going to do with so many cookies?”

“It’s my solace cookies.”

“Solace cookies?” he echoed, and you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smiling. You had heard it, the soft deed turning his voice warmer.

“And about the list? Have you thought about it?” he asked after a moment. “What you haven’t done yet, but want to.”

“Not yet,” you admitted. But it struck you late on — when you arrived back at his address, catching the sight of the pottery pieces on his shop’s shelves through the beveled glasses.

“Pottery,” you said. Jake stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, shopping bags still hanging in his hands, but when you glanced over at him, he was beaming. “I never did pottery.”

“This one is easy to scratch,” he said.

┈

“Is it really fine to just not open the shop like this?” you asked. But Jake didn’t reply. Instead, he walked to a drawer you hadn’t noticed the existence until now, taking out an apron and looping it over his neck.

It was nearing midday and Seogwipo was already alive, locals and tourists strolling through the sun-bathed street at the other side of the beveled glasses. You saw a woman peering inside the shop as her little daughter tugged at her dress skirts, but the door was locked, and a small handmade sign informed the shop was closed.

“I am the owner,” he said. You looked back at Jake, tongue rolling on a retort. But he had already walked to you, looping an apron over your neck and making whatever you had thought of saying slip and slide with the weight of thick material on your shoulders. His breath brushed through your cheeks as he leaned on you — warm and sweet smelling, cream and strawberries from the ice cream you had shared while stocking the food as he took the strings of the apron at your back and brought them to your front, clutching them safely.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked.

“No — no, it’s not.”

“Good,” he said, stepping away again.

You sat in front of a pottery wheel, watching as Jake filled a bowl with water and arranged it on a cart, strolling it to your side. Everything there was so carefully designed and considered that you couldn’t help but think about how this shop had been built with love.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“What would be the easiest?”

“There is no such a thing,” he replied.

“What?”

“As long as you don’t want something that requires a lot of pieces and craving it’s easy.”

“A vase then?” you said. “Very tiny, preferably.”

Jake brought a stool to the other side of the wheel and sat down on it. His knee brushed against yours, a barely there thing that you couldn’t even feel his denim jeans against your bare skin, but maybe because your body was still lingering on the ride back, and the way he had reached for the cookies for you, you felt a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, that heat that seemed to be becoming a frequent feeling around Jake.

The fact that he had pretty hands didn’t help with anything — you hadn’t noticed it until then, artsy hands made for masterpieces, and you weren’t really sure if it made it harder or easier to watch as he pounded the clay into a ball and plopped onto the wheel, but when he looked at you, your body felt perilously close to coming undone.

“Ready?”

“I am not sure,” you said.

“Do you know what’s fun about pottery?” he asked. “You can’t mess this up. If you dislike it and feel like you did something wrong, you just pound it back into a ball and start all over again.”

“Don’t stress too much about it,” he continued. “Just enjoy the process.”

“Alright.”

“Wet your hands, and gently cup the clay.”

“Am I supposed to step on the pedal already?”

“Not yet. Cup it first,” he said. “Thumbs in the middle.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, now you step on the pedal.” You did as he said, allowing the wheel to move beneath the clay, twirling between your cupped hands, almost ticklish.

“Alright. Now use your left hand to give it a slight pressure. Your right is more for balance, to keep it upright.”

“It’s starting to get confusing,” you said.

“Like this,” Jake said, gently placing his hands above yours. He folded you over, clay immediately seeping between your fingers with the pressure and smearing Jake’s hands, filling the air with that earthy scent you had already grown used to.

“You are pressing my right hand,” you said. “Isn’t the one for balance?”

“It’s confusing my brain,” he confessed.

“What? Don’t you teach pottery?”

“Yes, but I never put my hands on people’s stuff, I usually just explain.”

“Are you somehow saying I am the worst student you ever had?” you inquired. You weren’t sure if you had intended to be funny, but suddenly, Jake was laughing, the sound rattling you to the core, and you couldn’t help but stop, watching him.

If you thought Jake’s smiles took over his face, when he laughed, it seemed to resonate throughout every line of his body. He tilted his head downward with the vehemence of it, his eyes closing, but not before you noticed how they were shining, glinting specks in his dark eyes.

And God — Jake wasn’t just pretty, but he was the embodiment of summer, warmth and sunshine always stuck on him, and making him glow. When his shoulders fluttered, it made something within your chest move, and you forced yourself to blink, redirecting your focus to the clay.

“Maybe we should stay on the same side?” you asked then.

Jake stood up, taking his stool and swiftly settling it behind you. His chest pressed against your back as he positioned his hand above yours once again, and your heartbeat rumbled so loudly that you almost didn’t realize he was speaking again. “Left hand to give pressure. Right to keep it upright.”

“Is it the time when I tell you that I hate to feel dirty?” you blurted out.

“You hate it?” Jake asked, letting go of you only to brush his fingers on your cheek, quickly smearing it with clay. You gasped at it, lurching up so fast, you almost tripped over the pottery wheel as you turned to look at him, but he only laughed once again, and instead of protesting, you reached for him too, smearing his jaw.

And that was it, the room was taken by laughter and clay.

The vase was destroyed by the amount of times you both had brushed your hands at it, smearing your palms only to clean it on the other one — if it was the right term, handprints being left on its awake. Jake’s arms were already covered when he finally gave it a break, looking at you and offering the precise moment when the idea stocked him. His smile turned a bit wilder, a bit teasing, and before you could truly understand it, he had closed his fist on the vase, sealing the top of it, but handing a good amount of clay.

You reached for his wrist, but as you tried to prevent him from dirtying you even more, you threw both of you out of balance. You hit the floor first and in a heap, the sound of your bodies collapsing on the concrete floor muffling the curse Jake released.

He braced himself above you, his palms spreading just a few centimeters away from your head as he pushed himself up, but he was too close still. When his lips parted, his breath brushed through your cheeks, the same sweet scent from early on, heating your whole body and riddling you in place.

The warmth light of the summer sun had found its way through the beveled glass of the shop, pouring around Jake in a beautiful and dazzling alchemy. Your fingers were clammy with clay, sticky with a grayish mix, but he didn’t mind it when you reached for him, palm splaying through his neck, fingers sliding to where his t-shirt hung loosely around his neck, if anything his skin shivered where you touched it. And when your thumb pressed onto his jaw slightly angling him to you, he released a breath stronger than before, taking you both out of the haze.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked then.

“No,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, very slowly before he stood up, holding his hand to you and helping standing.

“I am sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure what he was asking sorry for, the destroyed vase, the clay fight, for falling on you, or for the way your body was flaming up, every piece of skin burning with the bare memory of him against you. “We can start over.”

You blinked at him, taking a second longer to look at the vase. It had worn shapeless above the wheel, a good part of it lost in the middle of the fight and its top had been destroyed where Jake’s fist had closen on. it surely had no use aside from a very peculiar ornament, but you once had heard about people wanting to retain moments, turning the immaterial memory into something concrete so they could carry it anywhere and that ruined vase was it — doesn’t matter how many years passed, or where you were, whenever you looked at this ruined vase, it would remind you of Jeju, of golden suns and breezes that smelled like earth, and oranges blossoms at the end of afternoons — it would remind you of Jake.

“I like it that way,” you told him. Jake furrowed your eyebrows at you, but he didn’t say anything, taking a string at the table, cutting it off the wheel.

“We have to let it dry before doing anything,” he said. “By tomorrow or after we can fire it-”

“Wait, so people do not take their pieces home?” you asked.

“They do,” he said. “I mean, they receive it at home. I fire it and send it to them later.”

“Out of Jeju?” you asked, and Jake hummed at you, half focused on putting the vase on a wooden tray and taking it to the far end of the shop, letting it rest closer to the sink.

“It was my grandpa’s idea,” he said. “What better trip souvenir than something you did yourself? that’s what he used to say.”

“He seemed like a nice grandfather.”

“He was,” Jake told you. “I just wish he knew I am continuing it — that I didn’t let my father sell this shop.”

“He knows,” you whispered. “I am sure he knows.”

Jake paused, looking back at you. “Come here.”

You stepped closer to him again, and he took your hand, using a wet towel to clean the clay from your fingers, your wrists, his hands hovering through your skin, but not quite touching it.

“Jake,” you called. You weren’t sure if you wanted to say something more, it had just slipped through. And in the midst of your silence, he looked at you with, the same golden eyes and sun-kissed skin.

“Give me another towel,” you asked, and he quickly obeyed, getting another towel and handing it to you.

You took the towel with a hand, and his chin with the other, gently tilting his head to the side as you cleaned his jaw, and then his neck, taking the evidence of your touch from his skin.

“I am sorry. I think I pushed clay into your ears.” Jake snorted at you, something you always thought to be weird coming out as endearing from him.

“I like having you here, baby.”

“I like being here.”

For the next six days in Seogwipo, you barely did anything yet it felt like everything.

Mornings always started with you and Jeonchae sat on the kitchen counter as Jake hovered over the oven, the greatest variation of toast and eggs you had ever known being prepared. And nights always ended in the opposite way. You prepared dinner as Jake stood within reach, always ready to open cans and cut whatever you asked him.

You had to go to the market more times, but you stopped complaining about the motorcycle around the second time, and when you finally met Beomseok and his pickup, you didn’t think of telling Jake to ask for it — but you have to admit, it might have been because the man seemed pretty convinced that you were Jake’s girlfriend or fiancé or whoever could make him say, “you two should marry early. Living your life peacefully is better than anything else”, and you would rather never encounter him again.

Just the memory of it made your cheeks burn.

Jake taught you how to use the credit card machine, and allowed you to take the payments from the customers. You packed orders and watched as he taught people how to do pottery — never touching their projects, “it was just for his worst student,” he whispered when a woman seemed pretty insistent on trying to make him help.

By Thursday Jake asked you if you wanted to help him glaze a few pieces, and when you told him you were afraid of messing up, he laughed at you.

“It’s transparent glaze, baby,” he said. “I don’t know how you could mess this up.” But you liked using the kiln, being the first one to see how Jake’s pieces had turned out after being fired, and organizing it on the shop’s shelves to be purchased.

Mostly, though, you sat on the long table of the shop, Jake, and an endless thread of stories being your company. He couldn’t stay much still, you quickly noticed, always having to be working on something or using gestures throughout his stories. And you couldn’t help but think how Jake glowed there — the place that sculpted him into the person he was today and something within you broke to think of a time he almost lost it all.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

It was Friday morning, the usual hustle and bustle of customers coming momentarily on hold due to the end of the week, and Jake had taken the opportunity to work on a piece of clay as he tended to do when the movement was low, but this one seemed different from his typical methods. He wasn’t using the wheel, but molding it with his bare fingers and a few tools.

“Sculpting,” he said, turning the piece for you, and only then did you notice it was a cat. Chubby and furry.

“Oh my God, is it Jeonchae?” you asked. “I want it, charge me. I want it once you finish.”

“It will be one thousand won, but for you, I will do half of it,” he said. His gaze dropped to the clay once again, but you let your linger on the dark fringe of his lashes, the curve of his full upper lip.

It was easier to look at him like this.

“Do you want to try?” Jake asked.

“What?”

“Sculpting.”

“No.”

“C’mon baby, I got you,” he said, already scrolling back, creating a space in front of him that he was fast to occupy with another stool.

Your body burned as you walked to him, occupying the space between his legs.

“Jake, I am going to mess Jeonchae up,” you said.

“I will help you,” he said, handing you the small piece, but you were saved by the fluttering sound of crystal and bells clanking against the shop door as it was pushed, Mrs. Choi and Euntaek loudly announcing their entrance.

“Oh, sorry for interrupting. I brought some freshly baked pastries for you two,” Mrs. Choi said.

Jake stood up, cleaning his hands on his apron as he walked to them and accepted the tray Mrs. Choi was handing. The old lady rambled about how she had accidentally baked an extra tray this morning, and Euntaek took the opportunity to come in your direction — quickly bringing Jake’s unattended stool to your side. He barely settled himself in as his fingers reached for you, towing for a stray strand of your hair, and brushing it behind your ear. The touch was like a static shock, a spark of energy where skin met skin.

“You didn’t call,” he said. “Or message.”

Euntaek didn’t sound angry or annoyed. If anything, he sounded bemused. As if he wasn’t used by the fact that he might have been forgotten.

“I am sorry,” you hushed, using your wrists to not only brush any other strands he could come to find but to subtly create a distance within you. He smelled like his cigarettes, burning formaldehyde, and tar — something so different from Jake’s scent that you felt the back of your throat burning.

“I guess I was too subtle in stating that I want to go out with you,” he said. “I have a gig tomorrow night, it’s in a bar close to Jeju City — you should come. I can drive us there. We enjoy the rest of the gigs, and then go to one of my bandmates’ place for an after-party.”

“You have a band?” you asked.

“Yeah, rock, but we play a few pop songs once in a while depending on the place,” he said. “So what do you think?”

“I-” you started, looking back at where Jake and Mrs. Choi stood. Although the old lady was still talking, Jake’s eyes were on you as if he had been looking at you the whole time and you suddenly forgot what you were going to say, being mercifully saved by Mrs. Choi calling for her grandson.

She stepped out of the shop, gesturing for Euntaek to hurry up because they had left the bakery unattended. He stood up, his smirk unfaltering.

“Text me your reply, or just shout out the door, I will surely hear from down the street,” he said then, winking at you before he followed his grandmother outside.

Jake closed the door, leaving the tray on an empty wheel before he came back to you, sitting on his stool and tilting his head at you.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You seem bothered.”

“Euntaek just asked me out,” you confessed.

You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he rubbed his finger against his thumb, brushing his digits as if feeling the remnant of the clay there a moment later.

“Do you want to go out with him?” Jake asked, and he was suddenly back at the university dorms, catching the echoes of your conversation with Jongseong through the phone — listening to how you always came up to your brother for advice, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were looking up at him right now as a brother.

He was abruptly tired.

“I don’t think so,” you admit. “I just thought — I don’t know, I have never been to a bar nor have been asked to go to a gig. It seems nice, but I don’t know — Euntaek is a bit-”

“Peculiar?”

“Yeah, if we are kindly speaking.”

You turned, your face catching the afternoon light coming from the beveled glasses and Jake noticed a sliver of clay on your cheek, right where you tended to blush. He reached for it, softly caressing his thumb across the dirty skin.

“Clay,” he explained, turning the pad so you could see the remains when you looked back at him. “About Euntaek — it worries me a bit because well — it’s Euntaek, but in any case, you can just call me and I will pick you up. So you should think about it. If it is something that you want to do, you should go.”

And you thought about it.

You thought about it through the rest of the afternoon when a few customers came in. You thought about it when you prepared dinner for the two of you and spared a few pieces of meat to treat Jeonchae. You thought about it as you washed the dishes, appreciating the handmade pieces before you handed it to Jake to dry.

“I think I will go,” you told him. “It’s something I have never done. In the worst cases, I just scratch it and put it on my never doing again list, right?”

“You have a never doing again list?” he asked.

“Yes, and I intended to put riding a motorcycle, but unfortunately I had no choice on this.”

Jake laughed loudly. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it is,” you confirmed. “My hands are all sweaty every time we use that thing and let me tell you — my hands never get sweaty,”

“But I really enjoy doing the shop’s things.”

Jake tilted his head to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. The softest echo of his laughter. “I am glad to know.”

Sunsets at Jeju were often fairly things — hues of orange and pink painting across the skies as you had never seen before. And although Jake told you that mid-July was supposed to bring the rainy season to the island, Saturday hadn’t been any different. Golden strips of light bathed over the living room as you made your way to Jake’s bedroom.

His door was ajar, but he didn’t seem to notice your approach, still focused on the canvas in front of him. And for a moment, you just watched him, how his head had been tilted in concentration, and how his shoulders moved beneath the thin material of his shirt as he worked.

You knocked as gently as you could, trying your best to not open the door any further.

“Come in,” Jake said.

You pushed the door open, quickly revealing the great mess his room was. None of the bedrooms were really big, but Jake managed to make it even smaller with the amount of canvas and stacks propped against the walls. Everywhere — everywhere, there was something that showed he was an artist. Notebook stuffed by the paint on the papers, stray brushes, and paint. Jake was sitting on the floor, curved upon his newest project, but he straightened his back against what he supposedly called bed when you stepped in, the two mattresses sitting in the middle of the room and guarded by Jeonchae. You breathed a little harder, inhaling the smell of the paint he was using, and Jake — just Jake.

“I am about to leave,” you said, but your words came so small, you doubted Jake had heard you in the middle of the ruffle sounds that came when he stood up, stepping near to his desk and taking a piece of cloth to clean his fingers.

“Is he coming to pick you up?” he asked then, still focused on his hands.

Jake had been in a strange mood all day, but you assumed it was just the heat, settling heavily on the day and spreading with the certainty that summer had arrived. Also, there hadn’t been many customers today which made him decide to close the shop when you said you were going to go to the house and get ready, but there was something there, lurking just behind his actions, some private distress that you couldn’t figure out what was.

“Yes, Euntaek will be here in a few,” you said, but Jake only hummed at you.

You took a step closer to him then, extending him a package of your favorite cookies.

Jake immediately extended his hand at you, halting only when he noticed what you were giving him. “Are you trying to console me?” he asked.

“You have been in a weird mood the whole day, so yeah,” you said, and when he finally looked at you, he was smiling. It wasn’t even half of the smiles Jake tended to give you, barely curling the corner of his lips, but it was enough to make you feel your heart keening, and in the heat of the moment, you turned away, already walking out of his room and into the living room.

You were surprised when you heard him following you, calling you from across the living room. Not baby, but your name — your given name bending on his voice and rolling through the space between both of you. It was the first time he had ever said your name, and it caught you off guard. Not only because of the novelty of it but because no one ever said your name as Jake did — so slow and deliberate as if he wanted to taste the sound of each letter rolling through his tongue, and making you gasp.

“Wait,” he said. “Just — just call me if you feel uncomfortable with anything, alright?”

“Actually call me even if you don’t — even if you simply want to leave. I can go pick you up.”

“I will,” you said. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gave a slight nod in your direction, running his fingers through his hair as if to fix it. But his efforts only seemed to further dishevel his hair, stray strands falling across his forehead, and causing you to lift your hand, the tip of your fingers brushing them back into place before you had even thought this through. His hair was soft beneath your touch, but still somehow different from what you had expected. It was real — much real.

Jake leaned on your touch, coming closer and making his hair fall all over again, but you didn’t mind brushing them again, this time tucking it behind his pinkish ears, and it too — was very much real.

“Do you want me to walk you to his car?” he whispered.

“No, it’s alright,” you whispered back.

Just as you turned to leave, your phone rang, signaling Euntaek’s arrival. You took a deep breath and opened the door, making your way through the front garden and the small path between the shop and the stone wall, into the street, your head bumbling with the deconstruction of everything that had just happened.

Euntaek was leaning on his Jeep, a smirk already on his lips.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

┈

The bar was already full by the time you arrived, but you suspected it always was. Saturday night or any other night. It seemed to be one of those establishments downtown that locals relished because their reputation was tarnished by the fact it wasn’t on the tourist pages, or if it was — it wasn’t as a recommendation.

People milled around on the curb, chatting with their strong Jeju accent as they waited for friends.

Euntaek extended his hand in your direction as you walked past them. It took you a few seconds to notice he was offering it to you, and a few more seconds for you to accept it, allowing him to lead you through the entrance and into the bar.

The rest of his band had already arrived, spread through a rounded table together with a few women in the center of the dimmed-lit place. Euntaek exchanged fist bumps with them, telling you names and statuses you couldn’t truly hear beneath the furor of the place but you pretended that you did. And only by the time he pulled a chair for you, did he let you go, reaching for the breast pocket of his jacket instead as he sat by your side. He took the cigarette box, lighting it up with no ado.

“It’s bad for your health,” you blurted out, quickly causing a laugh to stir from him, the sound coming from the deepest of his body. He took the cigarette away from his mouth, considering the small thing between his fingers before he pressed it against the table. The flame extinguished immediately, but the smell remained.

“Just because I am with you tonight, baby,” he replied, immediately making you stop at the nickname. “I have been meaning to ask, I noticed it was how your brother calls you-”

“My brother?” You cut him out. Although Jongseong did call you baby you couldn’t imagine how Euntaek would come to know.

The crowd cheered as a band took the stage, and Euntael whistled as if you hadn’t said anything, but as the vocalist introduced the band, he turned to you again. “Jake’s your brother, isn’t he?” he asked.

“No,” you said. Maybe it had been the speed at which you denied it, maybe it had been the vexation but you could swear the smirk on his face faltered, dropped by an unsure smile.

“So what are you? Grandma seemed pretty convinced that you are siblings.”

“We-” you started, not sure what should be the rest of the phrase. Jake was still your brother’s best friend and perhaps he would always be, but you had already scratched this connection after the market, knowing it was too unkind to keep your relationship through a third part. You had shared every breakfast ever since you arrived, spent every afternoon together and then dinner, but the word friend didn’t come as easily as you expected it would though you didn’t want to admit the reason yet.

You were saved by one of Euntaek’s bandmates. The drummer, you thought, or the guitarist — you didn’t really hear when he was introduced. He said something in Euntaek’s ear, immediately making him stand up.

“Take care of her for me, Arin,” he yelled to the woman sitting in front of you, but before any of you could reply, he was already following his bandmate through the place, quickly disappearing through the crowd.

“So you are the Seoul girl?” Arin asked. You furrowed your eyebrows at her. You didn’t think she meant to be ambiguous but it made you halt — perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t. It was quite difficult to tell as you imagined Seoul had a lot of girls, and a lot of girls who were wandering through Jeju in Summer, but by the time you thought about saying it, the question had been hanging in for too long, and Arin had already changed her interest. “I am going to take a drink, do you want something?”

“I would appreciate it.”

“What do you drink?” she asked then, and once again you stopped — not sure of what people usually drank in those types of places. She raised an eyebrow at you then, taking you in.

“Never mind, I got you,” she said, already standing up and making her way to the bar at the farthest end of the room dimly lit, with an array of colorful bottles lining the shelves, and the bartender gave her a knowing nod as she approached.

She returned with a shot, a small glass filled with an unfamiliar liquid. You noticed something small and white dissolving at the bottom of the cup as she placed it in front of you. “It’s a shot, drink it in one go,” she instructed.

You did as she said, at first it tasted sweet, with a faint burn of tequila, but then the world began to distort a little at its edges, and by the time you pulled the cup back into the table, everything had already gone softer.

The crowd erupted in cheers as another song picked up, but you couldn’t come to raise your head at it.

It’s not like you have never had alcohol in your whole life — you did. Sipping your mother’s martinis before it was even legal. Taking Jongseong’s champagne crystal flutes at parties and pretending it was ginger ale until your legal age came and you could order the thing yourself from the counter bars. You weren’t a stranger to the taste of alcohol on your tongue. So you couldn’t understand why your senses seemed so slow and the world so blunted around you. Your mind seemed too full, too empty, too askew. The bar suddenly became too warm and you just wanted a gust of fresh air.

You were almost at the door when someone called for you, but you couldn’t quite focus on the word. In the middle of the bar, the colorful lights flickered and faded.

“Are you alright?” Euntaek asked, taking your wrist and pulling you closer to his warmth. He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t think he meant to be rough. You were more stuck on the fact you hadn’t noticed when he approached you.

“I think- I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you said.

“Use the one on the second floor, third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

For several minutes, nothing happened as you stood inside the bathroom. You tried to breathe, but you barely could feel the air coming into your lungs. The world kept going blundered as you sat on the pinkish tiles, pulling your knees to your chest.

Then you reached for your phone.

┈

Jake woke up in the middle of the night to find the living room lights still on and his phone ringing.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, Jeonchae nestled in his arms as he waited — although he wouldn’t admit this last part willingly. He fumbled through the cushions, quickly finding the device as an unsaved number shone for him. The ID came from Seoul, and he didn’t need to think much about it to know it was you.

“Baby?” he tried.

“Jake,” you whispered. Your voice came small from the other end of the line, not quite like yourself. The muted sound of cheers in the background almost swallowed your following words. “I am scared.”

And it was enough to make him wobble, his heart tumbling inside of him, each wall collapsing individually, and crushing the one before it.

“Baby, send me your location, can you? I will be there in a few, alright?” he asked, and you hummed, hanging up so softly he took a few seconds to notice that you did, but he was already slipping through his front door, running through the street until he reached the small house Beomseok resided in. He jumped the stairs to the old man’s door, slamming it a dozen times, and then a dozen more before he could properly think about it.

“Jaeyun, son,” Beomseok exhaled as he opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“I am sorry,” Jake said. “But I need your pickup. Baby- I mean-”

“Your girlfriend?” the old man asked.

“Yes, my- my girl-” Jake mumbled, and he was thankful that the man didn’t inquire anything more before he reached for his entrance table, taking in the vehicle’s key and extending it to Jake.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, it’s alright. Thank you.”

┈

This part of the island seemed to live in a completely different reality. As the rest of Jeju fell on a sleeping slumber, here it was still blaring with life. The curb outside the bar had been taken by a consistent line of cars, streetlights reflecting on their hoods and leaving not a single space for Jake.

He stopped in the middle of the street — pretty much sure it was the third infraction of the night, hauling the parking brake, and already throwing the door open.

Jake hadn’t been inside somewhere so noisy ever since university, and as he passed the doors, it immediately struck him — the smell of alcohol and damp skin, the smoky air that only could mean cigarettes and things that were illegal in Korea.

“Jake man!” Euntaek’s voice had turned sticky with alcohol, a pinch lower that Jake almost thought it was a stranger, but he would’ve recognized his silhouette anywhere, tall, lanky, and unnervingly annoying. “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s baby?” Jake asked, but Euntaek only blinked at him. The alcohol was making him take too long to comprehend anything, and Jake had to control himself to not reach for him, shaking his head in order to bring it back to its senses.

As Jake spent the last thirty minutes exceeding all the speed limits for you, Euntaek had been drinking his night out.

“She went to the bathroom, third door on the second floor-”

Jake stepped past him.

“What’s that about?” Euntaek asked, rushing behind, but Jake only ignored him, reaching for the bathroom door and trying the knob. It was locked.

“Baby?” he shouted. “It’s me, Jake.”

You reached for the lock, not really moving from your position on the floor and Jake was already opening the door, sighing in relief just at the sight of you.

“Shit. It was Arin, wasn’t it?” Euntaek asked. He was right behind Jake, and the moment he tried to step past to reach for you, Jake was already turning around, physically blocking him. Jake pulled a hand at his shoulders, pushing him against the wall. It was a miracle that you could hear them beneath the furor of the place.

“Your revels and the headaches you give your grandma at the end of the day are not my problem, but if you try involving baby in the middle of this ever again, it will be,” Jake coerced. “And I won’t make it pretty.”

“If you aren’t comprehending this,” he continued. “I will be clearer: from now on you are going to stay away from her.”

A breath shuddered out of you, almost sounding like Jake’s name, a small call that you weren’t sure if you intended to release, but he turned to you then, giving you a glimpse of what Euntaek had been seeing this whole time, and just then. There was something more frightening about him than the whole situation itself. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched. You didn’t blame Euntaek for leaving so fast, but as Jake took the single step between both of you, crouching by your side on the bathroom floor it was all gone.

Jake was all soft again.

“Baby,” he called, just loud enough to be heard. He was mad, and you knew it, but he didn’t allow it to take over his tone — not when it was directed at you.

“I am scared,” you said. “We can’t go to the hospital, I don’t know what it is, but I am sure it is illegal in Korea and-”

You stopped, trying to regroup your intoxicated thoughts.

“Baby,” Jake repeated, almost as gently as how he reached for you, fingers curling around yours, holding your trembling hand and bringing it to his cheek. “It’s alright, I will take care of you.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake just smiled at you, that one broad and reassuring smile.

“It’s fine, let’s go home.”

Jake had said this exact phrase a good amount of times already; as his fingers reached for the keys of his motorcycle at the exit of the market; at the exit of a pet shop you went to buy Jeonchae’s food on Wednesday; as he dropped the shop’s apron after a particularly busy day. But there was something on the way he had said it tonight, so softly and full of protection that home didn’t sound like a synonym for a house — for the place where you both have been sharing through the past week, but somewhere else, somewhere greater, and it ached within you.

You were safe now.

You hadn’t really thought of crying — perhaps the torment of the whole situation stole you from the most common reaction, but the moment Jake kissed the inside of your wrist, it was as if he had broken that thin thread you had kept to prevent yourself from breaking and tears flowed through your eyes as if they would never stop.

Jake didn’t need to ask you to put your arms around his neck, you did it as soon as he curled his arms on you, one on your back, as the other took the back of your legs, carefully lifting you. The full weight of your body in his arms amazed him, you had been taking so much space in his world, that it was hard to believe he could simply hold you like this.

When he reached the main floor and the flickering lights pummeled you once again, you pushed your face further into his neck. The scent of clay was gone, replaced by the faint smell of the flowery soap bar he kept in the bathroom and oranges, but it still lingered in with such familiarity in your lungs that you couldn’t help but close your eyes, breathing him in again.

Jake carried you out of the bar and into the warm summer night. The stars hung so low in the sky that you couldn’t really tell if it was too late or too early as he gently placed you in the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup and bent down, shrugging his jacket off to drape around your body.

“Baby,” Jake called, but you were already curling yourself on his jacket, closing your eyes to relish the warmth of it. “Babe, please, I need you to look at me — just for a second, alright?” he asked, cupping your face. His fingers spread against your wet cheeks, angling you to him. And when you looked at him, your pupils were a bit wider, dazed, and he shuddered out a breath at the view, his heart thrumming against his ears. He was terrified now that he could think about it. “Has anyone tried to touch you?”

“No, I had been in the bathroom the whole time.”

“Alright then,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the night. He closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side, every movement meticulous and deliberate, as if afraid the world might shatter around him if he wasn’t careful enough.

The city slid beyond the pickup’s window as Jake drove away, but you didn’t turn your head — didn’t watch how the moon streamed through the fields of green tea, rather you watched as the street lights caught on Jake’s hair, turning the dark strands into copper.

“Jake,” you called. He looked at you, trying to spare his attention between the road and you, so you reached for him on the gearshift, resting your palm above the back of his hands. Almost immediately his hand shifted beneath you, turning so he could hold you back.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You hummed. “Are you?”

Jake chuckled at that, squeezing your hand. “I am fine — sorry about my reaction with Euntaek. Jay always said I had anger issues.”

“Anger issues?” you echoed.

“Yeah. But never on that level, honestly. I am glad he didn’t take it to the core because I wouldn’t know what to do afterward,” he confessed. “I had never been in a fight.”

Maybe it had been the alcohol still in your system, mixed up with the drug, or maybe it simply had been Jake, and his presence always making everything easier for you, but you laughed then, and Jake smiled in response, not straying his eyes away from the road. He looked more like himself than he had done the whole day, and you silently vowed to do whatever it took to keep him like that.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you I would,” Jake replied, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand in a gentle, reassuring motion.

┈

As Jake gently sat you on the bed, a faint light filtered through the curtains of his grandparent’s old room. It was just enough for you to see him bending down in front of you, his hands hovering over your knees before he decided to rest them on his own thighs.

“I feel disgusting,” you blurted out.

“You are not disgusting,” he said. Even in the dark, you could sense the smile on him, the softest of it reaching you before the view itself. Jake reached for you then, a single hand already taking a strand of your hair and brushing it away from your cheeks. “I swear, there’s nothing disgusting about you.”

“I am smelling, the sheets—”

“We can wash it in the morning.”

“I-” you started, thoughts still a bit too slow. The summer heat, leftover makeup, and the hours in the bar’s bathroom were fetching your dress, sticking to your skin, and making you feel awful now that you could truly care. “I need a shower.”

He exhaled then, but he didn’t disagree, instead, he asked, “Can you gather your things? I will turn the shower on.”

You nodded, feeling a bit relieved at his calmness.

Jake disappeared to the bathroom. Soon enough the sound of the water cascading down filled the silent house, and by the time you stepped into the white-tiled room, the steam was already rising. The stool where Jake kept his stuff vacant beneath the water.

“If you feel dizzy, sit down,” he instructed. “I will be outside if you need anything.”

You barely could nod again before he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you to strip and step into the shower by yourself. The warmth of the water enveloped you, and suddenly the whole incident seemed an age ago. Another you had gone to the bar with Euntaek, stood among strangers, and beneath flickering lights — now there was only the streaming water and the flowery scent of Jake’s soap bar — Jake.

The bathroom felt smaller at the thought of him, brighter, and you doubt it was the drugs still acting in your system, but you sat on the stool anyway, staring at the white titles with the sudden realization. Jake had done so much for you, more than you had ever asked for, and the thought of being a burden weighed heavily on your heart.

It didn’t help that when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the floor, head tilted to the ceiling as a bottle of water and a package of your favorite cookies were balanced on his lap.

He stood up, offering you the cookies first. Your hand hung above the extended package for a heartbeat more.

“I gave you the last package,” you remembered.

“I felt already solaced enough when you gave them to me,” he said. “Now I think you need-”

You opened it, shoving a cookie into your mouth, entirely, and Jake followed suit, taking one from your hands and shoving it into his mouth too. You laughed at him, unconsciously.

It was so easy to be with him.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he said then, holding his hand out to you. Sugar stained the tip of his fingers. But you took it anyway, letting him lead you back to your bedroom.

As you climbed onto the bed, Jake hovered close to you, making sure you were comfortable as he helped you tuck yourself in with the blankets.

“I will stay here for a bit, alright?” he asked. “We don’t know what they gave you, so let’s be attentive to fevers or any reaction.”

You looked up at him. The bedroom had turned dimmer — the outside suddenly vivid in comparison to the dark room once again and the street lamps filtered through the curtains, bathing Jake in such a soft light.

In the midst of your silence, he sat on the floor, back promptly against the mattress, but then you reached for him, tucking at the lines of his t-shirt.

“Stay — sleep here, on the bed.” It took him a long time to make sense of your request, and when he did, the surprise kept him from moving for another moment before finally, he climbed to the bed, lying above the blankets.

Neither of you moved, not a single twitch. But then you reached to the front of his t-shirt, and he shifted onto the blankets, maneuvering closer to you. The collar of his t-shirt hung loose, showing his silver necklace, and allowing it to glint beneath the dimmed light. The tip of your fingers grazed through the skin-warmed metal before you could even notice, and once again you caught yourself wondering if you had gone too far — your body reacting to Jake before your own mind did, but before you could retreat, he reached for you too, his fingers curling around your wrist, thumb brushing against your pulse and causing you to close your eyes.

“I am never again going to a bar.”

“Traumatic first time, right?” Jake asked, and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know, he was smiling.

“Yes.”

“I will take you another day,” he resolved. “Let’s forget this first time, pretend it didn’t happen. I will give you a better memory.”

“I am sorry for everything,” you said. “It’s a rotten work, right? Taking care of me?”

“No, it’s not — I mean, not to me, not if it’s you,” he replied. You opened your eyes, encountering his gaze. His eyes were bright in a way that made your skin sprinkle beneath the night.

“Have some sleep, baby,” he whispered then. “I am here.”

You were not sure for how long you both stayed like this, but you had fallen asleep before he did. His light and watchful breaths lulling you to sleep, and stealing you from the moment he brought you closer, to him, your pulse steady against his lips.

“Baby?” Jake called. “Is it ok if I fall in love with you? You do not see me as a brother, do you?”

When you woke up, the house had been so silent that you had almost expected Jake to have already gone to the shop, starting his day ahead of you. But as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, you found him there, head resting against the dining table, lashes against his cheeks.

The year had just reached that point where the afternoons had an impossible glow — an idealist painter taking the lead of the world and suddenly turning everything into a vivid canvas. The curtains moved in the afternoon breeze, allowing the beams of light to come and go on Jake’s sleeping form, catching on his skin and picking strands of his hair, turning everything into gold.

You took the chair by his side and rested your head on the table just like him. After a moment, you carefully stroke a few golden strands of his hair, moving it away from his forehead, and drawing it to the back of his ear as you had done on the night previous. Jake opened his eyes then, a bit confused and fuzzy with sleep, but the sunlight caught them too, melting the darkness into gold, and you felt your breath catching in your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was going to make breakfast but I fell asleep.”

“I am the one sorry for making you stay up last night.”

“Yes, you are the one to blame,” he laughed, but he didn’t raise his head from the table — instead, he reached for you too, tracing your features with the delicacy you imagined artists would devote only to their masterpieces. The wind rushed through an ajar window. And for a moment, there was no time, just one breath after another, and Jake’s fingers on you.

Years from now, someone was going to ask you when you fell in love with Jake. You wouldn’t know how to reply. You never knew the exact moment when your heart decided that the next beat would be for Jake, you only knew that it had been built for you pretty much as the summer came to Seogwipo, the flower withering almost imperceptibly day by day, leaving only the greenish tone of the warm season until it was inevitable and you wondered how haven’t you noticed the small changes before. And then, you would remember this moment. Gleaming eyes on you, artsy fingers trailing through your hair. Because it was the moment you realized it already happened — you were in love with Jake.

You turned the thought in your mind, over and over again, expecting that every time you uttered that small secret the truth would feel smaller, something you could hold in the palm of your hand and hide within your pockets without anyone noticing. But instead, the more you turned it over the more it seemed to take over you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Nauseous or something? I was searching for a hangover soup recipe, although I am not sure hangover is the exact term after being drugged.”

“I am fine, just a bit tired,” you said.

“That makes two of us.”

Somewhere over the surface of the table, Jake’s phone started to ring, a soft tune you are almost sure the system named it after a tree, the rustling sound of when the breeze hit it, and maybe that’s why none of you moved, not even when it went to the voicemail and started all over again.

“Maybe you should pick up,” you said, Jake hummed at you. He definitely should — no one would casually call him on a Sunday afternoon if not in an emergency, but despite the distress about it, he took a little longer to let you go, lingering on the warmth of your skin for a moment more before he reached for his phone.

You watched as his eyes widened a bit, a slightly curse forming on his lips as he straightened himself on his chair, but before you could ask who it was, the front door was thrown open.

You knew it wasn’t a real thing, but you could swear your heart quelled, a tiny gap forming where a heartbeat should be at the view of your brother.

“If it isn’t the two people I have been looking for,” Jongseong said. A smile played on his lips, but you quickly realized it was those types of smiles people gave in the middle of annoyance and not because they actually thought the situation was funny.

Your brother pressed something on his phone, immediately making Jake’s phone start ringing once again. “And look, their phones do work.”

┈

It was a dream — it had to be. Perhaps you were still drugged in the bathroom of that dirty bar close to Jeju City because there was no way your brother was standing here. Jongseong belonged to your life in Seoul, your parents’ minimalist house, and the Michelin restaurants. He belonged to the fancy attorney’s gathering and champagne on crystal flutes. The mornings filled with pollution clouds, and the nights buzzed with the traffic on the avenues, but not to Jeju — not to your Seogwipo. It was silly and you knew it. Your brother had known this place before you — he had come here before you, some week after their graduation to help Jake move in, but you suddenly felt overprotective over the place, as if he was going to take it away from you — or take you away from it, actually.

There were no greetings, no hugs or smiles. There was just your brother walking to the kitchen, and standing as tall as he could in front of you and Jake.

The house was starting to get hot and drowsy by the setting afternoon, the July sun streaming directly at the dining table and onto your back as you watched your brother sigh and then sigh some more.

You didn’t need to tell him about the landlord, the summer storm, Jeonchae, the half deposit. Jongseong had discovered everything through the landlord himself when he went there early this morning.

“He was really unpleasant,” Jongseong said. “But have you ever thought about calling me? Fuck, baby. I wouldn’t tell mom and dad if you didn’t want me to, but I could have helped you.”

“How did you even come here?” Your brother asked.

You weren’t really sure about what he intended to get with his question, but still, you replied, your voice coming smaller than you remembered it ever being. “I took the bus,” you told him.

“Do you even know how to take a bus?” he asked then. It had been just words — unconcrete things that shouldn’t weigh anything but it did and the heaviness of it made something within your chest ache. Honestly, you didn’t know how to take a bus. Your parents had made sure you never needed to use public transportation, always being free in the morning to take you to school, and after that, to doctor appointments, extra classes, and wherever you needed to go. You had asked at the terminal, a gentle lady who ended up questioning how old were you when she noticed how confused you were. But to admit would only worsen the situation, so you didn’t. “That’s it, I am taking you back to Seoul.”

“Jay,” Jake called, his voice cutting through the small gasp you realize.

Jongseong stopped, all together with you, and you took the opportunity to turn to Jake, watching as he pushed himself from where he stood against the window, countering the table, and coming in the direction of your brother. A single hand rested on your brother’s shoulder and you weren’t sure if Jake was assuring him, or holding him. “Let’s talk for a second.”

“Baby, go to the shop for a bit for me, will you?” It wasn’t the question, but how Jake did it — the words directed to you when nothing of his body did that made you stand up, walking the path to the front door, stopping only to take the key at the entrance table before you stepped out.

“She calls my parents every day,” Jongseong said, his voice coming so perfectly through the wooden door that instead of going to the shop, you stood still, hearing them through. “Day and night.”

“I have heard a few times,” Jake said.

“And she hadn’t said anything about the landlord — she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel the necessity.”

There was a pause, none of them saying anything and you knew your brother all too well to know he was using this to shoot Jake a pointed look.

“Oh please,” your brother murmured then. “She thought it was better to come here and bother you rather than calling me?”

Bother. The word felt like a slap on your face. Your heart pounded in surprise, a flush of warmth spreading through your cheeks and suddenly you didn’t want to hear the rest — but because you couldn’t move, you did. You heard your brother rambling about how you turned Jake’s life upside down, taking the settled routine he so laboriously built and made it into a mess. You had even brought a kitten! Jake didn’t even like kittens, he was a dog person for God’s sake.

“Stop,” Jake said. There was no anger in his voice, no unfairness. He said it just like he had called for your brother earlier on, that voice that could never not be listened to, and once again your brother turned silent. “You are being unreasonably rude. Baby is not bothering me — actually, she has been helping ever since she arrived.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She helps me with the market, and the food,” Jake said, and you really hoped he meant you went to the market with him, and prepared the food, because never once had Jake allowed you to pay for anything — not even a few nights ago when you told him you were getting ice cream from the convenience store and he ran after you, catching you on the sidewalk. He took your wallet from your hands and replaced it with his credit card, a minion printed on it that immediately made you laugh because, of course, Jake would have those printed credit cards. “She helps me in the shop.” that one felt more like a lie than the rest, you did stay in the shop with him, but help felt too deep for this stupid act.

“You are just mad because she didn’t call you as she is used to,” Jake concluded.

“Because she didn’t call me?” Jongseong echoed. He sounded to be talking partly to himself, that shocking echo people give when taken by the genuine surprise — Jake being good at seeing not only the nuances of your being but your brother’s as well.

The silence that followed was longer, and when it ended it came with the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, their soft rustle making it too hard to get the words and by the moment you noticed someone was approaching the door it was too late to leave.

Jake walked straight into you, stopping for a single second before he closed the door behind him. You would have thought he was going to pretend you weren’t there if he hadn’t smiled at you, and what a smile Jake. Just at the sight of it, your heart tethered itself. Not completely, but enough to stop quivering so much.

“Jake, I-”

He shook his head, silencing you by reaching out at you. His hands cupped your face — thumbs immediately cleaning the tears you hadn’t realized you had shed.

“He wants to talk to you. Wait a bit before coming in,” he whispered. “I am going to the market for a bit, alright?”

You nodded, leaning on him. You didn’t remember the decision to, only that you did, inclining your face in his palms as if it was the most natural thing to do. And although you didn’t shed any more tears, Jake rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks once again, immediately making something move inside of you, humming with warmth.

“Alright,” he whispered, stepping away. You watched as he crossed the garden, pulling his hands on the front pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head up to the sky, allowing the sun to bathe his skin, his hair, beams of light simply not being able to not reach for him. And once again you were reminded of how Jake belonged in this place.

The afternoon was utterly quiet. You could hear the breeze brushing through the brushes at the other side of the street and then another cabinet was opened and closed, and you sighed, taking the knob in your hand.

By the time you stepped inside the house once again, abandoning the shop key back on the entrance table, Jongseong was rubbing a hand over his face, his anger completely burned out by itself. He opened his arms at you in a silent yet clear invitation for a hug, and it was enough for you to rush through the house, curling your arms around your brother’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Jake said I was mad just because you hadn’t called me for help, and yes, he is right — throughout the whole way here, I kept wondering why you didn’t call me before doing anything.”

“But I guess it was my fault. I was too harsh on you when you said you wanted to spend your summer alone, but what I genuinely meant was that you shouldn’t do anything alone, you always got me.”

Your heart keened at his words. You knew it — you knew you never had been truly alone. Not even when you stood in front of the apartment in Jeju City, the kitten in a carrier, and Jake’s address on your phone. You knew that if your immediate plan didn’t work, you could just call them — your mother, your father, Jongseong. They would find a way for you. You had never needed to be truly afraid. There had always been another hand to catch you, or at least to hold you as the things scrambled eminently.

“I don’t want to study law,” you whispered, it was so sudden, you didn’t know what fanthom you to say it. Your voice came so low yet still, you could hear the uneasiness on it, the truth being finally put into words. Your brother’s grip tightened on you, bringing you so close into him that you felt his tiny exhale.

“I know, baby,” he said. “Dad and mom know too.”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he meant — the realization taking too long and weighing your body through the seconds that followed.

“Why do you think they allowed you to come to Jeju alone so fast?” he asked, moving away from you only enough for you to see his face. “I know you have it in you that you have to live greatly to not be a deception for mom and dad, but baby — we are so rich, and I am not talking about money, but love. Whatever you decide to do mom and dad will support you with the only thought of you being genuinely happy about it.”

“Listen,” Jongseong said. “Maybe it won’t be so easy to live with this, but you already got the good grades, and the school awards I failed, you finished the extra classes I dropped, and you carried all the expectations they could have had for us during school time, so let me carry the expectations they could have for after it.”

“The world’s always going to need lawyers, but it’s always going to need whatever you choose to do too. Find your way,” he said. “It’s not that bad, look at Jake — you know about his family, right?”

You hummed at him.

“I have to say, I was quite worried when I left him here after our graduation, I couldn’t imagine what would be like to live without the support of our parents, but he seems alright.”

“He is,” you said. Not sure how much true it was, he ate only lamen by the time you arrived, and although you had never seen him drinking, there were way too many beer bottles inside of the fridge, but somehow you believed that if he wasn’t, he was getting there.

“Do you want to stay here?” Jongseong asked then.

You moved closer to Jongseong once again, resting your cheek on his shoulders as you looked at the living room’s window. Outside, Seogwipo was as halted as it had always been, the sound of the bushes hanging tiny and fragile in the summer air, and you felt your chest aching.

How you wanted to stay.

┈

Jake couldn’t remember a time when the house had been this full — not that it was a difficult thing. His grandparents’ house was small and cluttered, too many years had turned it almost impracticable, too many mismatched furniture, and decorations that should have become an affective memory rather than staying an actual thing in the house. But as he came back from the market it was full in a different way.

Jongseong started complaining as soon as he spotted Jake because hadn’t I told you, Jake, to sharpen your knives when I left? And these pans were still your grandma’s? Jake, I-

But Jake was only half listening, handing Jay the plastic bags, he countered the dining table to stay in front of where you sat. You had changed, trading your pajama set for a pinkish sundress, the tone matching almost too perfectly with the color of your cheeks when you looked up at him, abandoning the task of cutting the vegetables and smiling.

You were smiling — smiling and definitely not packing your bags. And it shouldn’t be, but it was enough to loosen all the ties on his chest.

If Jake were to be honest, your brother wasn’t completely wrong — you had turned his world upside down. Years ago, he had moved to Ventura, a city so empty and full of regrets, he had lost something of himself there, a piece he thought he could rebuild once he had moved back to Korea, graduated on the major he always wanted, and inherited the shop. But instead, he watched the weeks flying by in between late nights alone, beers and clay — and then — and then, one day you showed up, wearing a brand dress as if it was nothing and a stray kitten on a carrier, and suddenly he didn’t need to pretend he was alright. He was.

It was a hell of a ride to have you here, but God — Jake would trade it for nothing.

“Naturally annoyed,” you mouthed, and the spell was broken. Jake laughed — only once as he tried to cough out the rest, but then, you were laughing too, and your brother demanded that both of you leave to go somewhere else because you were annoying him.

You both were still laughing when you stepped out into the garden, taking the side path and stopping in front of the shop. In the hurry of leaving none of you took the key to the shop where you had left it, and Jake showed you the flower pot where he hid the extra keys underneath it.

“The biggest one is for the house, and the smallest for the shop.” He didn’t look at you as he said it, his head still tilted to the small flower pot and allowing a few strands of his hair to fall over his forehead. A smile tucked at the corners of his lips, and he seemed so young like this — so pure. The words Jongseong had said twirled through your mind, and you didn’t know what had been on your face, perhaps the sadness of not knowing how to tell him he was doing alright and that you were proud of him, but when Jake looked at you a frown took up the space between his brows. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you whispered.

“You are going to stay, right?”

“Can I?”

“Of course, you can baby,” Jake said. His words were so soft that the breeze nearly destroyed them. “I like having you here.”

“That’s a good thing, because while you were on the market I called my parents, and told them I am staying here.” you told him. “My mom said she will mail us a few things and that she misses you.”

“But about Jeonchae-” you continued.

“Don’t take to the heart what your brother said,” Jake asked. “I never had a cat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them — actually, I have been thinking about adopting Jeonchae — if you allow me.”

“There would be no better home for him.”

It was alright, honestly, until it wasn’t.

Jongseong prepared brunch for the three of you, and cleaned the house as if it was a task. He asked you if your room was alright and if you needed him to buy anything because he could get it delivered to you.

“We are in Seogwipo, Jay,” you said. “I don’t know if it’s how things work here.”

Your brother seemed about to retort, but in the silence that followed he understood what you meant. There were no traffic sounds filling up the gaps between your conversation, no machines or reform sounds, it was just the breeze of the sea and nothing else.

“But tell me,” he said. “If you need anything. I can find a way.”

“I know,” you whispered.

After dinner, the three of you spread on the greenish grass of Jake’s garden, something you didn’t really know how you hadn’t thought of before. The moon was beautiful this time of the year and the grass was warm against your skin, the peak of summer giving you its all, and turning into a great memory for the next day, when another summer storm finally came in, making the downtown building steadily dripping as the three of you made your way to the restaurant Jongseong had chosen for his last night in the island.

The place was fairly simple for your brother’s exquisite taste and surprisingly empty. No one aside from a group of friends at the far end of the room, and the waitress.

She was somewhere between yours and Jongseong’s age. And a piece of art. She barely looked at you as you made your order, keeping her attention on the side of the table where your brother and Jake sat, and although it wasn’t clear which one of them had caught her fixation you felt your heart keen a bit. Her wavy hair had been held by a dozen pins — not the golden ones you kept in a jewelry box and which perfectly matched all your other accessories, but colorish ones, pink and blue pins holding her hair, and keeping them away from her freckles cheeks. Her necklace was made of beads just like a string she kept on the belt. She was the embodiment of the kids who were born in Jeju and were proud of it, and if you stopped to think about it carefully, she was completely Jake’s style. Artsy and free.

“You know what?” Jongseong said as the waitress left. “I am glad you both met — my beautiful family is finally reunited.”

“What?” Jake asked. “Is baby our love child now?”

“No. I meant my sister is your sister.”

There was a lost moment, a second where you should have released the air from your lungs but you didn’t, and it passed with it stuck in. Jake, however, laughed — out loud as he reached for the cup of water, swallowing the whole thing before he pulled it back onto the table but he didn’t deny — didn’t say he didn’t see you like this and the topic died between both of them, leaving you as the only one still stuck on it throughout the whole dinner, chest tighter than before and it didn’t help that when Jongseong finally called for the bill the waitress asked for Jake’s number.

None of you moved, not even Jongseong, and you took the opportunity to reach for the pickup’s key in front of Jake, murmuring something about waiting in the car. It seemed to take all of them out of the haze. Jake finally strayed his eyes from the waitress, and you were pretty sure that there was a reply, but you were already hurling out of your seat, and walking to the front door.

The weather had cooled down, another sparse rain treating to fall as you walked to where Jake had parked the pickup. The vehicle supposedly had a back seat, but the place was so small and cluttered — there was no particular discussion before you had been assigned for it on the ride here. Jake had pushed the driver seat forward, his hand resting at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head as you jumped to the back, but you might not have paid attention enough. It didn’t matter how you tried to push it forward now, it didn’t seem to come in.

A curse was already escaping from your lips by the time you heard the front door of the restaurant being opened again — Jake surging in the yellowish light of the restaurant, already walking towards you.

“Baby, wait,” he asked. “You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

You stopped for a moment, the concern in his voice making your whole body cease to work, your heart stopping long enough to make you feel empty inside of yourself.

Jake was a nice guy. You knew it — had spent enough time watching as he smiled at strangers, presenting so much kindness that made it impossible for somebody to be uncomfortable with him. You had listened to him talking enough to know he truly cared about people and wouldn’t have a second thought before helping anyone in need and that was the problem. He was a nice guy, careful, and kind, but you had misread it as love and you had believed he could have fallen for you too.

“Baby,” he tried again. But you gave the final push and the driver’s seat finally gave in. Jake only had time to place his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head but this time you didn’t thank him, only hurling a great shuddered breath that was too close to tears.

┈

It had already been two nights ever since Jake had slept in your room, but you could swear, the sheets were still smelling like him.

You lay there, telling yourself to sleep, but instead, you found yourself standing up, tearing the sheet off the mattress, and tugging it into a small ball before you walked out to the living room, intending to put it on the washing machine. It was too late to make it run, yet the simple idea of doing something made you feel better and you continued but as you stepped out, there he was.

Even before the dim light of the living room bathed over, you had felt him. A piece of warmth in the middle of the cold night. A stroke of golden in the middle of a black canvas.

Jake looked up at you, straying his gaze from the cup of water in his hands, his eyes were so painfully soft beneath the dim light of the kitchen, your heart keened at the view and you wished you truly could hate him, turn all this mess inside of you into simple repulsion.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked then, and you hummed at him, already starting towards the bathroom.

You took your time putting the sheets inside the machine, loading everything as if you could start it this late at night because you expected that when you stepped out Jake would have already gone back to his bedroom, yet he didn’t, preferring to walk after you, leaning on the door jamb, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, as he often did.

“You are mad,” Jake said. He had already lost countable hours playing and replaying the events in the restaurant, trying to find where he could have done something that wronged you. He was profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of you being disappointed with him, and perhaps that was it that turned him too dull-edged to analyze it more. Jake just wanted to know. “Was it because of the waitress?”

Your eyes met, and your whole body warmed, a different heat from the anger you had been feeling earlier taking over you.

“Why would I be mad about her?” It had been a question, but it very much felt like the answer he needed because he smiled — faintly before he composed himself but not enough for you to not notice how his eyes were gleaming, and in the rush of the moment you started toward your — his grandparents’ old room, trying to step past him, but he caught your wrist, the sudden contact startling you so much that you tripped. Jake caught you, moving you until the low of your back met the kitchen counter.

If the scent of his floral soap flinging from the bathroom wasn’t a great indication that he barely had left the shower, the water droplets still clinging to the edges of his hair were — rivulets raced down his jaw and into his throat, making it even harder to look at him.

God — this whole day was a huge mistake.

“I am trying to see things from your point of view, baby, but I am having a very difficult time here,” Jake admitted. “I said I wasn’t interested — actually, I don’t even know what I told her before I rushed after you, but it was some variation of a no,”

“And the other option would be because of what Jay said then. Because I didn’t reply. But what did you want me to tell him?” Jake continued, the words coming so hurried and blurted, almost as if all he just wanted was to get it out of him. “I couldn’t tell him the truth, baby. I couldn’t simply say no, baby is never going to be a sister to me because I think I am in love with her — Jay would have taken you out of that restaurant in the same second and caught the first flight back to Seoul, and every time I think of you leaving, I feel so uptight — hell, Y/N, I feel so-”

His hand slipped from your wrist, folding his fingers through yours and bringing your hand to the back of his neck as he pulled you forward — or moved himself in. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, everything inside of you was humming and making it difficult to think but his forehead was resting against yours and when he spoke again, it came as nothing but a hush of breath, the softest gust of air against your lips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked then.

You couldn’t say something. Not when your heart was cracking open under the weight of everything. But then the sound of a door being opened filled your silence and Jake moved back, his hands falling away and making your skin tingle, already missing his warmth.

“Do you always stay up until this late?” Jongseong asked.

“Yeah,” Jake replied, so fastly, you would have believed it if you hadn’t seen him knock out right after dinner for a couple of nights.

“It’s terrible for your health, you know?” your brother asked then, but none of you replied — you weren’t even sure if you had breathed as Jay walked to the fridge taking in a bottle of water and going back to Jake’s room without any other word.

But as the door clicked shut again, you turned back to Jake pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, hands finding and curling on the front of his t-shirt for support. He was trembling — or perhaps you were. You didn’t give yourself another second to consider anything before you placed your lips on the shell of his ears whispering: “I am in love with you too.”

And before Jake could hold you, you had gone. You had slipped out of his reach and the kitchen, rushing to your room and closing the door with a soft click.

Jake touched his ear then, pressing the place where your lips had been almost as if he could hold the words you had just uttered. He laughed, and then, he laughed some more, tilting his head to the ceiling and allowing the sound to spread through the night. He couldn’t care that your brother could appear again asking what was happening, Jake felt like he had experienced all the types of emotions known to mankind in a single hour and most importantly — you were in love with him.

You were in love with him too.

On the morning of the next day, Jake went to Beomseok to ask for the pickup once again and the three of you climbed up to it, taking the road to the airport.

The drive was surprisingly quiet. None of you had spoken the whole way up through the island, the sound of the wind coming through the open windows and the radio were the only things filling the space. And then an old song came in, something about country road and going to the place the singer belonged. Jake was the first one to murmur the lyrics, Jongseong following suit, their voices turned a pitch lower to match the singer’s tune and you couldn’t help but laugh.

In the rearview mirror, Jake caught a glimpse of you. You had tied your hair due to the wind, but stray strands wounded up around your neck as you threw your head back. He had never considered himself dotted in the artist’s eyes, curious and searching, always studying the subject and seeing something more than the concrete shapes. No, he always had been a realist rather than an impressionist, but then you straightened yourself back, caught his gaze in the rearview, your laugh turning into nothing but a soft smile on your lips, and for a slip second, he was — dotted and impressionist. And everything he wanted was to capture your warmth on a sculpture, a canvas — anything he could come back whenever he felt like faltering.

Out of Jongseong’s view, Jake drooped his hand between the driver’s seat and the door. His palm up, fingers stretched only enough to brush against your knees, catching your attention. You touched his fingertips, pinching his fingers, just for a moment, and then he withdrew his hand and put it back on the wheel.

“Jake, the exit!” Jongseong snapped.

“Oh shi-” Jake steered in a hurry, passing through the raised pavement markers. Jongseong reached for the handle above the door, the same curse Jake failed to complete fleeing through your brother’s lips and stealing another laugh from you, but this time Jake didn’t look through the rearview, his heart already was seconds away from bursting.

┈

“We are here,” Jongseong said, eyeing the airport for a split second before he turned to Jake.

“Don’t you want us to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” your brother replied. “It’s not like I am taking a long flight — thank you for the ride, and everything. I am leaving a great responsibility but feel free to just call me, I can come pick her up if you grow tired.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said. He extended his hand at your brother, that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders guys loved to do, and then Jongseong turned to you. It was hard to hug, but you pushed yourself through the middle of the seats anyway, arms curling on your brother’s shoulders as he hugged you back.

“Take care of yourself, alright, baby?” Jongseong whispered. “And call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave you one last squeeze before freeing himself, opening his door, and jumping out of the pickup. He hauled his carry-on from the trunk with no effort, a small smile on his lips before he turned around, and walked to the airport.

“Hey,” Jake whispered, his hand thumbing against yours. “Since we were in Jeju City, why don’t we do something over here?”

┈

You had already heard about the art museum of Jeju — had walked to it during the week you stayed in the city. The immersive digital exhibition had been listed as one of the must-go spots on the island by diverse tourist sites, but the sight of a group of friends arriving made you step away — too awkward to go inside and wander through the rooms all by yourself.

But today — today you had Jake.

The first room was a forest, red flowers hanging on the trees as their petals twirled through an imagined wind.

“Do you have an artsy explanation for this?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Once I went to an exhibition in Seoul with a friend — lights and something was the name. I spent the whole exhibition just appreciating its beauty, and then in the last room there were points of light imitating the pattern of birds’ flocking, that was when a woman appeared, she was with her son, and then she started giving a whole explanation about how birds never stray away from each other, always sharing their difficulties to reach a common goal and how that was what the artist wanted to show,” you said. “Ever since that day, I kept wondering if artists always intend to give deeper meanings to their creations than just beauty.”

Jake tilted his head back, red petals projecting on his face as he watched the exhibition going on. You knew they weren’t concrete, just a projector streaming images on him, but when they slid through his cheeks, you had that odd desire to reach for it. He looked at you then, leaning in, his eyes flickered beneath the lights, mischief glinting as if he wanted to tell you the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

“I personally think it’s just pretty,” he said, however, and you laughed at this, head thrown back, the sound so carefree and soft — your laughter seemed to be coming easier now and it was impossible for him to not smile back at you. “But if you want a more scholarly answer I would say: because art is an expression of personal perspective it is subjective. Their meaning and even what it makes others feel. Someone might come here and just think it’s pretty like me, but someone else might come here and feel like this field is speaking to them, a whisper from their childhood, a secret memory of their first love, or even a sign for a future decision. Art will never strike everyone in the same way.”

“Once a Spanish painter said you can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life,” he continued. “Or something like that, the point is-”

“Some things leave no impression, meanwhile others become a life mark — there will always be the before and the after,” you said.

“Yes.”

The next room was a maze of paper lanterns. A couple of siblings ran in between on a game of tag, and when the boy rushed past you, you had to step closer to Jake, tucking on his jacket for support and being completely unaware of how he melted there. But if anything, he just slid his hand on yours, interlacing your fingers and guiding you through the rest of the exhibition.

There were more fields, and mountains projected on idealist sunset skies. There was an empty room in which flowers grew whenever you touched, and when you brought it to Jake’s attention, drawing a tiny line of flowers, he pulled you through the room, your finger still pressed on the wall and leaving a trail of flowers behind.

But it was the last room that genuinely made you stop — waterfalls of golden, electricity blazing and pulsing and cascading down around you like fallen stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Life-changing beautiful.”

“It really is.” You turned to him, but he had his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes gleaming, lips curling. He had no embarrassment in letting you know he had been looking at you for the whole while.

Jake used your connected hands to pull you to him, and suddenly he was so close and the air stuffy. When he reached for a strand of your hair, he smelled like clay, that earthy scent that was already turning into your summer redolence and oranges.

“Am I too late to be your first kiss, baby?” Jake asked.

The moment seemed to take forever, it seemed to take no time at all. Your simple you are unfolded slowly, blending with the echoes of the world very — very softly, and perhaps it was what prevented his heart from breaking there.

“But I don’t mind forgetting it,” you whispered. “Pretend it never happened.” It was just the echo of his words on your lips, but he was smiling then, his hand leaving yours only to cradle your cheeks, holding you as he leaned over — his mouth hovering over yours, parted lips brushing on a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. And you knew you had told him you could forget your first time, but when his hand slid to the back of your neck, angling you up so he could pinch on your bottom lip, it was hard to not forget it. No one had ever kissed the way Jake did. He seemed to want to relish it, feeling you through each passing second of your connected lips. He seemed to not want to let it go, memorizing you through each heartbeat as he just grazed his mouth against yours, catching his breath before he kissed you again and again and again.

Someone cleaned their throat, immediately making both of you part, lips swollen, and causing you to bury your face in his chest, but Jake only laughed — the sound echoing through your body as he reached for you again, an arm curling around your waist as the other sized for the top of your head, tangling his fingers on your hair as he held you to him and murmured an apology to whoever it had been.

“What do you say about us getting some milkshakes before going home?” Jake asked then, lips falling on the shell of your ear as if it was just another ordinary day — like you were still Jake and baby from a few hours previous and that the taste of his smile wasn’t still lingering on your tongue. But that was the greatest thing about being with Jake: he made everything easy. And when he stepped away, holding his hand out for you, you took it without a second thought, allowing him to guide you out of the museum and back to the pickup.

┈

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“What?” you asked, straying your gaze away from the milkshake in front of you.

Jake had stopped on a dine-in halfway back to Seogwipo, a small parlor just off the interstate that advertised best milkshakes on the whole island! And made you both order not only two — one for each of you, but four, lining them in the middle of the table and sharing.

“Your first kiss,” Jake clarified. “Who was it?”

You weren’t sure if it was the sugar getting into your system, the euphoria of having kissed Jake, and having him sitting across from you, pinkish ear, and ankles resting against yours but you still took a moment too long to comprehend the question.

Was he really asking it or was he testing what you told him on the exhibition?

You pushed the strawberry milkshake back into the line, buying yourself some time.

“You?” you tried.

“No. I meant for real,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It wasn’t even that important,” you said. “It was on a game of truth or dare. I didn’t even like him, but I guess he did as his friend seemed pretty invested in getting us to kiss. He was kinda cute — had this wavy hair and had swimming classes in the afternoons, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did he ask you out after?”

“Yes, asked me to go to one of his swimming competitions.”

“Was he your first boyfriend then?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, playing with the milkshake he had first chosen with his straw and you could swear, there was a hint of something in his tone, a covetousness about this particular topic.

You reached for his milkshake, pulling it back into the line and giving him another one. It took his attention, but you didn’t look back at him.

“No. I refused him,” you said, and Jake laughed.

“You kissed him and then refused when he asked you out?” he asked. “What a heartbreaker girl.”

“I was such a shitty person, right?” you said. “But I was always so invested in my studies to really think about my romantic life. I barely could fit my lunch between school and extra classes, imagine a boyfriend?”

“Can you fit it now?” Jake asked then. You looked up at him, immediately receiving a raise of eyebrow, shy yet flirtatious — that amusing combination he was, and when he took your hand in his bringing your wrist to his lips, shivers scattered through your skin before he had even continued. “Can you fit me into your life? I promise I will be a good first boyfriend.”

“Yes,” you whispered. The word squeezed out of you, coming as nothing but a tight exhale, but Jake smiled at you then, that one twist of lips that took over his whole face. “I guess I can make some time if it’s you.”

┈

You wondered if it would be awkward then. If the silence would start to stretch on too long, and the spaces between words would be filled with awkwardness — none of you knowing how to deal with this new thing between both of you. But later that night, when you encountered Jake on the space within your bedrooms doors as he walked out of the shower, it was easy to curl your fingers on the front of his t-shirt, allowing him to press you against the wall as he cradled your face and kissed you tantalizingly sweetly.

He pulled away quicker than you would’ve liked it, but it really didn’t matter because when you walked inside your room with your hands clasped coyly behind your back, Jake was already following you in, and when you both tripped onto the mattress of your bed he was already kissing you again. Jake caught your bottom lips between his, pinching enough times for you to open your mouth to him, his tongue pressing against yours and when you felt him leaning on so his chest was pressed against yours, you had this tiny epiphany. You haven’t lied when you told him about your lack of romantic experiences, but you suddenly wondered if you had been too subtle on the fact that you were a virgin.

“Jake,” you called, but he was already collapsing by your side, laying himself above the blankets just like a few nights previously, turning onto his side to look at you, and when you did the same, he pulled you against him, fitting your body to his — tangling you as much as he could into the circle of his warmth. A piece of a never-ending summer.

“Don’t worry, alright?” he whispered. “You are the one in charge — always.”

The shop was busier today. A group of foreigners on a vacation and desiring to learn how to do pottery. You stood there, watching as Jake talked to all the customers, switching between Korean and English as easily as some people breathed.

Jake made a little gesture at his chest, curtsying and gentleman-like as he bowed at a compliment. His dark hair tumbled forward into his eyes, and you wondered if he could get more prince-like.

You stared for a moment too long, and Jake’s gaze fell upon you as if all the gravity of the world was centered on you, and the force of it made you turn around, skin warmer in a way you knew it wasn’t the afternoon heat setting in.

You had stuck a stray brush in your hair to keep it up, allowing the afternoon sun to love the back of your neck, but strands refused to stay and wound up around. Jake approached you from behind, taking the brush from your hair just so he could pull it up again, threading his fingers through your locks before he stacked the brush again and leaned in, curling his arms around you, breathing into the base of your neck.

“What do you think about closing the shop early?” he asked.

“I think you are not taking your shop very seriously,” you said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was pouting then, his bottom lip being poured out as he tightened his hold around you.

“C’mon, baby” he whispered. “It has been a few days since we last took something from your list,” he remarked, but what he truly meant was that it had been a few days since you had only been making out on his couch, moving to your bedroom when it became too late, and when his hands slipped beneath your pajama’s shirt, spraying his hands on the bare skin of your waist, he suddenly stopped, laughing it off and kissing you sweetly before he collapsed by your side, and wished you a good night. “Maybe we could go to a bar as I had promised?”

┈

Jake rode you up to the island at sunset, the traffic turning thicker and thicker as he approached Jeju City — with its busy avenues, flashing lights, and more people than you’d seen ever since you had gone out with Euntaek.

When Jake held the bar’s door, placing his hand on the small of your back for you to go in first, you had braced yourself for a darkened room, the intoxicated air, a forced retreat to that night a week ago, and the hazed fear, but instead, you were greeted by neon lights and the electronic chime of arcade games humming beneath that old summer hit everyone knew. The machines lined the walls, from the old Pac-Man to VCR games cramming side by side to make room for the tables, and the wooden bar.

Somewhere a group of friends laughed and you couldn’t help but do the same. Surprise and relief burbling out. Jake, however, only smiled down at you, the lights making him glow peach and tangerine as he held his hand out for you.

Jake guided you to the bar where he traded two twenty-thousand won bills for some coins that he insisted were just enough for you both to have some fun, taking turns at the machines, being lit up by the flashing lights and the shimmer of it all. Your hands brushing, your bodies close together.

Outside Autumn was already approaching, pressing itself against the late July nights and making it a chilly thing but there — it was summer, warm, and heavy, making Jake remove his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his gray shirt absent and carelessly just below his elbows, allowing his bracelets to catch the colorful light of the place as you bet over the games. A drink over Pac-Man, and baskets of fries over Pinball. And when you said you had no idea how to play a shooting game, he stood behind you, his hands above yours as he guided you through. Just as Jake always did whenever he taught you something, but this time, you allowed yourself to lean on his touch, pressing your back against his chest and feeling the solid warmth of his being.

“Will you give me a kiss if I get you to break the record for you?” he asked as if you hadn’t been stolen pecks the whole night — as if you didn’t know the taste of his lips better than anything. But the request made your skin tingle, the night being too blazing, too sweet, and when he smiled into your hair, you nodded at him.

When the game ended, requesting you to input your name as Jake got the highest score you turned to him, the same peach and tangerine light gilding him, and it suddenly felt too strange to be in the middle of all those people. You weren’t sure who pushed first, but both of you were rushing past the tables and back into the summer night. Streetlights glinted off the hoods of parked cars, and the stars hung prettily above, the layered beauty taking you anew. But you only got a glimpse of it before Jake used your connected hands to pull closer to him, leaning on and bottling into the darkness of his height. You tilted your head up. Just enough for your top lip to catch his bottom. And he made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the whiskey of the bourbons he kept on asking whenever you lost and the strawberries you always rewarded him from the bottom of your cocktails.

“Should we go home?” he asked.

And it was what both of you intended to do, but half an hour until you got to Seogwipo. Jake decided to stop at a tiny town that consisted only of an artificially bright gas station and a convenience store to fill his motorcycle. You wandered inside the convenience store as he took care of the motorcycle, almost feeling his gaze on you when you stopped at the cashier, paying for a package of cookies and two ice creams without his minion card. But when you stepped outside he didn’t say anything — Jake only shouldered off his jacket, spreading it on the sidewalk, and gesturing for you to sit down as he took the space by the side of it.

It was quite riveting how your bodies already knew each other. When you sat by his side, Jake soundlessly shifted his arm, pressing his palm on the pavement so you could lean on him, your head resting on his shoulder, and when a breeze came a bit harsher, Jake’s proximity was the only heat in the night. It warmed you, starting from your arms brushing against his until it filled your whole body and you pressed yourself to him, eyes fluttering to the sky. Even as you sat close to the streetlight nothing seemed enough to obliterate the stars. They kept shining above you, creating streams of silver and purple against the darkness.

You couldn’t tell if it was very late or very early. The hours blended on a moment itself and you didn’t want to leave, not in a few weeks, not never. And the sincerity of your own thoughts struck you. Your mother once had told you about a night from her youth years: she was right there — surrounded by her friends in the place she loved, and she knew, even as the years passed, she would always remember and miss it and how lucky and doomed she had been for noticing it while she was still there. And now, you finally comprehend her sentiment. You were still there, but your chest ached at the idea of losing the thread of this night — of losing Jake. You felt yourself saddened by the simple idea of someday that summer becoming just a memory of your youth years.

“I wish I was a painter,” you blurted out. “So I could paint this sky — this place, hold it forever.”

In your periphery, Jake tilted his head, following your gaze to the sky. He barely gave himself a moment before he said: “I can teach you — how to paint. I can teach you.”

┈

And that was how you found yourself in Jake’s garden in the middle of the night, a stack supporting a tiny canvas, and Jake sparing tint cans over the greenish grass, studying each color with a deliberate passion and you got yourself wondering about how it had been for him — finally leave his family’s impositions to live the life he wanted.

“Jake?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What was your favorite subject?” you asked. “In art school.”

“Painting,” he said, not even giving himself a moment to think about it. “I like painting landscapes and anything about nature. There are some weekends that I would drive out of Seoul only for it, but also there was this one semester that we had to do people’s portraits as our grade project — I have to admit I didn’t like it very much.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes, I painted your brother.”

“Was it that bad?” you asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t just the right muse,” he said, immediately stealing a laugh from you. The intensity of it made you throw your head back, closing your eyes as you allowed the sound to whistle through the night and when you straightened yourself back and looked at him, he was watching you, eyes all soft. “But I would like to try again — with you.”

“I would let you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warmer than before and in the rush of the moment, you kept talking. “But you know — I thought pottery would have been your favorite subject.”

“I thought so too, but it reminded me too much of my grandpa, it was hard to sit in the university’s studio and not sorrow not being here.”

“I am sorry,” you said, but he only shrugged, moving his attention back to the paint cans as if it was nothing, but you could see the slight bow of his shoulders, the weight of the mourning he never seemed to allow himself to feel.

Jake passed you a brush and a water cup, and when he rose to meet you, you were already stroking a great amount of water on his cheeks. His skin shimmered too prettily beneath the night sky but he only gasped at you, a momentary thing before his lips twirled on a smile, and it was worth it, even when he reached for another cup.

He ran when you did, feet a little clumsy on the greenish grass of his garden and neither of you really cared what you were doing. The peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer night on your face, and you had that feeling that was almost sadness once again — you didn’t want this night to ever end. But you were tripping upon an uneven part of his garden, being safe only because Jake finally reached you, his hands sparing onto your hips as he brought you to him. Both of you tumbled into the grass, Jake beneath you, legs tangled in a way you were already used to by the number of times you had made out on the couch.

Your hair fell on him, and he tucked it behind your ears — a fool thing to do because it kept slipping, and falling, tickling his cheeks. But he didn’t mind doing it again and again before he finally decided to simply hold it as he brought you closer to him.

It was a soft kiss, unhurried as both of you just wanted to be there, but then you were pinching at his bottom lips and he shifted both of you, rolling so your back was pressed onto the grass, but you didn’t really complain — you only parted your knees so he could fit better within the cradle of your thighs.

Perhaps it was the night itself making everything a little softer on its edges, but Jake finally allowed himself to reach for your knees hooking his fingers under them so he could bring you closer to him. The solid length of himself against your core and you couldn’t help but moan, the sound escaping through your throat before you could even notice it as you curled your fingers on the front of his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” he hushed, moving back, but you didn’t let go of his shirt, still twisting your fingers onto it and holding you to him. But he was rushing a hand through his hair. The bar’s heat and the motorcycle helmet had turned it mussed, and it stayed back. He looked panicked like he’d done something wrong — like he’d done something terrible.

“Jake.”

“I am sorry.”

“I want to,” you told him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. “I do. I want do everything with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” he whispered back. “Alright.”

You almost expected him to laugh it off for tonight, let it go as all the other nights because when he stood up, bringing you with him, he only turned around, placing his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the garden and into the house, letting go only as you sunk yourself into the entrance seat to remove your shoes but Jake was already bending on a knee in front of you, fingers fumbling through the straps of your high heels and removing them, one at a time. And when he finished he didn’t let you go, curling his fingers on your ankles and bringing you to him.

Your knees parted for him, creating a slot that he took with no ado, allowing your thighs to straddle his ribs.

Jake traced, upper and upper through the skin of your thigh, finding the hem of your dress and hiking it up until he found the curve of your hips and splayed his fingers through.

“Hold on me,” he whispered. “Will you, baby?”

You didn’t even need to think before you finished molding yourself into his chest, arms curling around his neck as his finger sunk on to your skin, holding you so fiercely that you wondered if he was afraid you could simply fade away within the small moments he took to carry you to his bedroom, and sit you at the edge of his bed.

It was far gentler than you ever imagined it would be, worshipful even.

Jake kissed your forehead, then your cheeks. His lips brushed against yours tauntingly before he moved lower, kissing sweetly at the spot under your jaw, smiling against it when you shivered at the feel of him. And when he brushed down the column of your neck, you felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny tease that already got you aching for him.

“We don’t need to do anything you are uncomfortable with, alright?” he asked, moving back so you could catch his gaze, all sincere and earnest. “You ask me to stop, and I will.”

You nodded, and the smile on Jake’s face was like the whole of summer. Everything about him warm, soft, and absolutely intoxicating as he reached up on you — brushing his hands through your ribcage, drawing your dress up to your shoulder, and allowing it to fall somewhere over his bedroom’s floor.

You would have felt embarrassed sitting there, chest bare, panties a simple cotton to match your skin tone because your dress had been too thin, but he was looking at you like you were unreal — something an idealist painter had created in a dream, and you reached for him, fingers curling into the precise place where his hair had grown above the collar of his shirt and tilting him to you, catching his bottom lip on yours, once, twice — enough times to feel brave enough to brush your tongue against it, but Jake was already on it, sliding his tongue against yours.

It was dizzying to be kissed like this. Open-mouthed, and noises swallowed by one another, but Jake didn’t move his lips away from yours, not unless it was to slip his mouth to your body instead, slowly finding the inner curve of your breasts, your ribs, your low abdomen. His tongue swirled against your skin, sucking marks and kissing the bruises he left behind with a smile. You were so close to faltering when he kissed the front of your panties, the tip of his fingers fumbling through the edges of it.

“Is it alright if I take this off?” he asked, you nodded once again, hands tucking at his blankets as you moved a bit further into the edge of his bed, letting him slide your last clothing piece off and to the floor of his bedroom, altogether with your dress.

Your whole body ached to pull him closer, but as heavy as Jake’s gaze was, he was being so gentle with you, so unbelievably gentle. Everything was so willful and unhurried as if he meant to take his precious time — to store every inch of you into his memory and savor it at his own count pace. His hands were almost adoring when he hitched your panties down to your legs, deifying when his fingers dug at your ankles, lifting them to his lips.

“Can I use my mouth?” he asked.

“Jake,” you called, and he would have turned self-conscious if it hadn’t sounded like you tended to call him whenever you wanted to ask something — if it hadn’t sounded like you tended to say please. But it did and he moved into the space between your legs, his stomach pressed to the mattress as he brought your legs to his shoulders, tracing a path of kisses over the inner of your thighs, slowly turning greedy as he approached the place where you needed him the most, and when he finally licked a warm stripe over your folds, you whined at his actions, hands faltering at his blankets and allowing your back to fall into his mattress.

He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit, applying a slight pressure that made you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, just enough pressure to make him groan beneath your touch and his hands pried your thighs apart when they began to push against him, rumbling and making you murmur something you yourself couldn’t quite grasp. Your voice broke over the words but Jake smirked against you. He was so lost on how perfectly you looked underneath his control that he failed to ask if he could use his fingers on you, slipping two inside of you with no previous warning and making you arch, head thrown back into the blankets that smelled like him, that perfect combination of flowery soap and oranges, clay and glaze.

It’s not like you had never fingered yourself — you had, coming far enough times all alone, but Jake’s fingers were much thicker and longer than yours, finding all your sweet spots in a way you never could and not to mention how his tongue kept twirling on your clit. You could feel your body coiling tighter and tighter around him with no ado, cunt quivering around the base of his fingers with his every move and when you tilted your hips up at him, he swore, twitching inside of his jeans and moving back only to watch his fingers coming inside of you again and again and again.

His lips parted at the sight, another groan leaving him, eyes hooded and dark as he took you in.

“Hell, you’re so pretty,” he whispered and it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, calming himself down as he tumbled back to you then, knees bending slightly so he could crowd down into you, forehead dropping to yours, both of your breaths hitching as he tried to keep up his pace. “So — so pretty.”

You were sure you gasped his name, gripping on his shirt as your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your orgasm crashing through your body, and Jake fondled at you, lips pressing against your cheek, as his hands swept through your thighs to soothe you out of your high.

You pushed your face to Jake then, your noses brushing as the reality slowly snuck back in. Seogwipo had always been silent — no matter the time, but tonight not even the breezes seemed current. There was nothing except for your breathing and the sound of your heart thumping against your ears.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Are you alright? I forgot to ask if I could-”

“Jake,” you broke in, and there was it again — his name sounding almost like a plea.

“Tell me what’s it.”

“I want you,” you said, spraying your palm in front of his jeans as if you desired to prove a point. He was painfully hard underneath your touch, releasing a tight cuss at this slight touch. “Please.”

He didn’t care about coming, not really, not when you had given him the opportunity to make you fall apart on his fingers. He could deal with himself quite well later on in the shower just with the memory of it, but then you were slipping your hands through his shirt, curling your fingers on his buttons, and how could he say no to you?

He could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another.

Your hands met in the middle, opening all of his shirt’s buttons, and allowing Jake to hurl it out and onto his bedroom floor, a silent thud that matched the breathless gasp he released when you reached for him again, fingers spraying through his hips, following the skin of his just exposed abdomen until you had reached for his neck, curling it around the slope curve of it and bringing him back to you.

Jake had far enough experience, a reasonable body count for a graduated university man, but he somehow felt like he was pretty much rediscovering himself with you. He never knew how easy it was to make him falter with a kiss on his throat until you were the one doing it, lips parting against his skin and surely leaving a mark.

He groaned with your doing, the sound of it scattering shivers through your spine and making you feel bold enough to push at the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping past the band of his boxers and pushing it far enough for him to only kick it out. His jeans barely had hit his bedroom floor before his lips were on you again, tongue pressing against yours, and tasting like you still.

“Baby,” he whispered. You folded your legs around his waist at the endearing name, thighs clenching around him, squeezing him almost unconsciously as he crowded into you, one forearm by the side of your head, holding himself over you as he pushed into you.

You moaned at the stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you and your hand flew to his wrist for some support, fingers curling around him. Jake’s hand shifted beneath your touch, adjusting himself so he could interlace your fingers, giving it the small and reassuring squeeze you knew so well.

“Baby, I need you to talk to me,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

Jake talked as if he didn’t have his brows knitted and wasn’t patting himself, the breath being torn from him at the feeling of you tight around him, clenching down on his length until he went a bit hazed, but he didn’t dare to move, even if he felt like you were too much under him, softly shaking your head as you tilted yourself up to him, your noses brushing and lips so closely together that when you spoke, he tasted your words.

“It’s alright,” you said. “You can move, it’s alright.”

It was slow at first, the same patience you had watched him having with his creations, slowly and tenderly shaping them up to his confident acknowledgment — when he finally bottomed completely out, he already knew exactly how to move, how to make you tighten around him, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantic. But he was careful with you still, sweet nothings brushing against your temples even as your body came tight around him once again, your hands grabbing at him, desperately trying to hide the fact you were shaking as he continued to move his hips into you.

You whined and he twitched inside of you, grip turning a little tighter and it pulled the breath from you.

Jake came when you did, as defenseless and relinquished as he could be, wrapping his arms around, and holding you until both of you had driven out of your highs. And when he moved to look at you, there were golden stripes painted across his cheeks, the same soft light of when you realized you were in love with him casting a warm glow over his skin and making it harder to let him go.

You didn’t notice a tear had escaped through your eyes until Jake smoothed a thumb over your cheeks, his eyebrows knitting together in worry, but you didn’t allow him to ask what was on his mind, catching his lips on yours, kissing him sweeter than it should’ve been considering you were still naked in his bed, your bodies so mixed up that you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and he began.

“I am fine,” you told him. “I am.”

You just weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with everything you were feeling for him.

The storm hadn’t been forecasted nor expected, a monsoon rolling through the last day of July and catching both of you unprepared from your trip to the convenience store for ice pops.

A gasp escaped through your lips, but you couldn’t confide if it was because of the sudden raindrops kissing your skin or the way Jake pulled you through the rest of the street, using your connected hands to rush you through the side path from the shop to the garden, and into the house.

You laughed as you tripped over the shoes at the entrance hall, but Jake was fast on catching you, leaning you against the wall in order to prevent you both from falling. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back to push you further into him, the line of your bodies pressed together, as the other tangled through your hair, the tip of his fingers finding your nape.

“I want to paint you,” he murmured — blurted out, an admission you weren’t sure he intended to confess, but you caught yourself beaming at him. His voice was all fondness and appreciation. “Can I paint you, baby?” You already knew the answer, but you decided to draw the moment a little longer, tilting your head as if you were considering it. And Jake leaned on you, his lips brushing through the column of your neck, interleaving kisses and pleads, tiny pleases that went down to the neckline of your top, his knees already ready to bend as he planned to go further, but you reached for him, touching his neck, right where his hair grew above the collar of his shirt.

“Alright,” you said. “You can paint me.”

┈

“How do you want me?” you asked, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

His room was no brighter than the whole house. The rainy clouds making everything a bit grayish and dim. But he didn’t care about turning the lights on before he reached for a blank canvas prompt on his desk.

He turned back to you, taking that small sliver of skin between your skirt and top, grazing his fingers there. You shivered when he passed through the hem of it, rushing up to your ribcage, your whole body trembling as he brought you as close as he could.

“It’s a dangerous question, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing through yours. “But you are in charge — always.”

You weren’t sure what it was about Jake that caused you to find yourself doing everything you normally thought impossible, but you reached for the back zipper of your skirt, tugging it down until the piece got loose from your waist and fell, pooling onto your feet.

Jake’s breath hitched and stammered, his surprise taking him for a full moment before finally he slipped his hands a bit further, drawing your top out of you.

You sat on the hardwood floor of his room, his sheet barely wrapped around your waist, and leaving a lot of your skin to be bathed by the dim light as you watched Jake giving the first strokes. There was something satisfying about the way he painted, something controlled and beautiful as if the act of painting was an art itself.

Jake looked back at you, and he noticed how closely you were watching him, gaze following the familiar way his fingers curled around the brush, the way he knew the exact amount of pressure he was supposed to use only to make his stocks fluid on the canvas.

“I am starting to regret it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“You are too pretty. It’s highly distracting.”

Your lips parted to retort, but whatever words you had chosen slipped and slid as he abandoned his brush, reaching for you instead. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back as the other chased for your neck, the tip of his fingers tangling through your hair, and bringing your mouth to his.

His lips parted too, heavy breaths blending as he caught your bottom lips with his once, twice — just enough for you to feel comfortable enough to lick over him, slipping past his lips, and tasting the cherry ice pop he had gotten earlier in the convenience store and the rain still pounding against the windows and resonating with the rhythm of your heart.

Your hands snuck down to his sides, fingers scraping down to the waist of his jeans as you tried to end a distance that didn’t exist anymore. You were too close already, bodies so tangled you weren’t sure which one of you was shivering, but Jake seemed to understand your urgency as his fingers dug into your skin a little harder, pressing you to him, and when you grind against him, he groaned, the sound doing something to you that you couldn’t explain.

“Jake,” you murmured. “Wait.”

“Shit, I am sorry,” he said, hurling away from you. His back met the legs of his desk fast and in a heap, hands fleeing into the air as if he had been caught in a flagrant. “Not today?”

“That’s not it,” you said. “I — I want you to teach me how to touch you.” Although you didn’t give yourself enough time to doubt the wisdom of saying it, you had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer, rainstorms, and Jake — just Jake, and it made the words come a bit weakly, almost too silent for your own ears, and for a moment you doubted he had heard you. But then, Jake stopped, a sharp swallow going into his lungs.

It took him a long time to make sense of your sentence, and when he finally did, it took every ounce of him to not simply rumble you through the floor, kneel before you and touch you — eat you, make up for all the gentleness he had with you on the first time.

He laughed, a bright burst that got you burning, but his own hands were already finding their way back to you, the tip of his fingers brushing a stray lock of your hair to the back of your ears as he moved closer to you again.

“How can I say no to you?” he asked. “Ask me anything and I will give it to you.”

“Anything?”

Jake hummed, leaning in so his nose brushed against the column of your neck. “Ask me the moon and I will paint it for you. Ask me a star and I will capture a whole constellation.”

“I just want you.”

“I am yours.”

You pushed your fingers underneath his shirt, rippling it with goosebumps at your bare touch, but if anything Jake only reached for the collar of it, helping you hurl it out and to the great mess his room was.

He was overwhelmed — he wouldn’t lie. Jake was harder than he remembered ever being, desire and lust laying right next to each other in his heart, each sharpening the other, but he allowed you to take your pace nevertheless, leaning himself against the legs of his desk once again as he watched you — burning you with affection and fondness as he accompanied every move you did, the way the tip of your fingers followed the lines of his abdomen before you finally reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it, pushing down to his thighs together with his boxers.

You loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as you curled around him, experimentally rolling your thumb through his tip before you started to pump him. You knew you didn’t need to ask if you were doing it right, his whole body was telling you that you were, his hands gripping on your thighs, your waist, rubbing you as if it could prevent him from coming too fast on you, but you did still, leaning on him so when you asked your lips brushed, softly, sweet, and nothing like you were still touching him.

“I feel like you are trying to kill me, baby, but yeah — yeah, you are doing it perfectly.” It was dirty the way he said it, abdomen tightening, groans filling the gaps between words. He sounded wild, unraveled in a way you had never heard him, but it only made you smile at him, pressing the softest peck to his mouth before you raised yourself on your knees. 

“Jake,” you called. “Can I-”

Maybe it had been the way you were already hovering above him, but Jake was fast to catch you, a hand molded to your waist as the other slipped between your thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of your panties, pulling it to the side so you could line him to your entrance, his tip pressed against where you need him the most. 

His breath hitched when you came down on him, whispering your name, pronouncing it with the same deliberate slowness he always had and you couldn’t help but moan at the whole feel of him, palms spreading at the lower of his abdomen, head a bit thrown back and barely giving time before you you started a slow, hard grind on his lap, lifting yourself up and down, dragging your cunt against his pelvis, his length buried deep enough inside you that the base of him caught your clit.

“There is no way,” he murmured. “It’s your first time doing in it.”

“Who else could I have done it with?”

“Some stupid swimmer back in Seoul.” You weren’t sure if it had been because of his saying or your surprise when he rolled both of you through the floor, but you were laughing — laughing so hard that Jake stopped, his hands still hooked on the back of your knees but not quite bringing you to him as he intended.

“You are my only one,” you said.

Only one — not only your first but also the last one to come. And he might have just thought too deeply into it, but he didn’t care. As you looked up at him, dressed in nothing but the remains of light, and the echoes of your laugh, he didn’t care it might be just a temporary truth. He was your only one at that moment, and it was enough to make his breath hitch, heart plumbing inside of his chest.

Jake hiked your legs around his hips, holding himself carefully and sweetly above you as he took your lips, kissing you so when he pushed into you once again, you could feel how much he wanted you in every sharp breath.

His moves were careless this time, gone on all your previous teasing, but he still managed to make you tighten around him, fingers curling on the hair of his nape as your mouth parted against his, his name coming so softly from your lips that he couldn’t help but bury his face into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he could always remember the way you felt coming around him.

Jake whispered your name, a small call that you tried to reply to, but failed, hiccupping and gasping out a laugh when you realized and you didn’t know you were crying until Jake moved back, his thumb pressing against your cheeks, the tip of it barely brushing through your skin as he dried your tears.

“Baby, if you cry every time we have sex I will start being concerned,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you said.

“So what’s it then?”

You felt your lips parting to reply, your body reacting faster than your own mind, but when the words once again didn’t come, you stopped, another hiccup coming through instead.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer than before. “Remember your first night here? When we went to the roof and you trust me with all your concerns? I said you could rely on me and I mean it still. Just because I am your boyfriend now, it doesn’t mean you can’t share your stuff anymore. I want you to trust me like you did back then. Can you?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you confessed. “Every time we are like this I catch myself a bit sad because — I just don’t want to leave for the United States, for Seoul. I just don’t want to leave you.”

Jake breathed in, a sharp intake that made your cheeks burn, suddenly too embarrassed to even look at him, but as you turned to focus on the canvas prompt against his walls, he reached for you, fingers spraying through your chin and angling you back at him.

“I won’t tell you to stay,” he said. “Not because I don’t want to, baby, or because you can’t. But because I don’t want to take this decision away from you. I don’t want you to look at me in a few months — in a few years, who knows, and say you should have gone.”

“To study abroad is a great opportunity. You have worked your whole life for it although it wasn’t your dream, I don’t even know which university you got in-”

“Havard — it’s the best for law.”

“No way, my baby is a genius,” he said dramatically and immediately stealing a smile from you. “But that only proves my point, it’s a great opportunity to have it on your curriculum.”

“Besides whenever you want to come back Seogwipo is going to be here,” he continued, his voice so soft beneath the rain. “I am telling you from experience.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay here?” you asked. “It’s just — Seogwipo doesn’t seem the same without you.”

“I will,” he replied. “I will stay here.”

You reached for him, a single finger tracing his cupid’s bow, the soft lines of his lips, before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, and you could feel the very faint rhythm of his pulses.

Jake closed his eyes, leaning in, just a bit further so his parted lips brushed against yours. “I will stay here for you.”

And just like that July melted into August, summer coming closer and closer to an end, but neither of you ever spoke of it. Not in the mornings when Jake started to linger a bit longer before going to prepare breakfast for both of you, his fingers following the lines of your body as if he was well aware that he had you memorized but still — was afraid of someday forgetting. Not when you both stayed at the shop, Korean tourists becoming a less common thing and leaving only a few foreigners to remain. And on the nights when he hugged you from behind as you stood in front of the stove he kissed your shoulders as if he wasn’t sorrowing that another day came to an end — as if the last week hadn’t came yet and the date printed on the reservation ticket you kept hidden on your luggage wasn’t coming closer and closer. His hands always slipped beneath the hem of your clothes, gathering the pieces on his forearms as he sprayed his fingers on your waist to push you further into him.

You could feel his breath, the soft hush of air as he opened his mouth to say something to you, but whatever had it been was stolen and forgotten as the front door was opened, your brother releasing a full curse. Jake stepped back, his hands slipping away from you, and allowing your dress to fall back into its place, but not fast enough for it to not have been noticed.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Jay,” you called, but it was already too late. Jongseong was rushing through the house, grabbing Jake’s t-shirt, twisting the thin material between his fists. He didn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions — he simply did it, using his grip to push Jake away from you.

They tripped over the house, falling on the small space in front of the maroon couch, your brother above. The sound of their bodies collapsing against the floor was almost imperceptible beneath the sound Jake released when the punch came.

You stopped in the midst of a complaint, but Jake couldn’t blame you. He always imagined what was a fight, the throw of punches all drove in the heat of feelings, but instead, there was just a moment of deadness, his blood rushing to the point where Jongseong had punched him and nothing — absolutely nothing. Even the breezes seemed to have stopped outside.

“Don’t take it personally, I would punch anyone who I caught sneaking his fingers through my sister’s dress,” Jongseong said. Jake opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Your brother was quivering. Not from his shock, like you or Jake, but from some chained emotion, so Jake stayed still, allowing Jongseong to curl his fights on his t-shirt harder, hurling him from the floor and back into it once, twice — enough times for his anger to start to burn out.

“Shit Jake, couldn’t you choose someone else to hook up with?” he asked. “There aren’t enough girls on this island so you had to go after my sister?”

“Jay, stop it.”

“Stay away from this, baby,” your brother grunted at you. “Actually, even leave the house for a bit.”

“Definitely not.”

“Jay,” Jake called then. Jongseong looked back at him, and it suddenly felt like every other argument they ever had, even though this time there was a growing bruise on the corner of his lips, Jake knew they could counter it. “I am sorry.”

“She is my little sister,” Jongseong said, his tone not coming mad, but tired. “She is so young.”

“I didn’t mean to make it a secret, not because I am hooking up with her. I mean, we-” you forced out a whine, immediately making Jake recollect his thoughts. “I am serious about her.”

“It’s true that she is young and needs me way more than I need her, and maybe it is always going to be like this, but you know? I don’t care, I want her to rely on me because I like her — hell, I love her,” Jake said, his genuine feelings slipping like a breath through his lips. He had pronounced love so — so unconcerned, he didn’t even need to think about it before. And maybe that was it that ceased the last flame of fury on your brother, making him hurl away from Jake, throwing himself on the couch instead.

Jake sat up too, a bit slower due to his growing bruises, but you remained still, Jake’s words humming inside of you.

He loved you. He loved you.

“How long has it been going for?” Jongseong asked.

“A month and a few days,” Jake replied.

“I was here one month ago!”

“Yeah, and it was thanks to you that I finally told baby what I was feeling,” Jake said. “So thank you, bro.”

“Don’t make me punch you again Jake,” he hissed. “Who the fuck is your bro?”

Yet despite the harsh choice of words, your brother’s tone had a bit of a joke on it, something only best friends acknowledged. Somehow they had gone from such a terrible place to a joyful one. And Jake felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

“But you better know where you are going, that girl has been spoiled ever since she was born,” Jongseong said. “She wasn’t even a year and dad was already putting a gold bracelet on her wrist.”

“Hey!”

“I know,” Jake said. “And I can handle a spoiled baby.”

“So it’s already come to this — do as you feel like then — I guess,” Jongseong said, standing up. “I am going to take a shower. Get me a towel and some clothes, I am too lazy to deal with my luggage.”

Neither of you moved until your brother had already closed himself on the bathroom, the water cascading stealing the sound of the breath you shuddered out of you as you rushed to Jake.

You took his chin with the tip of your fingers, tenderly angling him to the living room’s light. The wound was worse than it seemed from afar, bleeding as a darker bruise started to form, and immediately making you frown, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. You reached for it, the tip of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.

“I am sorry,” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me sorry? It’s your brother’s doing,” he asked, tilting his head into your palms.

“Exactly, if it wasn’t because of me, Jay wouldn’t have punched you.”

“Jay was mad just because he simply wanted to be, you aren’t the one to blame, baby,” Jake said, but you didn’t seem convinced, so he reached for you too, arms curling around your waist as he brought you closer to him. “Do you think your father will react better or worse than this?”

“Remember when I said I never had a boyfriend before?” you asked. “I guess we will have to find out together.”

He chuckled at your statement, it was a minuscule sound spreading through the night but it seemed to loosen something within both of you and he allowed himself to lean on you, his cheek resting against your hairline.

“Jake?” you called. He hummed at you. “I love you too.”

┈

Later on that night, Jongseong grasped at your door, his knuckles against the wooden piece before he opened a small sliver just for him to catch sight of you.

“Is the small flurry ball here?” he asked.

“Jeonchae?” you asked. “Yes, since you are allergic to cats, we had to close him here.”

“So can you step out to the garden for a bit?” he asked. “I want to talk to you.”

The air had turned misty with the humidity, the grass still damp from the amount of days rain had been washing summer away, so you both only leaned against the wall, head throwing back as both of you watched as the clouds raced by.

“Do you want to go?” he asked then. “To the United States? Do you still want to go?”

“I never did.”

“True,” he sighed. “But there was a time that you accepted it. How are you now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Jake indirectly told me to go. He said it is a great opportunity and I know it is, but my heart breaks whenever I think of leaving him and this place. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to study law, but I haven’t called mom and dad saying this because I also know I — I can’t simply stay and build my whole future around Jake, not because I don’t think it will work in the long future, but because—”

“You need to be a person of your own?” Jongseong tried. You weren’t sure if it was the best way to put it, but because you couldn’t find other words you nodded at him.

“I should get a degree, right?”

“You put it in a weird way,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s something as necessary as breathing if that’s what you are implying. Ever since I started working at dad’s office and taking a few cases I met a lot of people — good people who don’t have a degree and are happy with their lives, and it is what matters in the end isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“As Jake said, it’s a great opportunity to study abroad, but if you know you are going to be unhappy there is no point in it.” Jongseong sighed then, reaching for your hand and giving a slight squeeze. “I personally think that giving up before even trying won’t do it. Nothing is permanent, baby. Life is so full of possibilities. You can go to the United States and study law, you can go and change your course, or you can simply go and come back in the middle of the semester. Restart in Seoul or even here, there are universities here too. Jeju is a small island, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Did you search for Jeju’s universities?” you asked.

“Did you not?” your brother teased. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is what I told you back when I found out you were here — whatever you decide to do, you have our support, mine, mom’s, dad’s, and now Jake’s.”

“What still feels a bit weird to me,” Jongseong concluded. “I feel disturbed whenever I stop to think carefully about it, but at the same time, it kinda makes sense — you and him. You both are made of the same impossible stuff.”

You weren’t sleeping.

Early on Jongseong had called Jake to his room, forbidding him from spending the night in your room as you both were already used to.

But it was your last night at Seogwipo and your body knew it was a loss to simply let the remaining hours slip into slumber, so when you heard the faint sound of your brother’s snore, you stood up, padding barefoot to Jake’s room.

His door was ajar, as it often was, a bare sliver that only gave you the idea of Jake sitting at the end of his bed. You didn’t need to say anything, gesture anything. With a single glance at your brother, Jake stood up, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

You were already on him, pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, arms curling around his shoulders as you brought him to you.

“I know Jay told you to stay there, but I don’t want to spend my last night away from you,” you whispered.

“I guess it makes things a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” he asked, but you didn’t reply, giving him a slight push as you let him go, cheeks burning and body suddenly too warm.

It was more playful than you remember it ever being. You moved at the same time, a push and pull of two bodies meeting in the middle. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, open-mouth kisses that got you dragging on each other cheeks for breath, and giggles dangerously loud as you made your way to your room. The moment the door was closed, Jake was already reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, hurling it over his head, and taking the single step you had given to reach the bed. A final tug and both of you fell, Jake above you, his hands pawing impatiently over your body, finding the hem of your pajama top and curling on it to slip it off you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, baby,” he whispered. “Will you?”

His hands sprayed over your sides, fingertips moving up through gaps in your ribs before he smoothed across your bare skin. He grazed a thumb over your nipple, leaving it all hard for his mouth to take, his tongue swirling and sucking on it, quickly stealing a moan from you.

You placed the back of your hand against your lips, but not before you had received a warning from him, his teeth pinching you as his fingers hanked deeper into your skin.

“Baby,” Jake warned, but his voice was chaotic, almost as if he was actually hiding his own moan, and you doubted he really cared. He was already slipping further into you, kissing the same path down to your lower abdomen, and curling his fingers on the waist of your pajama shorts, pulling the material down your leg and throwing it away. But as he took your panties off, he put it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Are you keeping this?” you asked. Jake hummed, already leaning back on you. “I want something too.”

“Anything you want.”

His fingers curled into the back of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and when he kissed the inner of your thigh, you had to stop, recollecting your thoughts. “A t-shirt?”

“I will let you take all you want in the morning.”

“What about your leather jacket?”

Jake smiled, giving you another kiss. “Fine.”

“You?”

“Do you want to put me in your luggage?” he stopped, looking up at you. And although it had been him that brought this possibility you couldn’t find yourself agreeing — not even as a joke. Jake belonged to Seogwipo, to the greenish hills and the breeze that always smelled like the sea. He belonged to his grandfather’s pottery shop with its earth scent. He lived it, and you could never ask him to let go of something so vital to him.

“No. I want you now — on me.”

“This one is easier,” he agreed.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before Jake was bringing his mouth down on you, a wet press over your folds, his tongue prodding gently until he found your clit between them and making you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, pulling it on its roots, and making him rub his hardened length against the sheets.

“Jake,” you called, voice shaking, and you didn’t need to finish your thoughts. He already knew — moving away only to hover over you, one forearm on the pillow by your head, holding himself over you as the other worked to push his sweatpants away.

“I needed to prepare you,” he justified.

“I am.”

Jake laughed at that, but he didn’t reply — didn’t retort. If anything he took himself in his hand, giving a few hard plumps before he pushed into you.

It took every ounce of you to not moan too loud, hands clinging on his back, parted lips against the skin of his neck, tongue wringing the sound into a sup, but it only proved useless as he was the one groaning then, the whole feeling of you being too much for him.

Jake gave you both a moment, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your hips, trailing down to the back of your knee, hooking his fingers underneath as he hitched your leg to his hips.

And when he finally moved it was slow — not with the learning of the first time, your bodies trying to understand the new shape of each other, but it was slow with nothing but the simple unhurriedness, none of you wanting to be nowhere else but there — the night where you were still together and the parting was just a possibility.

Jake pulled all the way to his tip before he pressed in again, and when you arched to him, he took the opportunity to slide a hand over the small of your back, holding you so close to him that you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began. And you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to cry, not again — not this time. But when Jake leaned on you, pressing an I love you into your lips, you did.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, reaching for the stream of tears as he always did in the aftermath.

“I am sorry,” you hushed. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want you to leave too.”

“I can come back, right?”

“Whenever you feel like.”

“Next summer — no matter what happens, I will be here next summer.”

“Next summer,” he conquered.

On the morning of your departure, you stood on the curb, your brother and Jake briefly bickering about the arrival of the taxi.

“I could have driven you both,” Jake said as he closed the trunk.

“I know,” Jongseong agreed. It had been your idea, actually — the taxi. You couldn’t bear the idea of making Jake drive all the way back to Seogwipo alone, dragging this longer than you knew both of you could handle.

You watched as they gave that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders before Jake turned to you. The same washed jeans he had been using the whole summer, a white t-shirt, and the morning sun softly bathing over him. Only that now he got a vivid hickey on his neck, pretty much for your brother's dismay, but although Jongseong seemed close to giving Jake another punch this morning, the bruise on the corner of his lips remained the only one.

You held your hand out at him, and he took it as if he was already waiting — wanting it, giving it a brief kiss before he brought it to the back of his neck and pulled you forward to him, the line of your bodies pressed together, your noses bumping.

“I guess that’s it then,” he whispered. And you sobbed at it. It sounded too much like the end, like a closure.

“Jake?”

“Yes, my baby?”

“Thank you for everything, I-” you started, but the words stammered and stumbled, too small for all the things you were feeling inside of you. You had been trying the whole day to not cry, but the moment he curled his arms around you, he once again broke the thin thread keeping you from falling apart, and tears flowed through your eyes, straining your cheeks.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, and all of sudden you could smell him, although he wasn’t smelling like clay, and it made your heart ache, that sickening sadness that felt bigger than you.

God — how are you supposed to step away when it feels more like home than anything in this world?

Your tears seemed endless, and it took you a while to notice it hadn’t been only your tears rushing through your face, but his.

“I am already missing you,” you confessed

“I am already missing you too.”

“Don’t you dare accept another hopeless girl with a stray cat,” you said.

“This is something only you could do,” he laughed. “Believe in me, but even if it happens, you are my only one — you and Jeonchae are my only ones.”

Although there was a hint of entertainment in his voice, your answer was solemn, “You too,” you said. “You are my only one.”

“Your first and only,” he said, and you smiled at him. You didn’t need to confirm, both of you knew. “Next summer, right?”

“Yes. Next summer.”

From Autumn to the end of the Spring of the next year, you lived in an apartment close to your university’s campus. It was an odd thing that surely wasn’t worth the price. Although the windows caught the streams of the sun from morning to afternoon, the place never seemed to get light enough and never felt exactly warm. The air inside was always soaked with the smell of the never-changing humid weather and the chocolate cookies your door neighbor baked for extra cash.

Your father said you could find a better place and move, he could afford it — he surely could afford it. But the thing was: you knew that it wouldn’t matter. One call to Jake and you knew — this odd apartment or luxurious one, no place would ever make you feel at home like his house did.

“Soon,” Jake whispered every time. “Soon you will be back home.”

And you did. Three hundred forty-nine days later — according to Jake’s count, but you did, and Seogwipo was the same as you remembered.

Exactly one hour and seven minutes away from Jeju City, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — the same pretty road running along the South Sea and that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the stones.

Mrs. Choi gasped as she caught sight of you, immediately standing up from the stool placed at her bakery’s door. She rushed at you, meeting you in the middle as her arms curled around you. It was weird that you have gotten closer to her after your departure, almost every other day receiving her audio messages through Jake’s phone as she stopped at his house, leaving just baked bread together with some side dishes and telling you “she was taking care of your boy”. She also occasionally told you about Euntaek, finally getting his life straight and entering a university on the mainland — Busan, which was not his dream goal, but he was at least better than when you came to know him.

“Jake said you were only coming by next week!” she exclaimed then.

“I decided to surprise him.”

“You are going to give him a heart attack, he was counting the days, and telling everyone you were coming back for the summer,” she said, affectionately hitting your shoulders. “But hurry up then, I don’t want to keep you both away. Do you need help with the luggage?”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Just as the rest of the island, Jake’s shop remained unchanged. As you looked through the beveled glass you caught sight of the pottery pieces, the same earthy tones you had engraved on your mind, the same table and pottery wheels. There was only one thing different, the canvas you had painted after changing your major from law school to art school and mailed him had been displayed too, leaning on the shelves with a tiny sign informing it wasn’t for sale.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy, and pond-mud smell, taking over your senses as Jake turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

It had been ages since you had been there, standing in this pocket of the universe — looking at this exact man without knowing he would become your life mark, forever branching out the before and the after.

No, it had been no time at all.

“Baby,” he gasped, barely giving himself a moment before he rushed to you, his arms involving your waist in a familiarity that made you ache. Jake swirled you, just once — pulling you out of the ground as his nose buried at the side of your neck, trying to inhale every little detail he could before he put you back on your feet and drew himself away, just enough to encounter your gaze.

“Surprise,” you whispered.

Jake shook his head, his smile now taking his whole face. And you couldn’t help but reach for him, a single finger tracing his cupid’s bow, the soft lines of his lips, before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, summer and sunshine always stuck on him.

“Welcome home, baby,” Jake whispered, and the word rattled through your chest, filling you together with the scent of soap and oranges, clay and glaze. Everything about Jake — just Jake.

Yes, you surely were back home.

UGHHHHHGEVEVTTB my first f1 fic and you've set bar HIGHHHH bye I dont even like charles like that what am i doing here anyway you slayed bae 😘😘

birds of a feather // cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 30k (i know i've got issues)

warnings: google translate french and swearing

includes: friends to lovers, childhood bestfriends, soulmate au if you squint, heavy pining, and angst

summary: follows charles and the reader through childhood all the way to present day. based off of 'birds of a feather' by billie eilish.

masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

five and eight

It's a hot summer day in Monaco the first time Charles meets you.

The evening sun cascaded through the windows, golden rays bouncing off the walls as the smell of his Mother's baking wafted through the house. Charles' legs soon carried him into the kitchen and to his delight he found her oven-mitt clad hand pulling out a tray from the oven. His eyes widen when he sees what it is, it's one of his favorite sweet treats; cookies. His Mother spots him as she turns to set them on the counter. "Bonjour chéri!"

Charles doesn't answer, he's too focused on the cookies. He knows she won't let him have one, it's too close to dinner time, but he could probably sneak one when she had her back turned. So when she goes to put something back in the fridge he knows this is his chance, but he's not fast enough. His little hand barely hovers over one of the cookies before his Mother is gently smacking it away.

"No Charles! They are for the Y/L/N's." She hands him a stack of plates, motioning towards the table. "Now go set the table, s'il te plaît." Charles whines about it not being fair before stomping towards the table.

All day the only topic of conversation in the Leclerc household was about how an old family friend was to be moving back to Monaco today. Charles and Arthur had no idea who the man their Father spoke so highly about was, but Lorenzo mentioned something about him being their "uncle", but not really their uncle. Something that at only eight years old, confused Charles.

Even during dinner it seems like his Father mentions their "uncle" somehow during every conversation. Between the constant talk of this mystery man and the cookies sitting feet away from him Charles thinks tonight's dinner is the longest dinner of his life. He can see them sitting there, the cookies taunting him the whole time he tries to eat the unpleasant brussel sprouts on his plate. He hears his Father mention their "uncle" again and his attention is brought back to the conversation. "Papa. Is he really our uncle?" Charles asks as he shoves around the food on his plate with his fork.

"Ah, no. I mean he practically is, but not by blood. He is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together, but he moved to America around nine years ago." He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering between Charles and Arthur. "I hate that Arthur and you don't know him, but he's back now, so hopefully you boys will see him as an uncle like Lorenzo does. Plus, their house is just down the street, so I'm sure we will be spending lots of time with each other."

All Charles can do is nod at him, he isn't sure that he can call this random man "uncle", but for his Father he will try to like him as much as he clearly does.

Dinner is over shortly after their conversation, with a little help from his Father's impatience to go see his old friend. And before Charles can try and sneak a cookie again they are out the door, the cookies held securely in his Mother's hands, heading to their "uncles" house.

Charles realizes his Father wasn't lying when he said their house was just down the street, in fact it's only a block away. He's surprised his Father wasn't dragging them here earlier today with how close it is.

His Father knocks on the door and after a moment a man answers."Hervé!” 

"Y/D/N!"

The two men embrace each other, big smiles plastered on both of their faces. "If it was up to me we would have been over as soon as you guys arrived earlier today, but Pascale insisted we give you guys a little time to settle in."

"Oh nonsense. You're fine." The man steps aside, motioning for everyone to come in. "Come on in. Don't mind the million boxes scattered around."

"It's a beautiful home." Pascale states as she glances around.

"Merci."

The man's eyes wander to Charles and his brothers. His arms extend towards Lorenzo and the two of them hug, the man tousling Lorenzo's hair as they pull away. "Dieu te regarde! You're practically a man!"

Lorenzo can only laugh at the man, whose attention is now on the two youngest Leclerc boys. He crouches down so he's at eye level with them. "Bonjour. I don't think we have met yet. I'm Y/D/N, a very old friend of your Papa's." His hand reaches out for Charles to shake. "You must be Charles."

Charles gently takes Y/D/N's hand and shakes it, something he's seen his Father do hundreds of times. "I am. How did you know?"

A smirk plays at Y/D/N's lips. "When your Papa and I speak, he loves to talk about his boys. Even the ones I didn't get the pleasure of meeting until now." His attention now moved to the youngest Leclerc. "Like you little Arthur." Little giggles came from Arthur as the man pinched his cheek.

"Are we going to get to meet the other members of your family Y/D/N?" Pascale asks.

"Patience still isn't your strong suit, is it Pascale?" The man teases as he leads them towards the kitchen.

As they enter the kitchen they find a woman with an American accent putting away dishes into the cabinets. From what Charles can gather from the conversation the adults are having is that their "uncle" met his wife while on business in America. They fell in love and he ended up moving there to be with her. They got married and had a daughter. He wanted to raise her here so they decided to move back to Monaco.

"Guess you should all meet the reason we moved huh? Y/N! Ma chérie come here!" Y/D/N yells.

And here you came, barreling into the kitchen, not knowing that there were five strangers standing there until it was too late. Cheeks turning pink as you hid behind your Mom's legs. "This shy little thing is our daughter, Y/N."

Pascale's face lit up at the sight of you. "Oh tu n'es pas une poupée? She's beautiful you two!" She glances over at your parents then back to you. "You look to be around the age of my two youngest boys, no?" She squats down so the two of you are eye level as you peak around your Mom's legs. "How old are you?" As you lifted your hand, little fingers all stood up straight indicating that you were five, Pascale smiled. 

"Oh, that's the same age as my Arthur." She points towards the smallest boy, who's dirty blonde hair almost covered his eyes. She then points to the slightly taller boy in the middle, his soft blue eyes watching his Mom intently. "That is Charles, he's a little older than Arthur and you. He's eight." Then she finally points to the obviously very older son. "And that is Lorenzo, he's a lot older. It makes me feel old to say this but he's eighteen!"

Your shyness somehow slowly got chipped away by Pascale and you were now standing beside your Mom, not behind her. "Go on baby. Say hi to them." You Mom encouraged as she brushed your hair out of your face.

Even if you had braved coming out from behind your Mom's legs, the idea of talking to these strangers still scared you. You looked over to your Dad who stared back at you, a smile on his face and a slight nod in your direction told you everything was going to be okay.

"Hi." You said meekly.

The two younger boys gave you a small wave in return.

The adults had started to converse, leaving the kids to stand there awkwardly. Not knowing each other well to be the one to initiate conversation or play.

Your Mom had noticed the quietness between you and the boys, and your constant presence by her legs. "Why don't you kids go play out back? The house luckily came with a playset that is begging to be played on." She pulled open the sliding door, motioning for the kids to go outside.

Arthur was the first to run outside, he was practically already at the door when he heard the word playset. His little legs were already running up the slide by the time Charles and you had exited the house.

You watched your feet drag across the grass as you swung back and forth on the swing. Your Dad's voice playing in your head as you heard Charles and Arthur's laughter echo through the hot summer air.

"I know this is a big change for you mon amour. But I promise, we wouldn't have made this big move if your Maman and I didn't think it wouldn't have been a good idea. It may take some time for you to adjust, but knowing you, in a couple weeks you'll probably be more of a Monégasque than me!"

"I'm only half though. How could I be more than you Papa?" Tiny giggles escaping you as you gave your Father a questioning look.

"Anything is possible chérie! Plus you remember me talking about your uncle Hervé? Well, he has two boys that are around the same age as you. And I'm positive you three will become the bestest of friends like we were at that age in no time. When your Uncle Hervé and I were younger people would always say "Wherever there is a Y/L/N there is a Leclerc" and I'm sure it will live on through you three."

As you watched the two Leclerc boys chase each other through the yard, you knew your Dad would want you to get up and go join them. He seemed so excited at the idea of you and the boys being friends and you didn't want to disappoint him, but at only five years old, your shyness overruled the majority of your decisions.

Charles, even though he was playing with his brother, had noticed how you hadn't left the swing since coming outside. He tried to put himself in your shoes, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to move halfway across the world.

What it would be like to leave everything you've ever known behind and move to a country that is nothing like the one you'd spent your whole life in so far. Even if your Father was from here and technically Monaco is as much of your home as America ever was, he knows that at least right now, this place means nothing to you.

So, being the empath that he is, Charles decides that it's his mission to make you feel at home. To make you realize that Monaco has been your home all along. That if he was you right now, all he would want is for someone to befriend him, make him feel less alone. His first step; asking you to play.

His skinny frame soon occupies the empty swing next to you, hands gripping the chains as he barely moves back and forth. His feet mimicked yours, dirt and grass staining his white sneakers.

"Hi." Charles watched as your head perked up at his voice. Your doe eyes timidly looking over at him like you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

"Hi."

"Do you wanna play with Arthur and me?" Charles hopes you don't run back inside after hearing his question, but when your face lights up, head nodding enthusiastically, his worries dissipate. You were just so glad that he had come over and asked you, because you would have sat there on that swing all evening if he hadn't.

In a matter of minutes your shyness and worries about upsetting your Father were replaced with bouts of laughter as Arthur and you ran from Charles. Gleeful screams and giggles filled the evening air as the three of you played and for the first time since getting told you were moving you felt carefree.

The loud laughter and yelling had gotten the attention of the adults and as they watched their children play through the sliding glass door they couldn't wipe the smiles off their faces.

"That didn't take long did it?" Your Mom felt a relief wash over her. At only five years old she knew this move was going to be hard on you, and she wished they could have just stayed in America. But who was she to deprive you of experiencing the life that was quite literally half of you. Deprive her husband of seeing his little girl experience the same things he did as a child.

And as she watched the way the three kids played together she knew it was the right decision. For you to come out of your shell so quickly meant that maybe things weren't going to be so bad here after all.

"Of course it didn't." Your Dad stood behind your Mom, his hand on her shoulder as he watched his little girl laugh and run around. "Because wherever there is a Y/L/N-"

"there is a Leclerc." Hervé finished, an equally big smile on his face.

The painting of orange and pink hues that filled the evening sky told everyone that the sun was making her farewell for the day. Though, that didn't stop you and the boys from still playing and eventually as the colorful painting turned to a star filled sky you all were called inside.

Rosy cheeks and sweaty foreheads adorned all three of your faces as you clambered into the kitchen. "Looks like you kids had fun." Pascale had grabbed the cookies off the counter, but as she opened the lid to offer the kids one, she had a better idea. "How about some ice cream?" Charles' eyes lit up at the mention of ice cream. He loved cookies, but his one true love was ice cream. "I think the place down the road is still open."

And with an unspoken agreement, they are all out the door and headed towards the ice cream shop. Charles and you walk side by side with Arthur trailing behind the two of you. His complaints about being left out falling on deaf ears as Charles tells you about how good the ice cream place is.

The walk isn't a long one and before you realize it, you've arrived. The sickeningly sweet smell hits you as soon as you walk through the door, and your short legs carry you towards the counter, not paying mind to any sort of line that was already formed. Your face was practically pressed against the glass as you looked at all the flavors to choose from. But even with flavors like triple chocolate or strawberry or peanut butter cup. You always go with your tried and true; vanilla.

Charles and Arthur had joined you, faces as equally as close to the glass as yours.

"You think Maman will let me try them all?" Arthur asks, mouth practically watering at the sight in front of him.

"I don't know about that." You recognize your Dad's voice behind you. "You guys tell me what you want and then go wait at the table outside with Lorenzo." The three of you reluctantly turn away from the ice cream and when Arthur tells your Dad he wants mint, Charles and you share a disgusted look. "Ok mint for Arthur, what about you two?"

"Vanilla!" Comes out of both Charles and your mouth. Big smiles spread across your faces as you realize you both said the same thing.

"No way that's my favorite flavor!" Charles exclaims.

"Mine too!"

By the time your Dad comes outside with the ice cream Charles and you had established that; vanilla was the best flavor of ice cream ever, blue was your favorite color, red was his, you both loved dogs, and that he wanted to be a Formula 1 driver when he grew up. You didn't really know what that was, you think you had heard your Dad talking about it or watching it before, but the way Charles talked about it, it seemed like it was something big.

After many brain freezes and Arthur trying to make Charles and you try his mint ice cream, the night was coming to an end. The walk back home was filled with talks of things that you guys had to do this summer, according to Charles, and about how tonight would not be the last trip to the ice cream shop.

As you arrived at your house the grownups said their farewells and goodnights, while you gave everyone a simple wave goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!" Charles yelled as you entered the front door, and all you could do was yell back.

"Ok!"

And Charles wasn't lying, you did see him the next day, and the day after that. In fact, any free day that you or the youngest Leclerc boys had were spent in each other's company that summer. By the time school started back up the three of you were inseparable. 

The idea of starting at a new school in a different country while knowing no one scared you, so you were glad to have Arthur with you in class and just knowing Charles was in the building made you feel more at ease. Any worries you had about moving to Monaco had dissipated and Charles had just somehow knew that he had accomplished his mission of making you feel at home. It may have taken him all summer, but you were practically family at this point to him.

So when he heard from Arthur about a couple boys in your class not being the friendliest towards you, something about you being an annoying American, he knew he had to defend you.

Charles fortunately had caught them in the act one day. Your cheeks slightly damp and eyes red told Charles it wasn't just them saying you were annoying. You wouldn't tell him what they said to you, but that didn't stop him from telling the boys off. It didn't take much for them to run off, heck Charles could have just stared at them and they probably would have darted, him somewhat forgetting they were probably only five or six, but still there was no reason for them to be mean to you.

Charles wiped away your tears before pulling you in for a hug. "They shouldn't bother you anymore, but if they ever do come tell me. You know you've always got me and Arthur and if it gets bad enough I guess we could tell Lorenzo." The mention of the oldest Leclerc boy made you giggle and Charles was so happy to see a smile on your face again. "You've always got me Y/N, we've got each other. I promise." He held out his pinky finger towards you and you hooked yours around his, officially sealing the promise

And from that moment on, you two always did have each other.

 ten and thirteen

Five years had passed since you first met Charles, and in those five years your bond only grew stronger. Not only with each other, but with each other's families too. To Pascale you were the daughter she always wanted and your Dad treated the Leclerc boys like his sons. It was like you guys filled in the missing pieces in each other's families.

Multiple scrapbooks were filled over the years with memories that would last a lifetime. Pictures of the joint family vacations that were taken every year, first and last day of school pictures, birthdays, and major milestones all filled the pages.

Looking back now your Mom could have kicked herself for ever second guessing the decision to move. Clearly this was where you guys were supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. Everything just felt right. It felt like home.

A new thing that had become a part of your life in the past five years was karting. No, you didn't drive them, but Charles and Arthur did. So, that meant it was now a part of you. Multiple weekends were spent going to watch them race, the smell of exhaust and the sound of the engines were ingrained into your brain, but you had grown fond of it.

Although, in the last couple years Charles had started to take karting very seriously. You knew his dream was to be an F1 driver, and you knew (from him teaching you everything about it one day) how much dedication it took from a young age to get to the top. So, over the last year, when almost every weekend he was busy, you tried not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately for Arthur, this year his family had decided to focus solely on Charles' career for the time being, as karting was expensive, and having two boys doing it was just not something they could swing. But with Charles busy and Arthur now free it was almost like the boys had flip flopped positions in your life.

Between the two youngest Leclerc boys it was always very obvious that you gravitated more towards Charles, the two of you having a bond that many didn't understand, especially considering your age gap.

Three years isn't crazy per say, but at the age you two are right now it's a little different. Charles is thirteen, officially a teenager, while you're still only ten. Two very different stages in kids' lives, and sometimes recently it seemed like Charles was moving on, or growing up, and you worried that he wouldn't want to spend time with you anymore. Because really what thirteen year old wants to willingly hang out with a ten year old? You know you wouldn't want to hang out with a seven year old. 

But the slight gap that Charles was currently leaving in your life, Arthur had no problem filling it in.

During the school year you spent basically all your time with Arthur, being in the same grade and him not dedicating all his time to karting at the moment was a big contributing factor. You still saw Charles, but nearly as much as you used to. He had moved up to secondary school a year or so ago and unfortunately Arthur and you were still in your last year of primary school. So your time to see Charles was limited to his rare free weekends and sometimes after school. 

You had thought come summer time you would be able to see him more and were banking on your annual family vacation, but you were wrong. In fact, you barely even saw Arthur this summer. They were so busy with Charles karting it was like they didn't even live in their home. And when they were home your family was busy doing something.

The annual family vacation had to be canceled and you had basically gone the whole summer without seeing them. That was until today, two weeks before school started, when you came downstairs to see Charles and Arthur sitting on your couch talking to your Dad, who was sitting in a chair opposite of them.

"Ah, there she is." Your Dad had spotted you from the doorway. "They've come to steal you."

Rounding the side of the couch you were now stood in front of the two boys. Arthur was the first to jump up from the couch, his arms squeezing you into him, the two of you slightly swaying back and forth as giggles escaped past your lips. "Tu m'as manqué aussi Arthur."

As Arthur finally let you go your eyes fell on the middle Leclerc boy, who was still sat on the couch. "Charlie." The nickname you had given him that first summer had still stuck around five years later. It fell off your tongue with ease, basically second nature for you at this point. He never minded when you called him that, in fact sometimes he preferred it, but god forbid anyone else call him that.

You could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples peaking out as he tried to resist it more. As he stood up from the couch he finally let it free, the corners of his eyes crinkled and dimples on full display as he wrapped his arms around you. You noticed you guys weren't almost the same height anymore, your head hit at about his shoulder now. Had he gotten taller since the last time you saw him? There was no way he had grown that much in almost two months, but yet the proof was standing right infront of you.

"Tu m'as manqué." Charles stated as he pulled away from the hug.

"I figured you'd have your kart seat stuck to you when I saw you again."

"Well when that seat becomes an F1 seat, I know who will be the last person I invite to a race."

You wedged yourself between the two brothers on the couch as you rolled your eyes at Charles. "Yeah I won't need an invite because I'll have a permanent paddock pass." You weren't even sure if such a thing as a permanent paddock pass existed, but when Charles makes it into Formula 1, you had better have one.

"No doubt about it." Charles states, which gets him a smile from you in return.

"So what was Papa talking about? You guys are stealing me?"

"We've got something fun planned." Charles had a small smile on his face as he made eye contact with you. And as you stared back at him you noticed something else that had changed in the past two months, his hair. It was shaggy and almost covered his eyes if he didn't have it pushed to the side. You were surprised Pascale hadn't made him cut it yet, or that she hadn't snuck into his room at night and at least trimmed the hair around his face. It was just another sign of how long it had been since you'd seen each other.

You glanced over at your Dad, unsure of what "fun" they had planned, but he was no help. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise." Charles had stood up from the couch, eyes staring back down at you. "Well come on. We don't have all day."

"Be careful! Je t'aime!" Your Dad hollered as the three of you walked out the door.

"Je t'aime aussi!" You hollered back.

The warm sun beat down on you as you walked the familiar streets of Monaco, following the two boys in front of you. Your insistent pleas of wanting to know where you were going were ignored. And it didn't take long for you to just start guessing random places, which were all met with groaned no's from the boys.

Thankfully you guys had arrived at your destination because you were running out of places to name, but the place you were standing in front of was not where you had expected to end up. Though truly you should have known better.

"Did you guys really just bring me here to watch you two drive go-karts?" Of course they brought you to the track. It wasn't like you didn't like watching them race or even just screw around on the karts, but as of recently it was the one thing that was keeping Charles away from you. It just would have been nice to do something that didn't involve karting.

"We aren't the ones who are going to be driving them." Arthur's devious little smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I don't think that's safe, and don't we need an adult with us?" So perhaps you were slightly scared at the idea of driving – no you were actually more worried than scared. You didn't want to seem like an idiot because you didn't know what to do or wreck and make a fool of yourself. That little shy five year old girl was slowly creeping back in as Arthur and Charles practically dragged you inside.

"The adult is already here." Charles points at Lorenzo who's filling out paperwork at the front counter. "I think it's time for you to learn, no?" Your eyes focus on Lorenzo, praying as an adult he has enough sense to not let this happen. But it was no use, he had already handed the worker the paperwork and was walking towards you with a bunch of gear in his hands.

"No chickening out this time petite soeur. Today is the day." Lorenzo stated.

Before you can even protest anymore Lorenzo is handing you all this stuff to put on, arms overflowing as you stare at him wide-eyed. "Do I really need all of this for" you glance over at the track then back at Charles "an indoor track?"

"Safety first Y/N. Plus you need to have the full karting experience." His dimples on display as he gives you a reassuring smile, that somehow works wonders on you, because you're putting on all the gear without him even asking. "Oh wait you're gonna need this." He slides a hair tie off his wrist and hands it over to you. His action put a smile on your face as you quickly tied your hair back.

It was something Charles had done for a couple years now, always having a hair tie on him. You were always pushing your hair out of your face or complaining about it being hot and of course you never had a hair tie with you. So, he just started wearing one on his wrist, so when you eventually needed one, he was there to provide.

With your gear on you guys walked over towards one of the karts and you made sure to listen intently as Charles explained how to work everything.

You slipped the helmet on and sat down in the kart, praying that you could remember what Charles had told you. "You've got this. Just remember what I said and we will be right here if you need us. I’ll be right here. I promise." Charles holds out his pinky finger, the familiar gesture between the two of you meant much more than just a simple promise. And as you hook your finger around his, you know it's going to be okay. "Please be careful. I think your Papa will have my head if you come back with even just a scratch." Lorenzo says as he double checks that you're strapped in well enough.

"I'll be fine."

You gave Charles one last final glance, who stood there giving you a thumbs up, before pressing your foot down on the accelerator. At first you were going so slow, scared that if you went too fast you were gonna wreck. But as you completed a couple laps you started to feel more comfortable and the cheers from the boys helped you out too.

"Floor it!" Arthur yells as you pass by on another lap.

You were really starting to have fun, so you listened to Arthur and pressed the pedal all the way down on the next straightaway. You felt like you were flying, but what you didn't know was that they had put you in the slowest kart, so you really weren't going as fast as you thought you were.

After a couple more laps Charles stood by the starting line, waving the checkered flag, a cheesy grin on his face as you passed by him. As the kart came to a stop you understood why they loved karting so much, it wasn't just fun, it was exhilarating, addicting, you already wanted to go again.

The boys surrounded the kart as you undid the straps and climbed out. As you took off the helmet you couldn't wipe the grin off your face. "Looks like you might have some competition Charles." Lorenzo teases.

Charles ignored his big brother's teasing and shifted his focus back to you. He had felt bad about not seeing you all summer and in all honesty not that much over this past year. But things in his life were changing, karting was becoming a much bigger deal, and he was winning, like a lot. He knew things were only going to go up from here. And as much as he loved racing, and god did he love it, he breathed it he dreamt it, racing was in his blood. There just weren't many times anymore where he felt like a thirteen year old, like a kid. It sometimes felt like he was missing out on things.

But Charles knew that when he came home from a busy weekend or practically a whole summer filled with racing, that things would always be the same at home. His Mom would always make spaghetti on Tuesday nights, you had to jiggle the handle on the gate to the backyard to get it to open, if you went into the ice cream shop on a Thursday night when the owner wasn't there you'd get extra ice cream, the lady across the street will yell at your for playing in the street, and you will always be a couple houses down. 

He knew that when he was around you that he could feel like a kid again. Sure, he had made plenty of friends through racing, but it seemed like all their conversations always somehow revolved or ended up referring to racing. Which wasn't a bad thing, because of course Charles loved racing. But sometimes he just wanted to talk about video games or other sports, or just something random. And he could do that with you.

Now granted, for someone who wanted to have a little break from racing before school started, you'd think he wouldn't be back at a track the first chance he got. But Charles had wanted to teach you how to kart for years, but each time he had mentioned it you chickened out. So he had finally gotten the nerve, with a little help from Lorenzo and Arthur, to just force you to learn.

He knew you'd do a good job, he never had a doubt. It was just your worries that prevented you from learning earlier. He knew you had grown to love the sport, from tagging along to some of his races, or how you can't wait for the Monaco grand prix every year, not to mention how glued you are to the TV when his free weekends and the F1 schedule line up. So, somehow in his own weird way, Charles knew you'd be a natural.

"You did do a good job, I'm proud of you." Charles flashes you a smile as you guys exit the track.

"Merci Charlie." You quickly shed all the gear and handed it back to Lorenzo. "I don't know why you guys didn't teach me earlier. That was so much fun. I see why you guys love it so much."

"Don't act like we haven't tried for years to get you to learn." Charles teases. "We basically just had to force you today."

Memories of all the past failed attempts at teaching you how to kart flooded your mind. The one time you hid in the bathroom claiming to be throwing up, the time you 'tripped' on your way into the building and said you sprained your ankle, or the many times you just flat out refused. So maybe them forcing you was for the better, because you wouldn't have taken the initiative on your own to learn.

"Whatever. At least I finally learned."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The walk back to your house was filled with Charles filling you in on his exciting karting filled summer. From the new friends he had made to the races he had won, he didn't spare any detail. And you just walked beside him, listening to his every word, grateful to just have him back around. Arthur would pipe in occasionally to contradict something Charles had said, fulfilling his little brother duties. And as the three of you traveled through the principality, the summer sun high in the sky, you wished every day could be like this.

The fragrant jasmine shrubs that lined the sidewalk told you guys that you were close to home. "You guys wanna stay for dinner? It's Friday which means Mom's making something pasta related."

Charles would never turn down a Friday night dinner at your house and so he had no trouble in accepting your invitation. Arthur declined, stating that he was going to hang out with some of his other friends, and Lorenzo had split from you guys at the track. Which meant it was just Charles and you, which was fine with you.

The smell of your Mom's famous red sauce, that she swore had to cook for at least half the day, filled your nostrils as you walked through the door. "Mom! Papa! I’m home!"

"In the kitchen!" You heard your Mom shout.

You found your Mom furiously stirring something on the stove as Charles and you sat at the island counter directly in front of her. She tore her attention away from her cooking just long enough to notice Charles was with you. "Well look who's back! I hope you're staying for dinner?" A big smile accompanied her words as she spoke to Charles.

"Of course, you know I love Friday pasta nights."

"Well it's still gonna be a little bit until everything is ready, so if you kids are hungry grab a little snack or something." Her attention was already back to the bubbling pot in front of her before she had finished speaking.

Charles' stomach had been growling the whole walk home, and now sitting here smelling your Mom's cooking had it growling even more. So, he took up her offer and grabbed two tangerines from the bowl of fruit on the counter. Without even thinking about it, he peeled the first one and handed it over to you.

"You're spoiling her by peeling that for her Charles." Your Dad stated as he walked into the kitchen.

Charles shrugged at your Dad's comment as he continued to peel his own tangerine. "I don't mind it. I know she doesn't like to peel them and it's really not a big deal to me. So I guess as long as I'm around she won't have to."

You never gave a second thought about Charles peeling your fruit for you. He's done it ever since you expressed your dislike for peeling them years ago. To you it wasn't you being spoiled, it was just your best friend doing something nice for you. You gave Charles a smile as you popped another piece of the tangerine in your mouth. "Merci Charles." As you looked back towards your parents, you caught them staring at each other, eyebrows slightly raised, and smiles on their faces. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh nothing sweetie." Your Mom answered, attention turning back to the food. She knew you'd figure it out eventually.

The topic of conversation during dinner was all about karting. Your parents wanted to know all about Charles' wins and if anything exciting had happened during any of his races. Charles truly was like a son to them, granted all three of the Leclerc boys were, but you knew Charles was their favorite. They sat there listening intently as he told them everything and your Dad gave him nothing but praises back.

"You're gonna do great things Charles. I just know it."

And finally when Charles changed the conversation to how he finally taught you how to kart, your Dad though first worried at the idea of you getting hurt, was ecstatic to hear that you were quite good and that you enjoyed it. Your Mom didn't like the idea at all, the sour look on her face told you everything. "I can barely handle watching Charles, let alone my baby."

"I was the only one on the track, Mom. Plus it was just for fun, you don't have to worry about me doing the real thing. I really was not as good as Charles says I was." You tried to reassure her, but she still didn't seem pleased.

"Maybe it will help to know that we put her in the slowest kart." Charles chimed in.

Your head whipped to the right of you, where Charles was sat. "You put me in the slowest one?! You really thought I’d be that bad?"

"It was your first time! You were nervous as is, let alone putting you in a fast one."

A scoff came from you. "I feel cheated out of a real experience."

"Well, the slowest is fine with me. In fact, how do we find one slower than the slowest?" Your Mom inquired, nothing shy of a serious look on her face.

As dinner came to an end Charles and you helped clean up and then ventured out back. The sun had just set, allowing for dusk to settle in, the remnants of the sunset still lingering in the sky. The two of you found yourselves on familiar territory, the swings. The metal chains had slightly rusted over the years, but still held strong as the two of you swayed back and forth on them.

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to figure out how to talk to Charles about the thing that had been subconsciously bothering you for a while. 

Him forgetting about you. 

He had his head down, staring at his feet as he slowly swung back and forth on the swing. "Charles?" He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, blue eyes slightly covered by his shaggy hair.

"Yeah?"

Your hands gripped the chains tighter as you stilled your movements, feet planted firmly in the worn patch of grass. "I need you to make me a promise."

He had copied your actions, even going as far as turning slightly to face you as he spoke. "For what?"

"I need you to promise that you won't forget about me. That when you make it into F1 and become super famous that you won't think I'm some loser. Or even when you move up to F3, just please promise me you won't forget about me."

Charles frowned at your words, never in a million years would he forget about you, or think you were a loser. He didn't want to get into F1 to become famous, yeah it was a perk of the job, but he wanted a seat in F1 because he loved racing, and it meant that he was one of the best in the world.

He held out his pinky finger towards you. "Do you remember what I said to you when those boys were teasing you during your first year here?" You shook your head, the memory replaying in your mind. "That you’ve always got me and I’ve always got you. So that means I don't think I could ever forget about you Y/N, whether I make it into F1 or not. And If I do, I'm gonna need my number one supporter there by my side aren't I? So I promise I won’t forget you."

A big smile spread across your face at his words and as you hooked your pinky finger around his, you knew the promise was true.

But what you didn't know was that sometimes promises are broken.

thirteen and sixteen

Thirteen is a very weird year for you. 

It’s not puberty or the ever revolving drama that comes with being thirteen that is making it a weird year. It’s the embarrassingly painful crush you’ve got on Charles. 

It’s a cliche really, having a crush on the cute older boy you’ve grown up with. 

And one might ask why is it embarrassing? For starters, you can’t be around him for more than five minutes without turning into a blushing mess. He stares at you for longer than a second? Game over. He smiles at you? Done for. He laughs at something you said? You’re dead. 

He doesn’t know he’s turning your thirteen year old brain into mush just by simply existing and it’s embarrassing to even think about him knowing that. 

On the other hand, it’s painful. You’re thirteen and he’s sixteen, once again at very different stages in life. And you know that he doesn’t like you back, that he only sees you as a little sister, but it still hurts. It hurts because you’re thirteen and you think that you’re mature for your age and you honestly think why wouldn’t he like you back. It’s something almost every young girl goes through, and unfortunately it’s happening to you with someone you are very close with. 

Yes, you had always thought he was cute, but that's because he was. That fluffy brown hair, long thick eyelashes that adorned his pretty eyes, his dimples, the little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Okay– so maybe that's how you would describe him now, but still, he was a cute kid also, there was no denying that. 

 But if you really had to figure out when you realized you had a crush on Charles it had to have been this past Christmas.   

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The holidays in Monaco were somewhat different than the few years you remembered back in America. You had stopped celebrating Thanksgiving after your Mom’s failed attempt at trying to make a Thanksgiving dinner your first year here. It wasn’t that your Mom was a bad cook, it was that it was somewhat hard to find everything needed for a Thanksgiving dinner in Monaco. And as hard as your Mom tried to make it work, it just wasn’t the same without that damn Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. 

So to make up for not celebrating Thanksgiving your family truly went all out for Christmas. The couple Christmases that you could remember back in America were nothing shy of magical, but ever since moving to Monaco, your family took Christmas very seriously. There was no denying that part of your household was American, because every year your house looked like it came straight out of a cult classic Christmas movie. Like Kevin McCallister or Clark Griswold had taken up residence in Monaco for the holidays. 

It wasn’t just the outside that was decorated, the inside was just as festive and of course the tree was the main focal point. It was a busy tree, your Mom never liked an aesthetically pleasing tree, it was sentimental or nothing to her. Ornaments that were passed down on her side of the family, ones you had made in school, and some you had gotten after moving all had a home on the tree. 

And as if decorating wasn’t enough for your family, your traditions were even more of a big deal. The most important one to you though was making cookies on Christmas Eve. Mainly because Arthur and Charles had been doing it with you since your first Christmas in Monaco. 

Christmas music played on the record player in the living room, the sound traveling into the kitchen as your Mom and you made sure you had everything ready to bake. You were in your own little world, picking out your favorite cookie cutters and humming along to Wham!’s Last Christmas when you heard your Mom speak up. “You’re just in time Charles.” 

Your eyes moved away from the pile of cookie cutters up to the garland decorated doorway where Charles was standing. A smile slowly crept its way onto your face as the two of you made eye contact. He looked cozy, the sweater he had on was slightly oversized and his hair had a messy fluffy look to it. 

You watched as he talked to your Mom, she was surely talking to him about racing, and he would always gladly answer her questions, as she was nothing shy of a second Mom to him. The longer you stared at him, you could feel your heartbeat quickening. And a feeling was arising in you that you had only ever experienced with a boy in your class a year or so ago.  Though, the feeling didn’t last long, you had caught him picking his nose, and with that went away any feelings you had towards him. 

You didn’t even want to think about the word that was happening right now, the idea of it only making your heart race even faster. You tore your eyes away from Charles and noticed that the youngest Leclerc brother was missing, so you blamed your rapid heart beat and surely pink cheeks on that.

You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself before speaking. “Where’s Arthur?” 

Charles' attention was torn away from your Mom over to you. He pursed his lips, he didn’t know how to say nicely that Arthur said that baking Christmas cookies was for little kids, and he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He let out a sigh before speaking. “He’s not coming, he said he’s too old to be baking cookies.”

“But its-” 

“I know. I told him that it’s tradition and that you would be upset, but he wasn’t budging. So you’re stuck with just me.” 

It annoyed you that Arthur had bailed on you. There was no such thing as being too old to bake cookies, he was just being a jerk. And as far as you were concerned, he’s not allowed any of the cookies when your families have Christmas together tomorrow evening. 

On the bright side you get to have some one on one time with Charles, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise– Arthur bailing on you. You picked up the recipe card from the counter, waving it around in the air. “Well let’s get to work then.” 

Charles is at your side in an instant, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he waits for further instruction. 

“Do you think you kids can handle doing it by yourselves this year? I’ve got some last minute gifts that need to be wrapped.” Your Mom inquired, hopeful that you wouldn’t burn the house down on Christmas Eve. 

You didn’t even look up at her, eyes focused on the recipe in front of you, this was clearly something you took seriously. “Yes Mom.” 

Without a word she was gone, leaving Charles and you to your own devices. 

You can feel Charles peering over your shoulder. He’s practically right up against your side and you can feel the soft material of his sweater on your arm. All you can smell is his cologne, something he had started to use within the last year or two, thankfully moving on from the Axe body spray phase. And you’re trying not to make this seem like a big deal, because it’s truly not, but something has shifted in your thirteen year old brain. The same brain being scrambled by him right now, and you think you’ve read the damn recipe card at least ten times now. 

“Did you forget that the recipe is in American measuring terms?” Charles asks. The recipe was your Grandma’s and your Mom had never been bothered to convert it to the metric system. 

“Nope, just double checking everything.” You force a smile as you set down the recipe card and grab a mixing bowl. You added all the ingredients and made Charles do all the labor, which meant he had to mix it and then roll out the dough. 

You dug through the pile of cookie cutters looking for Charles favorite one. “Herree it isss.” You spoke in a sing songy voice as you held up the cookie cutter to Charles. His favorite in question? A penguin with a Santa hat on. Without fail, every Christmas, for the past eight years. Charles made an excessive amount of Santa hat penguin cookies. 

A grin spread across his face as you placed it in his hand. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without this guy.” He wasted no time in pressing the cutter down into the dough and before you guys knew it the first batch was done and in the oven. 

As you started on the next batch Charles kept a close eye on the baking cookies. The two of you allowed for Michael Buble to fill silence in the air and the mouthwatering smell of the cookies soon filled your nostrils. “You know you still call her Mom?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Charles' random statement. “Huh?” 

He walked away from the oven and back to his original spot next to you. “You still call your Maman Mom.” 

“Yes?” You weren’t really sure where he was going with this, it was nothing new to either of you. 

“I just figured by now you would have made the switch. You speak French with everyone else.” 

You shrugged your shoulders at him, you had never really considered it, the idea felt weird even just thinking about it now. “I’ve always spoken English with my Mom and French with Papa. It would feel weird to switch stuff around now.” You stirred in the flour as you continued the conversation. “You know I could give you some English lessons if you’d like. I think that might have been what you were hinting at.” You teased. 

Charles' eyes widened at your words. “Are you saying my English is not good? I think I speak English very good!” 

“Well.” You didn’t skip a beat. 

“What?” 

“You think you speak English very w-” 

In an instant there is flour all over the upper part of your body, your movements stilled as you’re processing what Charles had just done. You’re mad at first, actually seething because your hair looked so good today and now it’s covered in flour. And you can’t see Charles because you haven’t moved an inch since he threw the flour at you, but he went from having a shit eating grin on his face to a oh shit expression. Your quietness has him worried that you’re actually really pissed at him, but when he hears his nickname come past your lips he knows you're not that mad at him. 

“Charlie. You better run.” 

He isn’t sure he’s heard you right, but when he sees you pick up the whole bag of flour his sock clad feet are sliding on the floor as he runs around the other side of the kitchen island. You're playing cat and mouse around the island for quite some time. The beeping from the oven time ignored multiple times as giggles from both of you filled the room. 

As Charles rounds the corner again his foot catches on one of the barstool legs and you know you’ve finally got him. He doesn’t fall, but he slips just enough to allow you to fully catch up to him. And you may or may not have thrown the whole bag of flour at him, but him being covered head to toe in flour says it was the whole bag. You definitely got him 10x worse than he did you and from that gleam in his eye you know what he’s going to do, but you can’t get away fast enough and his arms are around you in an instant. He shakes his head trying to get as much of the flour off of him and onto you and by you trying to free yourself from his grip he’s transferred a good amount from his clothes onto yours. “Charles! Let me go!” Your pleas are pitiful, laughter dripping off every word. 

“Oh my god!” 

Both of your eyes widen, bodies frozen at the sound of your Mom’s less than pleased voice. The two of you sheepishly stood there as your Mom looks like she’s about ready to cry and cuss you out at the same time. “I can’t leave you two alone for an hour?!” Her eyes shift to behind the two of you, panic written across her face. She’s practically running towards the oven and that’s when you realize the burning smell. And when she not so softly sets the cookie sheet onto the counter you know she’s really not happy. The cookies were burnt to a crisp, the poor Santa hat penguin never stood a chance. “I’m sorry Y/M/N. It was my fault, I started it.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. 

“I don’t care who started it because you’re both cleaning up this mess.” A deep sigh came from you Mom as she really took in just how big of a mess the two of you had made, her head shaking in disapproval as she left the two of you to clean up. 

When you knew she was out of earshot you couldn’t but let out a little giggle, it was like in school when you weren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is just so funny, and Charles follows your actions seconds later. The two of you fools, covered in flour, cookies burnt, and in trouble as you stood there laughing. 

That night you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your bed, your brain would not shut off. And it wasn’t because you were excited for Christmas morning, you only wished that was the reason. You couldn’t get how good it felt to have Charles arms wrapped around you out of your mind, or how that stupid sweater made him look even more attractive than he already was. 

As you stared up at the ceiling, you knew you were screwed. You had a big fat crush on Charles and it was going to ruin your life. You knew he only saw you as a little sister and that made everything so much more worse to you. Why did you have to develop feelings for him of all people? 

Christmas morning came and went and before you knew it evening had arrived, meaning the Leclerc’s would be arriving soon. You were in charge of setting the table, a task you didn’t mind, considering being in the kitchen with your Mom on any holiday was like asking to get yelled at. As you folded the last napkin neatly and placed it in its rightful spot you heard commotion coming from the front door, undoubtedly the Leclerc’s arriving. You spotted Pascale struggling to juggle all the presents and you hurried towards her, quick to offer a hand. “Merci chéri.” A grateful smile painted across her face.

The pile of presents grows as you place them under the tree and you’d think your family hadn’t already opened some this morning. Everyone settles into their usual spots in the living room, but your usual spot by Charles is left empty, as you’ve scurried into the kitchen. You’d rather face the unwarranted wrath from your Mom than be unable to compose yourself around Charles. But you don’t get to hide in the kitchen for very long because she’s practically done with everything, so you help her bring in all the food to the table, and admire your table setting skills as you do so. 

Dinner is pretty uneventful and luckily your Dad has Charles preoccupied with racing talk for most of the time. But you can’t help but catch his eye from across the table every once in a while and every time you do your heart skips a beat. By the time presents start getting passed around you had successfully avoided Charles for most of the day, but that is ruined when he plops down next to you on the floor, shoulders brushing as he gets situated. 

“Are you mad at me for yesterday?” Charles' voice is low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear, but he could have talked at full volume, no one would have heard him over how loud your Dads were being. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” 

Your fingers toyed with the lifted corner of wrapping paper on the present in front of you, your brain trying to figure out what to say. Yes, you had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t because you were mad. It was actually the opposite, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m not mad at you. Just didn’t want there to be another flour fiasco today. You thought she was mad yesterday, now imagine that while she’s in her holiday cooking zone.” You give him a reassuring smile, hoping that he’s bought what you’ve told him. But he doesn’t get the chance to respond as your Mom’s voice fills the room. 

“Ok does everyone have all their presents? Our Santa this year was less than enthusiastic about handing out the presents.” Your Mom shoots Arthur a look as he sits down on the floor across from Charles and you. 

“There is nothing left under the tree. I promise.” Arthur states. 

“Alright then everyone get after it!” 

Piles of wrapping paper fill the empty spots on the floor in no time and excited gasps fill the room as everyone unwraps their gifts. You’re always so grateful for everything the Leclerc’s get you for Christmas, they treat you like one of their own, and sometimes you feel they spoil you a little too much. 

With each present that you unwrapped that wasn’t from Charles, you start to get a little worried. You guys exchanged presents every year and if he didn’t get you something this year, you think you might die. So when you come to your last present and it says it’s from his parents, you try to hide your disappointment, especially because it’s an amazing gift. You hop up from your spot on the floor and make sure to go thank them personally, hugs and all. And you’re pretty sure you hear them say something about how you’re their daughter too and how you deserve it, but your brain is still thinking about how Charles didn’t get you anything. 

When you go back to your spot a little perfectly wrapped box with a bow on it is sitting there. You know you weren’t sitting on that, so it had to be placed there after you got up. You think it’s one of Charles that he forgot about, but when you bend over to pick it up you see Charles sloppy handwriting on it. A smile spreads across your face as you look over at Charles who has an equally big one on his. You quickly sit down, eager to know what’s inside. 

“Did you think I didn’t get you anything?” Charles questions, a smirk toying at his lips. 

“Maybe.” Yes. 

“I would never.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, motioning for you to open it. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?” 

You don’t want to seem like you're absolutely ripping into the present, but it probably looks like you are. It’s a tiny box, like one used for jewelry, and you really aren’t expecting Charles to have gotten you jewelry. But when you open the box, nestled in the velvet cushion, is a ring. You glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then back to the ring. It’s just a simple sterling silver ring and somewhat on the smaller side. To be honest Charles could have gotten you a bag of candy and you would have been happy to have just gotten something from him, let alone a ring. 

But when you pick the ring up from the box you see exactly why it’s smaller, and it makes your heart swell. On the inside of the ring you see the words pinky promise engraved into it and as you look over at Charles, he’s holding out his pinky finger, a matching ring adorning it. Your cheeks are hurting from how hard you're smiling, but you don’t care. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten you and as you slide it onto your pinky finger you feel yourself smiling even more, if that’s possible. Your arms are around Charles instantly, pulling him in towards you, thank you’s tumbling out of your mouth as he giggles in response. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He pauses, trying to figure out the right words to say. “Things are changing. I’m moving up from karting and hopefully into Formula 3 within the next year. It’s just a reminder that we’ve always got each other, even if I’m gone racing or you’re off doing something, we can look at the rings and know we’ve got a piece of each other with us, always.” 

You can’t stop smiling at him, and that crush you’ve got has tripled in size in a few short hours. Your teenage brain over exaggerates everything and you basically think this means you’re gonna be together forever, even though you aren’t even together. 

While you’re in make believe land, your parents are observing the two of you. Whispers and knowing glances are exchanged, between them and your Moms can’t help but think it’s cute how close the two of you are. While your Dad in particular, no matter how he feels about Charles, thinks no boy is good enough for his little girl, let alone some sixteen year old boy. 

Perhaps you may be a little dramatic when you say that this Christmas was the best one you’d had so far, but honestly it was the truth. Sure you realized you had a huge crush on Charles that will probably end in tears, but you also got the most thoughtful gift ever, that you will cherish forever. So yeah, this was a good Christmas, crush aside. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And so you lived with admiring Charles from afar for months. Enjoying what time you got together and just holding out hope that maybe one day he wouldn’t see you as his little sister. But life had a funny way of hitting you in the face with reality, especially at thirteen. 

When Charles shows up to a joint family dinner one night with a girl around his arm you feel like all the air has escaped your lungs. And when he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend you plaster on a smile even though you feel like someone has pulled your heart out of your chest and ran it over multiple times.

It’s the longest dinner of your life and while everyone gushes over his girlfriend, asking her all about her life and interests, you poke your food around with your fork. It’s not like you have an appetite anyways, getting your heart broken will do that to you. And it sucks even more because she’s so nice, like insanely nice, you couldn’t even hate her if you wanted to. Not to mention how pretty she was, she was everything, and you were some pimple faced, awkward bodied thirteen year old. 

You fidget with the ring on your finger and your heart races at the idea of Charles not wearing his anymore, your eyes glance over at him and when you spot the ring still on his finger it calms you a little. But that still means nothing, just that he clearly still sees you as a little sister. What you don’t see is how your Mom has been watching you the whole night. You’ve never told her about your feelings towards Charles, but she’s your Mom, she just knows things. And she knows you're hurting right now, so when she changes the topic of conversation at the table you’re eternally grateful. 

It’s an early night for you that night, not bothering to join everyone for a game of UNO, claiming that you aren’t feeling well. When really you couldn’t wait to go upstairs and just cry it out. What did you do to deserve something like this? It hurt so bad, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it. And as you laid in bed that night all you could think about was how are you going to live without him liking you back?

sixteen and nineteen

Newsflash you do live without Charles liking you back. In fact your crush goes away by the end of that year, no thanks to the new boy in your grade, who eventually ends up being your boyfriend. But it was safe to say you were over Charles, at least you think you are. 

Charles, on the other hand, stayed with the girl who made you go crazy at age thirteen for over a year, but they broke up over text. And to your disappointment, Charles never told you the reason why. Ever since then it’s been somewhat of a revolving door of girls in Charles' life. Okay – maybe not a revolving door, but at least three different girls in the past two years. None of them lasted for more than a couple months though, and it was getting to the point where no one in either of your families got to know the girls.

Everyone knew that they would be gone sooner than later. After his last “breakup” a couple months ago, he hadn’t brought around a new one, he claimed that he needed to focus on racing, that F1 seat was almost in his grasp and that was all that mattered to him right now, but you knew there was something else going on. 

While Charles was having issues in the relationship department, you were actually flourishing. You had met your now boyfriend Lucas, when he was the new kid your eighth grade year. You thought he was cute from the moment he walked into your History class the first day back from winter break. And when the seat next to you was the only open desk you tried to hide your excitement as he sat down, but when he smiled at you first, it was hard to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. He was the first to speak, asking if you had a pencil. But his accent made your ears perk up – he was Spanish. The big brown doe eyes and dark hair fit him, now that you realized he was Spanish. 

“Do all Spaniards come unprepared on their first day?” You teased as you handed him a pencil. It was his turn to be the one blushing as he stifled a smile. 

“No, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” 

So he was a flirt – noted. 

The two of you became good friends rather quickly, but per your parents rules, you couldn’t date until you were fifteen. So, you played the long game and prayed that no one else peaked his interest. Luckily for you, he was so infatuated with you that he was willing to wait, and on your fifteenth birthday you went on your first date. He was nothing shy of a gentleman, even going as far as asking your parents permission to take you out, something your Dad was very fond of. And as your parents watched their little girl walk out the door hand in hand with a boy, they couldn’t help but feel a little sad. 

“Our little girl is growing up.” 

Your Mom wrapped a comforting arm around your Dad. “I know. I’m glad though, I figured she would waste her teenage years waiting on Charles.” 

A questioning look washed across your Dad’s face. “What?” 

“Oh honey. Don’t act like you’ve been blind these past ten years. They’ve always been drawn to each other, her more than him. She was absolutely heartbroken when he brought his first girlfriend to dinner that one time.” 

“Guess I do remember being less than thrilled at Charles getting her that ring for Christmas that one year.” Your Dad huffed. 

“Hmm,” she rests her head on his shoulder, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his abdomen as they still stand there, staring at the door. “You know Pascale has always said that Y/N would end up with Charles.” 

Your Dad scoffs at your Mom’s words. “And what do you think of that?” 

“I think only time will tell.” 

While your parents were discussing your love life back at home, you were having a grand time on your date. The pizza place Lucas had taken you to was cute, a fitting place for two fifteen year olds to be on a first date. Thankfully it wasn’t awkward or tense, and you had to thank the two of you for being friends for a year before your date for that. It was just like the two of you hanging out. 

On the walk back to your house your hands never separate, even when they start to become sweaty. And when he pulls you closer to him, so you're basically hugging his arm, you realize you could get used to this.The way his brown eyes look like pools of honey when the sun hits them just right as he looks down at you, the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hand, and the way your name rolls of his tongue when he talks to you, especially with that accent of his. All of it has that all too familiar warm fuzzy feeling appearing in your stomach. 

When he stops in front of the ice cream shop near your house he doesn’t even have to ask you if you want any, you’re already dragging him towards the entrance. The little bell on the door rings as the two of you walk inside and the all too familiar sugary sweet smell hits your nostrils. 

“Ah! Chérie!” 

The owner Mr. Martin – a short older man, probably in his sixties, with what you would call haystacks for eyebrows was beaming at you from behind the counter. He had grown fond of you and the Leclerc boys over the years, claiming that he loved seeing the three of you grow up, as he never had any grandchildren of his own. Though, when his eyes shifted to the right and saw Lucas standing next to you his smile fell briefly, if you hadn’t been staring at him you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“Who is this handsome young man?” He asks as the two of you walk towards him.. 

You introduce Lucas to Mr. Martin and it’s at that moment that you realize that this is the first time you’ve brought him here. Something that didn’t seem possible to you because you were here so often that you had to have brought Lucas here at least once, but you can’t recall a time. 

Only when a vanilla cone is in front of your face are you brought out of your thoughts. Of course Mr. Martin didn’t need to ask you what you wanted, it’s been the same thing every time for the past ten years. Lucas had already sat down at one of the little tables, chocolate cone in hand, while he waited for you. 

“I was surprised to see you with a boy other than Charles.” Mr. Martin states as he wipes down the counter. “He must be special because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here with anyone other than your family or Charles.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Yes, this was your first time you had brought Lucas here, but you know you’ve brought other friends here. There was no way in your ten years here that you hadn’t, but once again your mind was drawing a blank. As you glance back over at Lucas a knot forms in your stomach, it suddenly feels wrong to have brought him here. Like in some way you were tainting this place with his presence. Ruining whatever special hold this place has on your relationship with your family– with Charles. 

You completely ignore Mr. Martin’s statements and just give him a smile and thanks before making up an excuse as to why Lucas and you need to leave. He doesn’t take much convincing when you claim to want to see the sunset. His hand is back in yours as you hear the bell ring once more as the two of you leave. And it’s like as soon as you guys are back on the sidewalk walking towards your house, the gut wrenching feeling is gone. The only evidence of it is left in the ice cream and by the time you’re standing on your front porch step it’s all gone. 

Lucas has a lopsided grin on his face, one you’ve grown to love, as the two of you stand facing each other. “You know we are missing the sunset you wanted to see.” His fingers lightly toy with yours, before finally intertwining them again.

“Mmh. It’s okay.” You were getting lost in those big brown eyes of his, the sunset the last thing on your mind. 

“I’d rather stare at you anyways, you’re much prettier.” 

His words make you practically putty in his hands and before you know it you’re having your first kiss. It’s sweet, metaphorically and literally, the taste of ice cream still on both of your lips. His hand cups your cheek and you have to wonder if he’s done this before. But when he pulls away he only has you craving more, so you lean up and steal on more from him. Giggles escaping past your lips as you see the light blush on his cheeks, you were sure yours were bright red. “Guess this is where I ask you to be my girlfriend huh? Not like I’ve been obsessed with you since my first day of school, been waiting all year or anything.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk on your face. “Are you going to properly ask me?” 

By the end of the night when you’re laying in bed, you had officially gone on your first date, had your first kiss, and obtained a boyfriend all in a matter of hours that day. You were a giddy mess, excitement coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but repeatedly feel your lips, the feeling of Lucas’ still fresh in your mind the whole night. You couldn’t wait to feel them on yours again. And when he texts you that he wants to hang out tomorrow you think your heart just might leap out of your chest. 

Being with Lucas was like living on cloud nine, you truly couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. As the year progressed you really wondered how you had snagged someone like him– tall, dark, and handsome. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and he made you feel like it too, until he didn’t.

That’s the funny thing about first loves, you really think nothing could ever come between you, that it’s going to last forever. But the only thing that lasts forever is the damage they leave when they’re gone. 

You aren’t really sure what switched in Lucas, but after a year of being together he turned into someone who was never happy with what you did, always picking fights over stupid little things. And you know you should have left him already, but you love him, and you think you guys can make it work. You’re only sixteen and your Mom tells you relationships shouldn’t be like this at this age, shouldn’t be mentally draining, but unfortunately this one is. 

All your arguments as of lately had been about Charles. Lucas, though denying it every time you brought it up, had become jealous of him. You weren’t even sure where the jealousy had come from, you barely saw Charles like you used to. He was in F2 on the cusp of getting that F1 seat and you were busy with school and spending time with Lucas. You had even gone as far as rejecting invites to hang out with your other friends to spend time with Lucas, something now you regret very deeply. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It’s a chilly Friday night in February when everything comes crashing down. The argument started over Charles texting you asking if you wanted to hang out. You were already with Lucas, but you hadn’t seen Charles in a couple weeks and you knew once the season started seeing him would be even more scarce. So, you make the big mistake of asking Lucas if he wanted to hang out with Charles. 

“Why would I want to hang out with him?” His back was turned to you, but you already knew from his tone that this was going to turn into an argument. 

“Well I haven’t seen him in awhile and he texted me asking to hang out, I thought we all could hang out.” You thought maybe by including Lucas in the plans that it would make the situation better. Wrong. 

He turns to face you, walking towards your bed where you’re currently sat. “Did he mention me in the text?” 

“Well no but-” 

“Exactly,” Lucas scoffs at you, his expression sour as he looms over you. “He doesn’t want me to come. I would get in his way.” 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, Charles was not the guy Lucas made him out to be. “Don’t know what you mean by you getting in his way.” 

“Oh don’t act cute about it Y/N.” Hearing your name roll off his tongue no longer sounded like music to your ears, it now more resembled nails on a chalkboard, like each time he spoke your name it was venom coming out his mouth. “Bet if I gave him the chance he’d try to get in your pants at the first opportunity.” 

Your eyes widened, cheeks getting hot at his accusations. “What kind of girl do you think I am Lucas?” 

“All I’m saying is your friendship with him isn’t normal, and it makes a guy wonder.” 

You were up off of your bed now, the two of you standing in the middle of your room. “This is getting old. I’ve told you, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You had started to twist the ring on your pinky finger, a nervous habit you had developed over the past couple years. 

“That is why your friendship isn’t normal.” Lucas grabs your hand, his fingers twisting at the ring trying to pull it off your finger. “What kind of girl wears a ring another guy got her while in a relationship? Huh? Even worse that you’ve got matching ones.”

Yanking your hand free from his grasp you can feel your blood starting to boil, and you’re thankful your parents aren’t home tonight because you can tell this is going to get ugly. “We fucking grew up together! He’s like a brother Lucas!” You were the first one to yell and you had unfortunately opened the floodgates because now Lucas is yelling.

“Who hasn’t heard that before?! He’s like a brother. Give me a fucking break. You’re telling me you’ve never had feelings for him? Not once in your life?”  

The accusations and ideas he was throwing around tonight were beyond ridiculous. 

“I’m not thirteen anymore Lucas. You know I only love you.” And you don’t realize what you’ve basically admitted until it leaves your mouth and you hear Lucas let out a dry laugh. 

“Ah. There it is. I think that last part may have been a lie, because you still wouldn’t be wearing that ring if you didn’t still feel something for him.” 

You shake your head at him, why couldn’t he get what you were saying though his thick skull. “I only have platonic love for Charles. It’s nothing like what you and I have.” 

He clicks his tongue, and you can hear the gears turning in his head. “Prove it.” You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused as to how you are supposed to prove that you love only him. “Take the ring off and give it back to Charles.” 

You tuck your hands behind your back, afraid he’ll try and rip it off your finger again. “No. It’s just a ring Lucas. You’re giving it more power than it has.” 

“If it’s just a ring then take it off.” You shake your head no at him. “Take it off Y/N.” You shake your head no again and he stalks towards you, causing you to back up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Take off the fucking ring!” He’s yelling and you can feel the tears starting to pool in your eyes. He’s never gotten this crazy before and you can tell that this is the end of the two of you. 

“Lucas just go.” You're trying to hold back your tears, but when he tries to reach around to grab your hand you let out a sob. “Lucas, leave! Now!” 

He backs up, and for the first time that night you get a good look at his eyes. They are no longer the pools of honey you once found yourself getting lost in, their dark, like a black void, and he almost looks unrecognizable as he stands there. “You never truly loved me did you?.” 

His words cut through you, because you really did love him, and you thought he loved you. But someone who loves you would never treat you like he has you. “I loved you more than you’ll ever know, but clearly you’ve got some shit mixed up in your head to think that I didn’t.” 

“But you are always going to love Charles more Y/N. You can tell yourself it’s only platonic love, but we both know it’s not.” 

You wipe away your tears as you sit back down on the side of your bed, this was getting old. “I can’t do this anymore. Truly. I’ve tried to tell you how much you mean to me, but Charles is a part of my life and if you can’t deal with that,” You take a deep breath, scared for what's about to come out of your mouth. “Then maybe we should break up.” 

And for the first time that night Lucas doesn’t respond and you’re actually surprised that he doesn’t put up a fight. “Alright then I guess we are done.” When he doesn’t immediately leave and decides to squat down in front of you, you're confused. Especially when he wipes away your tears as his hand cups your cheek. “I never wanted us to end up like this, but I can’t share your heart with someone else.” 

He should be screaming and instigating more arguing, not being gentle and loving. More tears fall down your cheeks as he presses a final kiss on your forehead before walking out your bedroom door. You can hear your parents greet him downstairs, what great timing for them to arrive home, and when the front door slams you’re surprised your Dad isn’t going after him. 

You’re immediately calling Charles and you don’t even have to speak, your sniffles and ragged breathing lets him know that you need him. As you hang up the phone you hear a gentle knock on your door and you see your Mom peek her head in, her heart breaking when she sees the state you’re in. “Oh my sweet girl.” 

“It’s over Mom.” You choke out between sobs. 

She does the only thing that she knows you need right now and just holds you, lets you get it all out as she runs her fingers through your hair. 

But seconds later you’re both greeted with an out of breath Charles standing in the middle of your room. Your tears subside for a moment, as you see him doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you two be.” Your Mom gives you a reassuring kiss on the head before exiting your bedroom. 

Charles takes her spot next to you on your bed, his arm immediately pulling you into him. “Did you run here?” You ask as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Did you expect anything less when you called me crying?” He’s deadly serious when he says it, and you don’t know it, but he’d drop everything to come to your aid, no matter if you asked or not. You don’t answer him, but when you wrap your arms around his waist and basically tuck yourself into his side, he knows you appreciate him being here. “Am I wrong for thinking this has something to do with Lucas?” 

The tears start to fall again as the fight replays in your head. “We broke up.” Your words barely above a whisper, but Charles has no trouble hearing them, even over your sniffles. 

“Never liked that asshole anyways.” 

You rolled your eyes at Charles' statement, lightly laughing because he was totally lying. “Don’t lie, you liked him, hell everyone liked him.” 

“Ever thought I am just a very good actor? He made you happy, so I just pretended to like him, for your sake.” 

“Wish you would have made your dislike of him known, maybe I wouldn’t be a hot mess on a Friday night right now.” A sigh escapes past your lips, the feeling of Charles gently rubbing circles on your side had started to soothe you. And you wished you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his embrace. 

Charles doesn’t mean to pry, he knows you’ll tell him when you're ready, but he’s curious as to why the two of you had broken up, as far as he was concerned the two of you seemed happier than ever. But he wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t happy about the two of you breaking up, for reasons unknown to him yet. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” 

Your grip on him tightens and he thinks if he let you, you’d be under his skin if it was possible. “He was jealous of you.” 

Charles feels his heartbeat quicken and he’s not sure why, but he does know he wants to hear the whole story. “And?” 

You know you’re going to start crying again, but it's Charles, you can tell him anything. So you take a deep breath and spill the beans. “It started a couple months ago. He’d pick fights over stupid stuff at first and then it turned into stuff concerning you. I tried to just let it go and make sure he knew he was my number one priority. But tonight’s fight was the worst one yet and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. He was basically insulating that I loved you more than him and I tried to tell him it was only platonic love that I had for you, but he wasn’t convinced.” 

There’s a strange feeling that blooms in Charles' chest as your words hit his ears and it clouds his mind because he’s never had a feeling like this when he’s been around you. It’s foreign and it scares the shit out of him.

You hold back some information from Charles, mainly because you were still processing how you really feel about him. Trying to sort through what Lucas had planted into your brain and what might have already been there, left over from thirteen year old you. But your ring clad finger searches for his and when you feel the cool contrast of his ring, you wrap your pinky fingers together. “Do you think our friendship is normal Charlie?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused as to what you meant. “Where’s this coming from?” 

Your eyes never break away from your intertwined fingers, matching rings staring back at you. “Lucas said our friendship isn’t normal and basically the fact that we have matching rings isn’t normal either.” 

Now Charles' gaze is also on your rings and for a moment he thinks maybe it isn’t normal, but then he realizes this is your guys normal. So fuck what anyone else or Lucas thought about his friendship with you. “Think he might have been just pulling shit out of his ass at that point. Jealous that he doesn’t have anyone in his life like we do each other.” 

Charles' words do make you feel a little better, because you know no matter what you’ll always have each other and tonight is proof of that, but that doesn’t stop your still broken heart from showing.

“Still kind of made me feel like shit though, like he made it seem like I didn’t love him at all, when I clearly did. I mean god Charles he was my first date, first kiss, first everything. Even with how badly he had treated me these last couple months, we’re always gonna have that connection. How am I supposed to find someone like that again? Fuck. I mean he literally has a part of me that I’ll never get back.” 

And Charles can feel his heart tightening at your words, because you’re truly the most amazing girl he knows, and to know that Lucas treated you badly when all you deserve is the best awakens something in him. 

“I wish you could see how you look to me, how amazing you are. Yes, you have those connections with Lucas, but believe me when I say you aren’t going to have a problem finding someone else.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you hear Charles speak. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“I wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You’re funny, kind, the best listener, and you’re so beautiful. Truly Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you. And Lucas is clearly stupid for letting you go.” 

The blush on your cheeks probably looked like a bad sunburn with how much you were blushing and as you made eye contact with Charles you suddenly felt like that thirteen year old girl again. His blue eyes burning into yours and when he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear you can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach. And for a brief moment Charles had pushed your thoughts about Lucas to the back of your mind. 

He pulls you into a hug and if there is one place you feel the safest in the world, it’s in Charles arms. And when he whispers into your ear that everything is gonna be fine, you know it’s going to be, as long as you’ve got Charles in your life. 

seventeen and twenty 

He had done it. 

Charles had finally gotten into Formula 1. The thing he had only dreamt of since childhood had finally come true. The long weekends away from home, the training, the tiredness, the stress, it was all worth it in the end. That seat was finally his and you couldn’t have been more proud. He had been in talks with a couple of the teams for a while and he always kept you updated on the possibilities, some weeks it sounded like he would sign with one team, and then the next another. The whole situation was beyond stressful to you, so you could only imagine how Charles felt about it all. 

The day you found out that he signed with Suaber was one you’ll never forget.

Charles had tried to plan some elaborate thing to announce the big news to you, but that meant he would have to keep it a secret from you for at least a day or two. Something he found to be rather difficult once he got home, because the only thing he wanted to do was tell you. 

It didn’t matter to him that it was almost midnight by the time he had gotten home from the airport, he was going to tell you tonight no matter what. He pulled his phone out of his pocket– thumbs moving rapidly as he texted you. 

After dozing off multiple times in the last half hour you had decided to call it quits on your binge session of The Office for the night. You had switched the TV to something random to actually fall asleep to and it didn’t take long for you to be on the cusp of actual sleep until– 

DING

A groan escaped past your lips and you contemplated ignoring it, but when the second alert went off you snatched your phone off the nightstand. It felt like you were staring directly into the sun as your eyes struggled to read the text notification. 

Charlie: come out back 

Your eyes glanced at the time – 12:15. What the hell could he possibly want this late? But you begrudgingly got out of bed, slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt before quietly going downstairs. 

The light on the back patio illuminated the backyard just enough for you to see Charles sitting on the swings waiting for you. And If you were even thinking about sneaking up on Charles that would have been impossible with the sliding door to the backyard. The thing screeched like nails on a chalkboard even with you opening it just enough to slide through it. His gaze now locked onto you as you scurried off the porch and towards the swings. 

The smile that he greeted you with was one beyond measure. He was clearly happy about something and you could tell just by the crinkles around his eyes and those dimples that right now looked to be deeper than canyons. 

“What’s got you so happy, Leclerc?” 

Your eyes focused on Charles' frame as he swayed back and forth slowly on the swing. He was clearly too big for it – his legs were bent awkwardly and his swing creaked everytime he moved. You could feel the sides of the swing digging into your hips and you realized you probably looked as ridiculous as him. 

“Just happy to see you. Missed you.” His smile still ever prominent. 

You scoffed at his words, he had just seen you a couple days ago. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t have texted me at midnight if there wasn’t something going on. In fact, how did you know I was up or even home? It’s a Friday night you know.” 

“Because I know you Y/N. Your Friday nights are usually spent at home watching some show until you can’t stay up any longer.” 

A grimace finds its way onto your face, what an amazing life you live. “Okay when you say it outloud it makes me sound like a loser.” 

His eyes had softened as the two of you made eye contact. “Nothing wrong with how you spend your Friday nights.” 

You wanted to get off the topic of your nonexistent social life and onto the pressing matter at hand tonight – what had Charles so giddy? “So are you gonna tell me what is actually going on or what?” 

He took a deep breath, he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to say these words out loud. “I’ve got a Formula 1 seat next year.” 

A blank expression is all that is staring back at Charles and he’s worried that you’re somehow mad or upset, but that’s far from the truth. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard him right, because you think you heard him say he’s going to be racing in Formula 1 next year, but your brain has seemed to have short circuited– your heart beating a mile a minute. 

You’re able to get out, “Sorry – what?!” and when you hear those words come from him once again you’re practically leaping out of the swing and into his arms. The fact that it’s nighttime and people are sleeping is the last thing on your mind as you're shouting excited nonsense at him. 

His laughter filled your ears as he stood up from the swing with you still wrapped up in his arms. You just couldn’t believe it, something he had worked so hard for, dreamt about since childhood, had finally come true. If anyone was deserving of it – it was him. 

“Putain de merde Charles! When did you sign and with who?” You asked once you had finally peeled yourself away from him and were able to form a coherent sentence. 

“Sauber – I just signed yesterday. I know it’s not Ferrari like we had hoped-” 

Your jaw dropped and you lightly smacked his arm. “Ferrari will always be there, I promise. And maybe after they see how good you do this upcoming season they’ll regret not signing you. But what I’m really wondering is why you told me you were going to do testing for one of the teams instead of telling me you were going to sign with them!” 

He put his hands up in defense, but the cheesy grin on his face still remained. “I wanted to surprise you! But then as soon as I signed that contract all I wanted to do was tell you. I literally just got home from the airport when I texted you!” 

The fact that Charles wanted you to be the first person he told had you melting and the butterflies in your stomach had you thinking about those unresolved feelings you had towards him. But you pushed it aside because tonight was not the night for that to be lingering in your mind. 

You reached down to his hand and linked your pinky fingers together. The gesture no longer just meant for a promise, but also one of comfort and reassurance. “I do hope you know though how immensely proud I am of you. How proud your Papa would be of you. I knew from that first time you ever mentioned something about becoming a F1 driver when we were kids that you would accomplish it and now look at you.” 

Charles' eyes soften at your words and when he looks into your eyes he feels that funny foreign feeling. The one that blooms in his chest and travels down to his stomach, the same feeling from last year when he held you after Lucas broke your heart. The feeling he chooses to ignore as he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly, like someone might take you from him. He knows his life wouldn’t be the same without you and that he owes some of this success to you– for constantly believing in him even when he didn’t, for dreaming with him, and for being the light on even his darkest days. 

“And I hope you know that I wouldn’t have made it without you. You’ve been my biggest supporter since we were kids, always believing in me, pushing me, coming to support me when you could, and I can’t imagine you not being at my first race.” 

“Oh do you not remember what I said when we were younger? Think I said I’d have a permanent paddock pass, so you bet your ass I’m gonna be there.” 

A small laugh escapes past his lips and his dimples are back out in full force for what seems like the millionth time tonight. “Truly Y/N. Merci, I couldn’t have done it without you. Je t'aime.” 

“Je t'aime aussi Charlie.” 

His pinky finger finds yours once again and when he curls his finger around yours a wave of deja vu washes over you. And that’s when you remembered the last time the two were out here together. You were still kids, but you had made him promise not to forget you once he got into Formula 1. 

Now here the two of you stood, high on the exciting news of him achieving that goal. You can’t help that pit that starts to form in your stomach as you think of what you feared at age ten coming true. You try to hide it, not wanting to dampen the mood, and you know all you can do is pray that he keeps his promise. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

That following March you make the trip to Australia with the Leclerc’s and your family and it’s everything you could have ever dreamed of. Sure you had attended the Monaco Grand Prix every year, and some of Charles F2 races, but you had never been really in the thick of it like this. Maybe it was because it was Charles' first ever F1 race, but the feeling in the air was indescribable. The roar of the engines, the cheers from the crowd, it was something you could get used to experiencing. 

It’s surreal to see him in the car, see him flying around the circuit like it’s nothing, because all you can imagine is eight year old Charles saying he wants to be an F1 driver when he grows up in that car. He ends up placing P13 and for his first ever F1 race you couldn't have been more proud. And you aren’t afraid to admit that you shed a few tears, honestly you think everyone shed a few tears seeing him finally accomplish that lifetime dream of his. 

When you see him after the race he’s beaming like he’d won the thing and you could only imagine what he will be like when he actually wins his first race. You can practically feel the adrenaline radiating off of him when he wraps you up in his embrace. 

“You did so good Charles. You did it, you made it.” Your words slightly mumbled against his shoulder, but he hears you just fine. 

“I’m glad you were able to come. Wouldn’t have been as special if you didn’t.” You don’t think he’s wiped that smile off his face ever since he got out of the car and it only intensified as he spoke to you. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” And it’s true because there’s no other place you’d want to be right now. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next time you see him is for the Monaco Grand Prix and he’s nearly shitting himself the whole week before. You would have thought this was his first ever time in a F1 car with how nervous he was. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, knows this circuit like the back of his hand, but he still spends an unnecessary amount of time on the sim, trying to perfect every little thing. 

With what little amount of time you see him between practice sessions and qualifying before the actual race you try and reassure him, let him know that he’s still an amazing person and driver no matter the outcome on Sunday. And it seems to have worked because by Sunday his spirits seem to be much higher and he’s got a good feeling about the race, hoping to score some points, and maybe win his home race. 

But when his brakes fail and he ends up crashing into the back of another car resulting in a DNF you’re heartbroken, but you know he’s even more upset. You know he’s going to be so hard on himself and overanalyze the whole situation, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to try and make things a little better. 

When you find him he’s pacing back and forth in what little space he has in his drivers room. Helmet still strapped onto his head and his race suit still done up. You spot one of his gloves on the physio table and the other on the ground — evidence that he had thrown them. He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even see you standing in the doorway as he paces. 

“Charlie.” Your voice is soft and you hope by using his nickname that it may calm him a little. 

His movements stop when he hears your voice and when he finally sees you standing there in the doorway all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. What an embarrassment to have his first DNF at his first home race. It’s like the gods wanted to punish him for reasons unbestowed to him. 

Your reflection stares back at you through his visor as you approach him, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your hands find their home on them. You finally work up the courage to flip up his visor so you can actually look at him and when you see red puffy eyes staring back at you your heart breaks a little more. 

“Let’s get this helmet off, yeah?” 

With a small nod given from him as permission you reach your hands up to undo the strap. You’re trying to be delicate with your actions, but when it comes to taking off his helmet there really isn’t a way to be nice about it. And Charles knows because he’s got his hands over yours, aiding you in taking it off. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he practically tore off his balaclava and threw it haphazardly somewhere in the room. As silly as it seemed, the indentions that it left behind on his face somehow made him more attractive. Combine that with his hair being a tousled mess and his skin glistening from the sweat (and tears) and post race Charles may be your favorite Charles. You watched even more intently as he unzipped his race suit, letting the upper half fall at his hips, exposing the tight fireproofs that you loved more than you should. 

Those unresolved feelings that you’ve tried to shove deep down for years had seemed to be crawling their way back up recently. But for today you pushed them back down because you were here to comfort Charles, not ogle at him, no matter how good he looked at the moment. 

He sat down on his physio table with a defeated sigh, hand running through his already messy hair. “I’ve let everyone down – the team, my family, myself, you. Maybe if I wouldn’t have braked too hard at turn seven or didn’t push as hard in the tunnel-” 

You moved to stand in between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders. He was on the edge of spiraling and you knew if you didn’t take him back from that ledge he’d be in his head about it for weeks. 

“Charles. There was nothing that you could have done differently, it was an issue with the car. Which means it had nothing to do with you as a person, as a driver, or your talent.” Your hand subconsciously searches for his, and like it’s muscle memory your pinkies link seconds later. “I promise.” 

“A ‘once in a generation driver’ would have avoided crashing.” 

Ugh. The phrases that the media used to describe Charles were – yes very flattering, but they came at a price. He took them personally and the idea of being anything less than what they claimed him to be took a serious mental toll on him. 

“You had no brakes Charles. What were you supposed to do? Bust your feet through the floor and Fred Flintstone it?” You could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly at your comment and you knew he was backing away from the edge. His hands find their way around your waist and he’s pulling you into him, your head finding a home on his shoulder. 

“I’m still immensely proud of you. Hell, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be your number one fan.” This time there is an actual smile that washes across Charles face, but you don’t get to see it, your head is still resting on his shoulder. “ And I know it’s easier said than done, but please try not to be so hard on yourself, especially when it comes to things out of your control.” 

“What would I do without you?” It’s a serious question that Charles asks himself often. You’ve been each other's rocks for twelve years now. Through the amazing times and the horrible times. No one knows either of you like you do each other. 

You’ve pulled away from his embrace now, your eyes staring back at his. “Hmmm. I don’t know. You’d probably be absolutely miserable without me.” 

And when you finally see that pretty smile of his, dimples and all, you know you’ve accomplished your mission. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Although after Monaco– things changed. 

The first thing and probably the most inevitable was Charles moving out. Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t done it sooner, but in between the Monaco GP and Canadian GP he moved into his own place. Which in theory wasn’t a big deal, but that meant he wasn’t just right down the street from you anymore. He had gotten an apartment further into the city, which in Monaco that’s not that far, but you knew it would make a difference. 

The days of popping into his house and expecting him to be there were long gone. The whole thing really shouldn’t have been such a big deal to you, but you couldn’t help but think that him moving out was only going to aid in your worries of him forgetting about you to come true. 

After Monaco your communication with Charles started to slowly lessen.Texts that once were answered in minutes now went hours without an answer or sometimes no response at all. You blamed it on his busy schedule, trying not to think too much about it. But much to your dismay, your worries do come true. 

It’s inevitable to you that you are drifting apart when you realize it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, almost a month since you’ve talked to him. And when you see him make it official with some girl you hadn’t even heard mention of after the British GP you feel like it’s just another nail in the coffin. 

You don’t even make the effort to reach out anymore, in fact you make sure not to after seeing that he’s got a new girlfriend. You’d just be wasting your time and energy. And it may seem like you're giving up on keeping Charles in your life, but really what else could you do? It truly hurts like hell to see the person you care about the most not seem to care about you, but you can’t force someone to talk to you or see you. 

He’s living his dream, traveling the world, partying, surrounded by stunning women. You’re still in school, still only seventeen, and not sure what you want your life to look like. It was inevitable really, for the two of you to drift apart, but that little part of you that ten year old you still holds on to, hopes that Charles remembers that promise he made and eventually comes to his senses. Because you know and you know he knows that you two are always going to have that special bond, the ring on your finger a constant reminder of it. And you wonder if he still wears his, but you don’t hold on to much hope that he does. 

Even though Charles and you aren’t exactly the closest at the moment you do want to try and attend another race before you start your final year of school and are forced to give that all of your attention. So when Arthur texts you asking if you want to go to Monza with Pascale and him you don’t pass up the opportunity.

Arthur filled you in on stuff regarding Charles during the flight, not that you asked, but he knew the two of you hadn’t really been talking. And you don’t mean to ask about his girlfriend, but you do, and you can see Arthur tip-toeing around his words. “She’s… nice. I’ve only met her once so I really couldn’t tell you much. You haven’t met her yet though, right?” 

You shook your head at him. “I haven’t even seen Charles since the home race. So no, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.” 

“Merde. I didn’t think it had been that long.” 

What Arthur doesn’t tell you is that Charles doesn’t know their Mom and him are coming, not to mention you. You only figure it out when Arthur says something about making sure Charles doesn’t know to the Sauber team member who gives him three VIP passes. Arthur claims you guys are here to surprise Charles, give him a little pick me up after his last two races were DNF’s. 

The idea of seeing Charles again after so long already had your stomach in knots, but now knowing he doesn’t even know you’re coming makes it even worse. You were under the impression that he knew you were tagging along with Arthur. And everyone knows Charles is horrible at hiding his emotions, what if he sees you and can’t hide the fact that he doesn’t want you here? A million possibilities ran through your brain as Arthur dragged you towards the Sauber garage, while Pascale went to hospitality. 

Qualifying had just started and you were thankful for the extra time to mentally prepare yourself to see Charles again. With the way you were acting you would have thought you hadn’t seen him in years, but truthfully these three months had felt like years. 

The roar of engines were slightly muffled as you put on a headset, eyes focused on the monitor in front of you. Even with your nerves through the roof, it felt good to be back at a race. The atmosphere was intoxicating, you loved the hustle and bustle of it all, the adrenaline you got from just being here was crazy. 

You were so engrossed in watching Charles that you didn’t even notice someone come up behind Arthur and you until you felt him tap your shoulder. When you turn around the person standing there is the last person you expected to be seeing.  

Leah— Charles' girlfriend.  

Her lips are moving, but you aren’t hearing a word, and that’s when you realize you’ve still got your headset on. You quickly pull them down around your neck just in time to hear her say. “You must be Y/N?” You're shocked she knows who you are and from the look on your face she knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Charles has mentioned you before. It’s nice to finally meet you!” 

It’s sad to say that you had a hard time believing that Charles talked about you to her, but you put on a fake smile and accepted her invitation for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you too!” While Arthur and her spoke you tried to get a good read on her, but it was hard to tell if she was naturally this friendly or if it was all just an act. 

Time slipped away as the three of you chatted and you hadn’t realized Q1 was over and that Charles hadn’t made it into Q2 until you saw Leah’s eyes widened at something behind you. That something turned out to be someone and that someone turned out to be Charles. Leah’s practically hanging off of him while she’s trying to take a million photos and videos. And that’s when you know why Arthur tiptoed around his words about her earlier. Yes she was ‘nice’, but she was clearly using Charles for her own benefit. 

Charles on the other hand was oblivious to Leah shoving her phone in his face. His vision had zeroed in on you from the moment he entered the garage, even with your back turned to him he could spot you in a crowd of hundreds. When you finally turned around he felt like his feet had been cemented to the ground. His body felt hot, like a fever was running through his veins, and it wasn’t from being in the car moments ago. 

Arthur wasn’t supposed to be here and you weren’t either– especially talking to his girlfriend. It throws him for a loop and he can’t seem to get his brain and mouth to work together to even greet you, so he stands there while Leah makes sure everyone knows she’s dating a Formula 1 driver. 

The tight lipped smile you throw his direction doesn’t help how he’s feeling. You should be beaming at him, in his personal space (preferably in his arms), laughing at something dumb he said, anything other than how you were right now. And he knows it's no fault but his own, but it still hurts to see you stand there and act like you don’t like him, like you haven’t known each other for twelve years.

Charles could blame his absence in your life on his career, but that wasn’t the whole truth. 

He had seen your texts and truthfully sometimes he was so busy that he would forget to text you back. But those times when he could give you his full attention over text or the occasional facetime were times he never took for granted. He loved hearing your laughter, seeing your smile, or even just having you send him a text about your day. But with those things he loved so dearly came that funny feeling in his chest. 

The same feeling that he first felt last year when Lucas broke up with you, the night he told you he made it into F1, at his home race, and sprinkled in occasionally at other times. He had realized what it was not too long after the Monaco GP and at first he denied it, he thought there was no way it was possible. But then when that feeling would happen just from getting a text from you he knew he was fucked. He wasn’t even going to say the word out loud, not even think it, afraid of what might come if he even allowed the universe the satisfaction of him accepting what he was feeling. You were supposed to be his best friend and not someone he had feelings for. 

So what did he do to combat this insane revelation he had found out about himself? 

Distance himself. 

If he wasn’t in contact with you or seeing you, then surely this silly little thing, that he once again would not acknowledge by its government name, would go away. Plus his ever so busy career was the perfect excuse for him to use in case his Mother or you questioned him. 

And at first it wasn’t hard at all, he had gradually weaned himself off from facetiming you and then texting. And it wasn’t that bad because he had racing and training and media duties and parties– all the stuff that his life involved now to distract him. But then your texts became less and less and then on one off week he realized just how badly he missed having your stupid contact photo pop up on his phone and how he may have fucked everything up. 

But then he met Leah through another driver’s girlfriend and he had her to distract him even more. He knew what kind of person she was from the get go, but he was basically using her too, so if she wanted to make her whole instagram about him then so be it as long as his brain was free of that thing that must not be named about you. And Leah worked for awhile, she was relatively nice and it helped that she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. 

There was no real connection between them and sometimes Charles would rather watch paint dry than have a conversation with her. And most of the time he just let her sit there and talk while he scrolled on his phone, trying not to act like his heart didn’t skip a beat when a post of yours would pop up on Instagram. 

He wanted to contact you so badly, but what was he supposed to say? Hey, I've been so busy that I haven't even picked up my phone to text you hi. 

He knew he had caused some damage to your relationship when his Mom asked why he wasn’t coming home to see you anymore and that you weren’t yourself. He feels like shit about it, the idea of him making you upset is practically nightmare fuel for Charles and he doesn’t know why he thought distancing himself would make things better, they had just made things worse. Made him miss you even more without even realizing it. 

Clearly Charles had never heard the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder because if he had then maybe he wouldn’t have been stood there like a fool in the Sauber garage right now. Heart racing faster than the car he just got out of at the sight of you standing here in front of him for the first time in three months. 

What the hell was happening to him? What was this sudden effect you had on him? Had it always been there and he hadn’t realized it until now? He couldn’t think straight – it was clearly not a good idea to have tried to ignore these realizations (feelings) he had about you. A bad idea to not see you for months because now that you are here everything is rushing back up to the surface 10x worse than before. 

“Long time no see stranger.” Your voice brings him back to reality, but your closer proximity has him searching for an out. His head glancing in every direction for someone– his race engineer, one of the mechanics, Leah, anybody to distract him from you. 

When his search comes up short he resorts to making his stomach hurt even more by talking to you. 

“Yeah. How have you been?” God. Did he not even know how to talk to you anymore? Small talk with someone you know better than yourself had to be a torture method used by government agencies. 

“I’ve been good.” Lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I see you’ve been living it up since I saw you last.” 

You were expecting a little awkwardness between the two of you, but the way Charles was acting was insane, it was like it was your first time meeting or something. He couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life and honestly looked like he’d rather be someplace else at the moment. Your fear of him not wanting you here was clearly not a silly worry, it was reality. 

“Um yeah. Always busy doing something recently.” 

You’ve been fidgeting with the ring on your pinky finger the whole time and your movements catch Charles' gaze. His eyes immediately locking in on the silver ring still shining on your finger. He’s surprised after the way he’s treated you these past couple months that you still have it on, but yet here you stood in front of him with it on, a sign to Charles that he did not deserve you one bit. 

When he sees you realize that he’s staring at your ring and then sees your eyes shift to his naked finger his heart rate quickens once again. His stomach feels like it's about ready to drop out of his ass at the sight of hurt on your face that’s then quickly replaced by a blank stare. He can’t get his words out fast enough, he’s chewing on his words, mouth drier than the Sahara desert. 

“I-um-It’s in my-” 

“It’s fine Charles, really. We’re not little kids anymore. I shouldn’t be holding on to silly childhood promises.” It wasn’t fine, it was far from fine. You’re blinking back tears, your words referencing everything but the ring. But it’s a combination of everything that’s got you upset. The two of you drifting apart, the broken childhood promises, wanting to hate him right now but still being so proud to see him out there doing what he loves, and that damn ring. 

You felt stupid for still having it on, for thinking that he would still have his on. You needed to start being more realistic, but you were still only seventeen. An age that held so much fun and whimsy, you should be out having fun with your friends, not getting upset over a guy who clearly didn’t feel the same about you. The two of you were always going to be at two different times in your lives, it was never going to work out, but fuck there is always going to be apart of you that still holds onto him. He’s got his fingers dug so deep into you that you think you'll be old and gray and still wonder what could have been. 

Each word you spoke felt like a stab to Charles' heart. He wanted to tell you that he still wears his ring. That it’s sitting on its designated spot in his driver's room. But once again he can’t get his words out fast enough, his brain still hung up on your words for some reason. He’s hoping you would realize that the reason he doesn’t have it on was because he had just been in qualifying, but when he sees you slide your ring off and toss it in your bag those stabs to the heart intensify. He feels like he’s losing everything right in front of him, but he can’t seem to get his mind and body to work together to stop it. 

He feels an arm wrap around his and he knows it's Leah. Where was she moments ago when he was looking for an out? Maybe this situation could have been avoided and Charles wouldn’t feel like he had just lost the one person in his life who truly cared about him. 

“Good luck tomorrow Charles.” 

You don’t feel like sticking around any longer, especially if you have to look at Charles and Leah. You let Arthur know you're gonna go find Pascale, but you don’t leave without taking one last glance at Charles. 

It’s a long evening with Arthur’s prying questions about what's going on between his brother and you. All you can do is shrug your shoulders because really you don’t actually know what happened yourself, you assumed you drifted apart, but was there something else that happened that you didn’t know about? 

The next day you decide to watch the race from Sauber’s hospitality with Pascale, hoping to get away from Arthur’s never ending questions and Leah’s presence in general. Pascale luckily hadn’t pressed you on the Charles matter, but she’s practically your second Mother and she knows too that there’s something going on between Charles and you, she’s known from the beginning.

Charles ended up placing eleventh, which is miles better than his last two races, which were DNFs. Though you don’t even bother to go to the garage with Pascale, opting to stay in hospitality until it’s time to leave. It may have been petty of you, but you really weren’t in the mood to see Charles again and from his behavior yesterday he clearly doesn’t care that you're not there. 

But that was far from the truth. In fact Charles was praying that you would show up in the garage this morning, but when Arthur shows up solo he can’t hide the frown that forms on his face. The praying then moves onto seeing you post race, but that is quickly diminished when his Mother shows up without you in tow either. 

Your words from yesterday hung heavy in Charles' mind all last night. I shouldn’t be holding onto silly childhood promises bothered him more than it should have. And he wracked his brain trying to figure out what you could have been referencing. It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he remembered a certain promise that the two of you made at ten and thirteen. Sleep was the last thing on his mind as he laid there wide awake staring at the ceiling recalling the memory in his mind.

He was such a fucking asshole. He’d done the one thing you promised him not to do. Granted he never really forgot about you, you were still clearly on his mind these past three months, but to you it really did seem like he had forgotten about you. Like he had gone off and became this famous race car driver that couldn’t be bothered to text his childhood best friend.

God he had fucked up, like truly fucked up, and all he wanted to do was explain himself (without revealing you know what), apologize, and try and get back to the way things used to be. That though, was proving to be easier said than done when you wouldn’t even come around. And by the time he’s done with his post race duties you’re back at the hotel ready to head back home. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance to redeem himself and you're left wondering why you even agreed to come in the first place. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A week later you're at home sitting on your bed, face shoved into a math textbook trying to figure out some formula when your phone rings. Charles' contact photo pops up on your phone and you contemplate not answering it. You haven’t had any contact with him since Monza so you wonder why he’s decided to call you of all things on a random Monday. But against your better judgment you press answer and put it on speaker before tossing it back down on your bed. 

“Bonjour?” 

There’s muffled sounds in the background, but Charles hasn’t spoken a word, and you wonder if he accidentally butt dialed you. 

“Y/N.” His voice finally echos through the speaker and you hate the way your heart flutters at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue. 

Charles had been working himself up to call you for hours, his finger hovering over your contact too many times to count. He thinks he may have blacked out a little when he finally pressed his thumb down on the screen and then heard your sweet voice, hence his delayed response. Today was his last chance to tell you the big news he'd hoped to tell you last week in Monza, but that clearly didn’t work out. 

The big news in question? Him finally signing with Ferrari. 

The team that he had dreamt of driving for once he got into F1 had finally given him a chance. It was not only his dream, but his Father’s dream for Charles too. Many weekends with his Father spent at race tracks had all led up to him getting that initial seat this year and then finally getting that Ferrari seat for next year, he only wished his Father could be here to witness it. Charles couldn’t have been more happy to finally accomplish that dream not only for himself, but also his Father. 

The other person who knew about how badly he wanted to be sporting that Ferrari red and supported him in finally reaching that goal was you. And to Charles it didn’t matter if you guys perhaps weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now, he wanted you to be the first person he told, just like last year when he got into F1. He sure as hell didn’t want you to find out from the press release, so here he was telling you over the phone. 

“Oui?”

“I’ve done it. I’m driving for Ferrari next year.” It feels good to say it outloud, especially to you because you know just how much it means to him. 

There’s silence from your end for some time and Charles checks to make sure you hadn’t hung up on him, but the call time is still going. He’s about ready to say your name when he hears sniffles echo through the speaker.

“Are you crying?” He’s worried he’s somehow done something once again to make you upset. 

You are in fact crying, as much as you hate it. It’s a mixture of happy and sad tears that you're desperately trying to wipe away like he can see you. Happy tears for him finally signing with Ferrari, a goal that you knew he would accomplish with no issue. Sad tears because you wished he was here telling you in person, wished that things were like they used to be, wished that you never developed feelings for him, and wished that whatever that situation was in Monza last week had never happened. 

“I’m just really happy for you Charlie.” His heart skipped a beat hearing you call him Charlie, it had been too long since you’d graced him with that nickname for his liking. “I told you Ferrari would see what they had missed out on and come running.” 

A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled that night on the swings when he told you about him getting into F1. “I wanted you to be the first person to know.” You can’t ignore the butterflies that form in your stomach at the thought of him thinking about you, wanting you to be the first to know, but you’re still crying, your emotions all over the place. 

When silence fills the line and he still hears your sniffles, he knows it’s not just happy tears you’re crying. It was time to face the elephant over the phone. 

“Listen I know things have been weird between us these past couple months and,” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know it’s my fault. I broke that promise I made you and I hate myself for it everyday.” The idea of him distancing himself from you was the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He wasn’t better off without you, he was better with you. His feelings towards you aside, he’d rather die than not have you in his life. 

“I got so caught up in this new lifestyle and I lost myself for a while.” Maybe he shouldn’t be lying to you, but he wasn’t about ready to admit you know what. He’d already fucked up enough, he didn’t need to go spilling his guts and fuck everything up even more.

“And then in Monza I was shocked to see you there and I felt like an ass for forgetting about you and I was trying to figure out what to say, but you were clearly upset and it was honestly just a mess.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a dick and that I really miss you.” 

His thumb toyed with the ring on his finger as he waited for your response  and he remembered you still didn’t know he still wore his. “I also still wear my ring. I just hadn’t gotten the chance to put it back on after qualifying last week.” His gaze never broke from the ring as he spoke. “I don’t like that you think I would ever stop wearing it. Gonna wear it till the grave Y/N.” 

His last sentence was mumbled, but you heard him loud and clear. Your gaze shifted towards your dresser where the silver ring had sat for the past week. Perhaps you had jumped the gun with your actions last week, you knew he had to take off his jewelry when he got into the car, but in the moment your emotions were telling you otherwise. “You made me feel like shit Charles. It’s a horrible feeling to see someone exiting your life in real time and knowing you really can’t do anything about it.” 

“I know and I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and he thinks he’s done it so many times that he might have a bald spot by morning. 

You feel like you’re forgiving him too easily, but you’ve missed him so much. And to hear him finally admit that he fucked up and say that he missed you too has you unfortunately very easily swayed. He’s been in your life for so long it’s felt like a piece of you was missing these past couple months without having contact with him. So, you forgive him, because you love him.

“I want things to go back to normal, like before.” You’re standing in front of your dresser now, ring rolling between your fingers. 

“They will.” He glanced back down at his ring. “I promise.” 

“You promise?” You asked as you slid the ring back on your finger, a missing part of now you back in its rightful place. 

“I promise.” 

twenty two and twenty five

Over the past four years Charles and you had matured significantly. 

You had graduated and landed a job that you loved at home in Monaco. It required you to travel a lot, which you loved, but also came with amazing off time and flexible hours. A perk you were beyond grateful for because that meant you could attend the majority of Charles races. You had also gotten your own place, a cute little apartment, and was truly embracing adulthood. 

When it came to the love department though– Charles was still there.

Over the four years you had your share of talking stages and two boyfriends who both only lasted a couple months. Your hectic work schedule didn’t help matters, but neither did your feelings towards Charles that you’ve been harboring for the past eight years. You really would have thought you’d have gotten over those, figured it was a thing of adolescents, but your twenties came and the feelings never went. It wasn’t as bad as when you were younger, you learned to handle yourself better and your job keeping you busy helped that. The two of you were at a good place in your relationship and you came to terms that unless you were a big girl and confessed your feelings to him, then you were just going to have to live with him at arms distance. 

Like you when it came to romantic relationships–  you were still Charles number one, as much as he tried to make it work with other girls, they just weren’t you. He had thought multiple times over the years that he was going to tell you how he felt, but you were either talking to someone or had a boyfriend, the timing never right. So he learned, like you, to live with his feelings towards you. A thing that was necessary if he didn’t want a repeat of what happened when he tried to distance himself from you.

So here the two of you were– adults who were completely oblivious to how either of you felt about each other for years, hopelessly pining over each other. 

Charles' career on the other hand was more of a success story than his love life. In the past four years he had accomplished his Maiden win in Belgium during his first year with Ferrari and then his second the next week in Italy. Then went on to win three more races during this year's season. 

A season with three wins may sound like a great accomplishment, but the thing was that he should have had more than three. To say that Charles' fourth season with Ferrari was stressful was an understatement for the ages. He had never been more happy for winter break to arrive than he was this year. He had started the season out on a high by winning the first race of the season, but life somehow had a way of humbling him. 

Horrible strategy calls from the team, bad pit stops, and car troubles had cost Charles his chance at the championship. It seemed like for every high he had– five lows followed. So needless to say when he saw the checkered flag at Abu Dhabi he was somewhat relieved that the season was over and perhaps making the podium may have lifted his spirits a little too. 

But that relief was short lived, because in true Charles fashion, he can’t get out of his head about the what ifs from the season. He had wanted to just let it go, leave it behind him and look forward to this time off and the new season ahead. But all his brain wanted to think about was maybe if we would have gone with softs instead of hards or pitted one lap earlier or managed his tires better then maybe he would have been still coming down from the high of winning the championship right now instead of sulking about. 

He’d been a little distant since break started and you knew he was probably in his head about everything. So when a text pops up on your phone from him late one evening telling you to meet him at the harbor you don’t even think twice about telling him you’ll be there in ten. If you had to guess what he had planned, you’d bet all your money on taking his yacht out to look at the stars. It was something the two of you had done for a couple years now, but it was usually over summer break, not the week before Christmas. But for Charles you would do anything, even brave going out on the water, at night, during the winter. 

When Charles see’s you walk up to his slip on the dock wearing what looks to be the coziest outfit and holding his favorite blanket from your apartment he thinks his heart is about ready to explode. “You’re lucky I love you Charles. It’s gonna be so cold out on the water.” 

I love you. The words echo in his mind as he helps you into the boat. It’s nothing new for you two to say it to each other, and he’s under the impression you’re saying it platonically, but god does it sound so heavenly to hear those three little words come out of your mouth and be directed towards him. 

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He’s referring to you and that glimmer in his eye would tell anyone that he was, but you don’t see it, you’re too busy getting situated in your designated spot next to the captain's seat. 

Once he’s got the boat a good enough distance out into the water he deploys the anchor and you make your way out to the loungers on the deck. You push two of them together, making a big enough space for both you and Charles to relax. 

You’re already cozied up with the blanket by the time he makes his way over to you, but he doesn’t even have to ask, you’re already pulling back the blanket for him to slide under. 

He lets out a sigh once he gets comfortable beside you. “I needed this.” 

A hum in agreement comes from you as you scoot a little closer to Charles, a gust of cold wind blowing through the air. 

“There’s the big dipper.” Charles points his finger up to the sky, your eyes following where he’s pointing to. The two of you take turns pointing out what you think are constellations, but are undoubtedly random stars in made up shapes, but it doesn’t matter to either of you. 

The gentle lull of the waves crashing against the boat fills the silence that falls between the two of you once you’ve run out of things to point out. And you’ve somehow ended up cuddled into Charles' side, his arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest. You couldn’t help it, he’s always been a walking furnace, and when the opportunity presents itself to be in his arms you were gonna take it. 

It was something that was happening more and more with you two recently– pushing the envelope per say on what your friendship entailed. Cuddling, staying the night at each other's apartments, hands lingering a little too long after a hug were all normal things for friends to do– right?  Friends who somehow while doing these things couldn’t tell that the other person felt the same as they did. 

Love may be blind, but in Charles and your’s case, you were blind to love. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you think you could spend eternity out here with him. The feeling of comfort, safety, and the feeling of home that he brings you when he’s around is something you don’t think you can ever live without again. He’s your person and you hope you're his, no matter what the future for the two of you entails. 

The feeling of his fingers ghosting across your arm and down towards your hand tells you he’s searching for one thing and when his pinky finger links with yours you know he’s got something on his pretty little mind. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You whisper, your head still resting on his solid chest.

He doesn’t respond for a while and you think he perhaps didn’t hear you, but then he speaks and it sounds like blasphemy coming out of his mouth. 

“What if I quit?” 

Your body freezes at his words and you’re hoping he’s not meaning what you think, but when you lift your head to see nothing close to a joking manner on his face you know this is about to get serious. 

“I’d think you’d be miserable. You love racing, you were born to do it, it’s in your blood Charles. All the hard work you’ve put in from a literal child to now–” You shake your head, not even wanting to think about him quitting racing. “Don’t be stupid and throw it all away. You’re just only getting started.” 

A deep sigh comes from him, his eyes fixated on your now intertwined hands as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m not going to, but there were so many times this past season that I thought about it. I know that’s crazy to say after I won three times, but god the lows of racing truly are lows. I’d have a good weekend and then have literally a weekend from hell the next race week. It’s just a lot– mentally. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, the teams, the fans, the media, and my own is like a mental prison sometimes.” 

You had sat up at this point, and almost like a small child Charles had clung to you, his head in your lap as you gently ran your fingers through hair. You knew he had a rough season, but you didn’t think it had taken this much of a toll on him. 

“And you’re right. I love racing and I’d be miserable without it, but sometimes I’m miserable with it.” 

The frown that had formed on your face moments ago had deepened at his confession. “I didn’t know the season had affected you this much Charles. Wish you would have talked to me sooner about it.” 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for Charlie, you’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I know you probably get sick of hearing me say it, but I’m still so immensely proud of you. Like I’ve said before, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be proud. I know this season was a rough one at times, but you won three times and were on the podium eleven times. That’s still something to be proud of. So for every time you're miserable because of racing, think about me telling you repeatedly how proud I am of you and maybe you’ll just be miserable because of me instead.” 

You see the corners of his mouth move up and you know you’ve gotten a little smile out of him. “That’s funny that you think me hearing you say that you’re proud of me would make me miserable. It actually has the opposite effect, so your plan may work, but it would result in me being happier instead of more miserable, which is what I think we want to accomplish right?” 

“Yes, I love happy Charlie, but I still love miserable Charlie too.” 

He’s sat up, the two of you sitting face to face now, and you aren’t sure if it's the cool breeze or him staring at you that makes a shiver run up your spine. “That’s good to know.” 

He’s still staring at you and even with only the moon as your source of light, those pretty blue eyes of his are as bright as ever, and staring into your soul. And for a split second you think he’s leaning in and you think this might be the moment he’s gonna kiss you, the moment you’ve been waiting for since you were thirteen. But you’re completely wrong, he’s only reaching for the blanket as he leans back onto the lounger once more. 

“Merci Y/N, truly. For always being here for me, especially for tonight. It was nice to finally get that off my chest. Je t’aime.’ 

You claim your spot back next to Charles and you don’t even second guess yourself when you lay your head back on his chest. “Je t’aime aussi Charlie.” 

Charles, while he can’t complain about having you in his arms and your head on his chest. He can kick himself for that moment mere seconds ago. He was finally going to do it, it was the perfect time, but he chickened out and reached for the blanket instead of using that hand to cup your cheek. He could drive a race car at 230 mph, but couldn’t work up the courage to kiss the girl he was in love with. Maybe he’d find the courage sometime in the next four years. But for now he could live with having you cuddled up against him and knowing that even if it may be platonic, you love him too. 

twenty three and twenty six 

The Monaco Grand Prix. 

An world renowned event. A pinnacle for motorsports. People from all around the world come to the tiny principality every year to watch twenty of the world's best drivers race around the streets of Monaco. 

As a child you watched the grandstands go up every year and you dreamed of getting to watch Charles race those very same streets that you took to school. The two of you as kids watching from the crowd, not knowing that some of those drivers Charles would drive alongside one day, even being teammates with some of them. Charles could only hope that one day that would be him on that top step, hearing his own national anthem play at his home race.  

That one day had yet to happen after six seasons in F1. After three DNF’s, horrible strategy, and two lost pole positions– Charles really didn’t think winning his home race was ever going to happen. He had started to believe the “Monaco curse” more and more year after year. 

You on the other hand didn’t believe that the curse existed. You did believe that the idea of one had made Charles be more in his head when the race came around every year, and in a sense perhaps making him not perform the best at times. But no, you didn’t believe in the Monaco curse.

Every year you had hoped he would win and sadly when he didn’t you were there to pick up the pieces. You knew his time would come and granted you didn’t think it would take this long. But the universe works in mysterious ways, there’s a reason for everything, and you knew there was a reason Charles hadn’t won yet. 

And as this year's grand prix rolled around you hoped that this time the universe was ready to give him what he deserved. 

You did have a good feeling about the race this year, or at least a better feeling than prior years. It was mainly because Charles had been so– carefree these past couple days. He’s usually already thinking about Monaco at the race the week before and the nerves have set in come media day, but this year he’s different. 

He’s excited of course, to be at home for the week and to see everyone for more than a couple days, but during the days leading up to media day he doesn’t show you any sign of nervousness or doubt. And you can’t help but think that this year is the year, he seems to finally be in the right headspace to win this thing. 

Charles and you had spent basically every free moment the two of you had together this week. It was nice, the two of you together again like old times. You had gotten the week off from work, a perk from your job, and it wasn’t like Charles had to travel to another country. So, the two of you took full advantage of the week. Dinner with both families together, hanging out with friends, and just enjoying each other's company filled your Monday through Wednesday. 

But come Wednesday evening you found yourself at Charles apartment after a long day on the water with all your mutual friends. You’re absolutely beat and ready to be back at your place when Charles asks you to come back to his, and you want to say no, but the way he looks in golden hour could be used as a hypnotization technique, so you say yes. 

He claims he’s got something to show you, but the whole car ride and trek into his apartment he won’t budge on telling you what it is. It isn’t until he sits down at his piano with a blush creeping up his neck that you know what he’s got to show you. 

“Have you been working on new music?” You ask with a hopeful smile on your face. 

His fingers ghosted over the keys and his pinky lightly tapped one– the sound filling the room. “For a while now and I think it’s finally ready.” The blush had made its way onto his cheeks and he’s fidgeting with his bracelets as he makes eye contact with you. “So, I think it’s only right that the person that it’s for should get to hear it first.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise and now you’ve both got crimson painted cheeks. “You wrote a song for me?!” 

“Yeah.” He states sheepishly. 

You’ve always loved hearing Charles play the piano. There were many late nights spent where you sat in his apartment and just listened to him mess around on the piano. Those nights were shamelessly some of your favorite moments with Charles, it was like the world didn’t exist and it was just you two and the piano. So to know that he thought and even cared enough about you to write you something had your heart about ready to leap out of your chest. 

“Well, let's hear it then.” You sat down on your usual spot on the couch and eagerly waited for the music to hit your ears. 

He hesitates at first, his fingers slightly slipping on the keys, but once he gets himself sorted the sound that comes from that piano nearly brings tears to your eyes. It’s beautiful and heartfelt and you can’t believe he wrote something like this while he was thinking of you. It’s tugging at those feelings you’ve still got for him after ten years and you try not to get your hopes up that this means he feels the same as you. 

When the song is over his head immediately turns to you for reassurance, but all he sees is your body barreling towards him. You’ve got your arms around him before he can even process what’s happening, but from your excited words of nonsense he knows you loved it. 

“Oh mon dieu!” Is the first coherent thing you’re able to get out. 

“I take it you liked it?” 

“Liked it? I loved it Charlie! It was beautiful and the fact that it was for me made me love it even more. Truly what did I ever do to deserve someone like you in my life? Merci a million times.” 

“I’m glad you loved it. I’ve been working on it for months, wanted to get it perfect in time to show you now.” 

You’re both beaming at each other and to anyone from the outside looking in, the two of you looked so in love it was crazy. Crazy that the both of you have been harboring feelings for each other for years and years and neither of you have made the first move. 

“Will you play me some more?” You try to give him your best puppy dog eyes and of course he can’t say no to you, puppy dog eyes or not. You give him one last hug as a thank you before you sit back down on the couch and let the melodic sounds soothe you. In fact it soothes you so much that combined with the tiredness from being on the boat all day you end up eventually falling asleep. 

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel Charles gently shaking you awake telling you that is time for bed. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to spend the night at one another’s places. You’ve spent many nights in Charles' guest bedroom after drunken nights out or sometimes just for fun. You’re clinging to him, still basically asleep, as he helps you walk towards what you think is the guest bedroom, but it’s his. 

Charles was only going to grab your pajamas that you had left here last time, they were just in the laundry basket on his dresser and it would just take a second. But you followed him into his room still thinking it was the guest room and Charles doesn’t even know you’ve come in behind him until he turns around to see you crawling into his bed.

That all too familiar feeling starts to bloom in his chest as he sees you curled up and comfortable in his bed. He’d want nothing more than to climb in next to you and hold you all night, but he knows the guest room is his room tonight. Charles doesn’t even make it two steps before you call out his name. When he turns around he’s not expecting to see you lying there staring at him with those sleepy eyes, comforter pulled back as you pat the empty spot next to you. He knows he shouldn’t, this is different than cuddling on the couch or sharing beds as kids, it feels different at least. But against his better judgment he climbs in next to you and like he’s your missing puzzle piece you instantly slide into Charles arms. 

It’s like home, being in each other’s embrace. 

The next morning when you wake up in Charles' room it takes you a minute to remember everything, but the blush that creeps onto your face at the memory of you and Charles cuddling in his bed is embarrassingly bad. And you thank god Charles isn’t next to you right now to see it. 

You do wonder where he’s gone though. He’s not in the living room or kitchen, and it’s still too early for him to have left for media day, but then you hear complaining coming from the bathroom. 

“Maman! No, that's going to be too short!” 

As you peek around the door frame you find Pascale cutting Charles' hair, a tradition the two of them have had every year before the Monaco GP. 

“Charles last time I checked you’re not a hair stylist, let your Maman do her job.” You teased as you finally entered the bathroom and you see him roll his eyes at you in the mirror.

Pascale lights up at the sight of you and leans over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mon amour, you’re here early.” The look on her face tells you she knows you spent the night, but it’s not like it’s something new or anything happened. Hell even if she didn’t know she could definitely tell you had just rolled out of bed. 

“I spent the night. Fell asleep after we were out on the boat all day.” You shrugged your shoulders, it truly was no big deal (you sleeping in his bed and cuddling with him aside). 

She doesn’t say anything, but she does nothing to hide the smile on her face and sly looks she gives you and Charles the whole time she’s cutting his hair. She’s been waiting for the prophecy to fulfill itself forever and that prophecy just so happens to be Charles and you ending up together. Call it Mother’s intuition, but she’s known you two were made for eachother since you were kids. If you didn’t end up together soon she was going to have to do her own plotting to get you two to fess up about your feelings.

Pascale can see how you two look at each other, how Charles’ eyes light up when you enter the room. How you’ve always been his soft spot since you were little kids. The way you speak about Charles like he’d hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew you fell first and Charles a couple years later. All these little things she’s noticed and stored away for that eventual wedding day. 

You can see Charles staring at you through the mirror and it’s making you squirm, his eyes burning into you. “You gonna get rid of that facial hair too?” You try to get him to focus on anything other than you at the moment. 

His mouth opens in fake shock and Pascale curses him for moving. “I’m actually thinking of growing a full beard.” 

“Oh please don’t.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘’t.” 

Charles and you don’t speak about you spending the night in his bed or in his arms. In fact you don’t see him again until qualifying on Saturday where he puts it on pole. You’re ecstatic and you can tell he is too even though he’s trying to remain calm and collected while he does his press duties. He’s gotten pole two times before in Monaco, he knows pole doesn’t mean you win, but he can’t help but think it’s a good sign. 

That night you find yourself back at Charles' apartment by his request once again. Which was a surprise, you figured he’d want to be alone the night before the big race. But it’s quite the opposite, he wanted your company, he can’t get how good it felt to have you in his arms in his bed the other night and he selfishly hopes it happens again tonight. 

“Feeling good about tomorrow?” You asked as the two of you sat down for an amazing pre race dinner of pizza. His trainer may not like it, but you two thought it was a good idea. He needed all the positive energy he could get and if that meant pizza for dinner, then so be it. 

“Yeah. The car has been consistent the past two days and I’ve got pole.” He paused for a moment and you can tell he wants to say something, but he stuffs his mouth with pizza instead. You don’t press the matter anymore, figuring he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, didn’t want to possibly jinx anything. It’s a relatively quiet dinner the rest of the time, he asks about how your job is going and you two shamelessly gossip for a moment about two old friends who recently broke up. 

It’s not until you’re putting the leftover pizza into the fridge that he brings up tomorrow again. 

“It feels right this time.” He’s leaning against the counter, eyes trained on you as you turn back around to face him. “I mean tomorrow– it feels right. I think it’s gonna happen.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you move to lean against the counter next to him. “I think so too. You’ve been different too, more relaxed this week. Think it might be the universe telling us it’s finally gonna happen?” 

A deep sigh comes from Charles. “Mon dieu I hope so.” 

You glance over at the time on the microwave– 11:00 p.m. Shit. You didn’t think it was that late already. 

“It’s getting late Charles. You should be in bed and I should be heading home. It’s a big day tomorrow.” You go to give him a hug goodbye, but he’s just staring at you, and it throws you for a loop. “What’s wrong?” 

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Was he sure he wanted to ask you this? Would it make things weird? It never has before when he’s asked you, but this time felt different. Fuck his palms were drenched in sweat and he could feel his heart beat racing. 

“Um– well you could just spend the night if you wanted to” 

You try not to act like you weren’t silently hoping the whole night that he’d ask you to stay. You had figured he wouldn’t want you to again after you basically invaded his bed the other night, so hearing him tell you to stay made you a little giddy. 

“Traffic is a nightmare this time of year…” You act like you're weighing your options while you fully know you’re going to say yes. “Probably take me twice as long to get home, even at this time of night.” You fake ponder some more, really putting on a show. “Yeah I guess I’ll spend the night.” 

He tries to hide the smile on his face when he hears you finally accept his offer and as much as he would like to stay up and talk some more, he really did need to be getting to bed. “Well, I probably should be in bed by now. So I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” 

“Yeah. I should go to bed too.” 

So you follow him down the hall towards the bedrooms. When he reaches his room he opens the door, but lingers in the doorway. You being a couple paces behind him, figured he was just waiting to tell you goodnight. But when you reach the guest room, which is across from his room, he doesn’t say anything to you. Your hand lingers above the door knob and something inside of you tells you not to open it– to turn around instead. 

You’re met with his piercing blue eyes staring at you as you turn around. His gaze sometimes could be so intense, but this time you matched him. There was an obvious tension in the air, but neither of you were brave enough to be the one to break it. Then suddenly you see Charles nod his head towards his room before finally going past the doorway. He’d left the door open behind him and you knew that was just another unspoken invitation. And like a moth to a flame you followed behind him, not even second guessing your actions. You hadn’t even opened the guest bedroom door, you were a goner as soon as he asked you to spend the night. 

For the second time in a week the two of you shared the same bed, not sexually, but it definitely wasn’t friendly or at least how normal friends would share a bed. But tonight he’s in your arms, your fingers lightly combing through his hair as he rests his head on your stomach. He falls asleep rather quickly, his light snores filling the room, but sleep evades you that night. Your heads a mess, you can’t help but think that Charles has to feel the same way as you, there’s just no way that he doesn’t. 

What man is this intimate with someone in a non sexual way and doesn’t have the slightest bit of feelings for them? But then your heart breaks at the idea of him just stringing you along and you know you’ve got to set up some boundaries to protect yourself. Unfortunately you were never going to be the one to admit how you felt first, so unless he spills his guts, then this was the last time you’d share a bed with Charles like this. 

The next morning he’s already gone and at the track by the time you wake up and when you grab your phone from the nightstand you see he’d sent you a text. 

Charlie: i left early this morning and you just looked too peaceful to wake up before i left. so i’ll see you before lights out. 

A sigh escaped past your lips as you tossed your phone on the bed, today was going to be a long day. 

You made the journey back to your apartment to get ready and then fought the traffic again to get down to the circuit. The hustle and bustle distracts your brain from continuing your spiral session from last night, something you were grateful for. You were here to cheer on and support Charles, not go into a frenzy once again about whether or not he likes you. 

A good amount of your time is spent in Ferrari’s hospitality chatting with everyone and discussing potential outcomes for the race. You don’t end up seeing Charles until the time between the drivers parade and race time. He’s in his drivers room when you find him and he’s literally the calmest you’ve ever seen him before a race. 

His face lights up when he sees you and he’s immediately pulling you in for a hug. “Didn’t think you were gonna come for a second. We’ve usually seen each other by now.” 

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just got caught up talking to everyone and you know how our Moms get in a large group. I had to wrangle them in before they invited everyone over for dinner tonight.” 

“Well I don’t plan on being home for dinner tonight. I’m going to be out celebrating.” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as speaks. 

You laughed lightly at his new found confidence. “Oh someone is sure of themself.” 

He only laughs along with you, as the two of you sit down on his physio table.

The two of you chat some more about random things, like if he’s planning on going to Jimmy’z or someplace else tonight. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until he gets a knock on his door letting him know it’s twenty minutes till lights out. Before you leave you stand in front of him, holding out your ring clad pinky finger and like a natural reflex Charles wraps his around yours, pulling them close to his chest. 

“You’re gonna do great and when you take that top step on the podium I’m gonna be there front and center cheering you on.” 

“You better be.” He’s serious, he doesn’t want to win this thing if you aren't right there alongside him.

“I promise Charlie.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You think you might pass out or throw up when the lights go out and the race finally begins. It then turns into thinking you’re going to do both when there’s a red flag not even halfway through the first lap. Your mind automatically goes straight to Charles and your stomach churns at the idea of him being hurt, screw the win, all that mattered to you was that he was okay. Thankfully he’s not involved in the crash, but the red flag lasts for what seems forever. And eventually you have to endure the start of the race again. 

You’re a nervous wreck the whole race, but you think with how hard Pascale has been gripping your hand that she might be more nervous than you. It’s the longest 78 laps of your life and you’re praying he can maintain the lead, put a big enough gap between Oscar that he can just ride this race out. Lap by lap he’s holding steady but that just makes you more nervous. The knot in your stomach grows more and more as that lap number gets closer to 78. 

He’s driven so well the whole time you couldn’t have been more proud. You’d been holding back tears since lap 68, but when you hear him over the radio on lap 75 say that he’s just going to bring it home you can’t help but let a couple tears fall. And by now you know the win is his. He’s got almost a nine second lead and as long as he keeps his head clear he was going to be the first one to see the checkered flag. 

The feeling of seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing he had won was indescribable. The whole Ferrari unit was going crazy, already rushing down to be there when Charles got out of the car. You’re cheering as tears run down your face, your Mom and Pascale hugging you, the two of them also in tears. It’s surreal, him finally winning, you can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now. You waste no time in heading over to get the best spot to watch the podium ceremony. You’re front and center, the metal barrier pressed up against your abdomen as more people fill the crowd behind you. 

The feeling you got seeing him come out, take that top step, and proudly hold that trophy was something you wished you could feel forever. To see him wrapped up in the Monaco flag as the anthem played, the visible weight taken off of his shoulders. You were so unbelievably proud of him and so utterly in love with him. The tears just wouldn’t stop coming as you watched him shine up there. The universe had finally decided that this was his time, he was destined to win this race today. 

Charles feels on top of the world as he looks down at everyone in the crowd, he can’t believe he’d finally won his home race. He’d immediately spotted you as soon as he took that top step and he could see how happy you are for him, tears streaming down your face paired with that beaming smile. His heart has never felt as full as it does right now. And as he stands there hearing his national anthem play at his home race he knows that today was meant to be. The universe put him here, put you here, for a reason. He’s tired of pretending like his life wouldn’t be better without you being his. The two of you haven’t broken eye contact for awhile, both of you grinning like fools, and he decides that now is the time. 

“Je suis amoureux de vous” He mouths to you. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he was saying, but when you do you think you’re dreaming. There’s no way he just admitted to being in love with you right here, during his podium celebration. You pinch yourself just for good measure before mouthing it back to him. And if it was even possible his smile gets even bigger. 

You’re the first person he wants to see after the celebratory champagne pop. He can’t wait a second longer to tell you how he actually feels out loud. He doesn’t care that he’s drenched in champagne or that there’s hundreds of people around. He’s waited too long to let a moment like this go by. He’s pushing his way through the crowd to find you, he’s basically getting manhandled, but he doesn’t care, you’re his priority. And when he finally finds you it’s like a scene straight out of a movie. 

His adrenaline is pumping and he doesn’t even think about what he’s doing, he’s just running straight towards you, his heart fluttering when you smile at the sight of him. His hands cup your face and in an instant his lips are on yours. It takes you by surprise, but once your brain finally processes what’s happening, you grab him by his race suit, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne and sweat, his lips soft, and his facial hair tickles your face. Kissing Charles is everything you could have ever dreamed of and more, you’d never thought the day would come. 

When you finally pull back it feels like the world is spinning and Charles laughs at you being drunk off one kiss from him. His hands cup your face once more causing you to focus on him. “I’m in love with you. Have been for years, but I’ve just been too scared to say anything, but winning today let me know the universe was on my side. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity once again to tell you how I feel.” Your eyes widen at hearing him say he’s been in love with you for years. “Don’t act so surprised. I made it painfully obvious sometimes.” His dimples peaking out as he smiles at you. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen Charlie.” 

Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Was too scared that you didn’t feel the same.” 

“I could never not love you Y/N. It’s always been you, you’re my person. I wish I would have  told you sooner so I could have been doing this more often.” He pulls you in for another kiss and you think if he didn’t have his arms around you your legs would have given out. 

Never in a million years did you think that Charles would be confessing his love to you after he’d just won his home race. If thirteen year old you could see you right now she’d probably die. You can’t believe the man you love with every fiber of your being loves you back. The universe definitely wanted today to be a win not only for Charles, but for you. 

He grabs your hand and presses your ring clad pinky finger to his lips. “Mon coeur.” Then he presses another kiss to your lips. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi.” 

thirty three and thirty six

The summer sun had started to make her farewell to the principality of Monaco, pink and orange hues swirled in the sky. A little boy and girl play on a weathered playset, their giggles echoing through the open air. The sound of a screeching sliding door tells them that their Maman is coming to get them before they even hear her holler their names. “Come say goodbye to grand-mère and grand-père!” 

Their tiny bodies run towards the house and are soon met with lots of hugs and kisses from their grandparents, who they see very often, but it wouldn’t seem like it by the way they were acting. 

“Ok, who wants ice cream?” Their Papa asks after all the goodbyes are said and they are out the door. 

“Me!” Is said in unison from the two children. 

The little girl has her Papa wrapped around her finger, he just thinks the world of her as they walk hand in hand down the street, while the little boy is definitely a Maman’s boy. 

“You know your Maman and I used to come to this place all the time when we were younger.” 

“We know Papa, you’ve told us a hundred times, and we come here all the time.” The little girl sasses her Papa.

“I know but I just like to reminisce.” The man gives his wife a wink and she knows he’s about ready to go down memory lane.

The journey to the ice cream shop is filled with stories about their younger years and luckily for the children the ice cream shop isn’t that far away. 

That all too familiar sweet smell soon fills the parents senses and it brings them back to when they were around their children’s age. That same bell on the door dings as they enter and that same old man who should have retired a decade ago is still working behind the counter. 

“Ah the Leclercs! My favorite family. You know I’m gonna have to start making extra vanilla ice cream just to accommodate you guys.” 

taglist: @rana030 @blueflorals @sltwins

omg i love your writing so much! Can u write something about bf hoon who knows that his best friends (jay, jake) lust after you and drool over you whenever u come over at the dorms so he decides to leave his door open the next time u come over so that he can give them a little show that would show them that u are out of limits, all they can do is watch

🧍🏾‍♀️.... yes please. This is so hot, and it wasn't supposed to be this long but here it is anonnie 🫶🏾

Warnings: NSFW, smut, voyeurism, exhibition!kink, possesive!hoon, I think that's it frfr

The words are right on the tip of Sunghoon's tongue.

'Are you fucking dumb? Get the fuck away from my woman!'

He wants to tell them to stop drooling and staring at his baby like that. But he can't even really blame them.

You're fucking hot.

He knows it. You know it. And unfortunately, so do Jake and Jay. So he can't really say he's too surprised at the way Jake is eye-fucking you. Biting his lip and crooning in that deep, aussie accent. The way Jay is forcing you to hold eye contact with his sharp, predatory eyes, pearly white teeth smiling at you like a wolf in sheeps clothing. Towering over you on purpose, making you feel tiny and weak in his presence.

He flips his fucking lid when they both reach out and touch you.

It's their best attempt at innocence, Jay tucking a springy coil behind your ear, whilst Jake casually pinches your cheek.

That's fucking enough for Sunghoon.

Because what the actual fuck? Are they shamelessly trying to seduce you right in front of him? His girl? No fucking way.

"Come here, baby."

His voice is commanding. His baritone is borderline hypnotic to your ears, so deep and smooth, cutting through your conversation and beckoning you towards him. Your body is almost on autopilot, immediately excusing yourself from their presence to obediently sit at your boyfriend's side.

"Yes, my love?" Sunghoon's heart aches. You're so sweet and innocent and good for him. You probably had no clue of the nasty thoughts his best friends thought of you.

"I want you near me. You didn't come over to see Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum....you came to see me." He pulls you into his lap in a clear display of possession and dominance.

"Right, Princess?" Your eyes are wide and shiny as you nod your head.

"Good girl. Now give me some sugar." You can't help but giggle at the way he wiggles his eyebrows and attacks your neck with kisses, feeling his grin against your skin.

"Gross, dude. We were in the middle of an entire conversation." Though Jake tries to feign disgust, Sunghoon knows him too well. He can tell by his clenched fist and dark eyes the true intent of his words.

Jake is jealous as hell. Jay, too.

"Yeah, we were talking. Either give her back or get a fucking room." Jay scoffs. His eyes are shooting poison-dipped daggers at Sunghoon, but Sunghoon really couldn't give less of a fuck if he tried.

"Good idea." Sunghoon smirks. He gently pats your butt to get you to stand up with him. He turns you to face him, his ego expanding a million fold when he feels your tiny hands gripping on his biceps. His big hands are groping and smacking your ass as he walks you towards his bedroom, waddling awkwardly as you refuse to let each other go.

"Great idea, dumbass." He hears Jake muttering irritably to Jay.

"Fuck you."

Your lips connect with his, gently at first. Though you know his gentleness won't last long, it still makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You expect Sunghoon to kick the door shut when you cross the threshold to his room. But to your surprise, he does no such thing.

"The door, baby." You mumble against his lips.

"Can we leave it open, Dollface?" You promptly pull back from his lips. Sunghoon's room is directly adjacent to the couch, where his two very jealous friends are still watching them.

"Leave it open!?" You whisper yell.

"Yeah," He bites his lip, hooded eyes swirling with arousal. "Lets leave it open so they can watch me fuck you."

You're head is spinning.

"I-why? Why would we do that?"

"Because. You're mine. And they don't fucking get that. Every time you come over, they push the boundaries more and more, and I'm not fucking having it. So let me fuck you with the door open, so I can show them that this pussy belongs to me."

Your brain goes fuzzy when he talks like this.

"I want them to hear your pretty moans when I play with you. I want them to see how you shake and lock me in with those pretty legs whenever you cum on my tongue. I want them to hear the way you call out my name and beg for me when I fuck you. Most of all, I want them to know they'll never have a fucking chance, pretty." He looks deep into your eyes, squeezing your chubby cheeks together and placing long kisses on your puckered lips.

"Be a good girl for Daddy, and help me put on a fucking show." This is all the convincing you need.

"Yes, Daddy."

His lips crash back on to yours, a clashing mess of teeth and tongue and moans. He separates just enough to trail kisses down your neck, fingers hastily pushing your tight little tank dress over first your hips, then your chest. He fastens his mouth around your nipple, nipping lightly at your bud as you writhe beneath him.

And he's so impatient today, so worked up over the thought of two of his closest friends watching him fuck that he can hardly force himself to slow down.

You watch as he slides your soaked panties down your legs, dangling them from the tip of his finger as he glances out of the open door. Your eyes grow wide as he twirls them around his finger, making his way back to the couch where Jay and Jake are seething.

"I bet you dumbasses would fight to the death over her wet panties." He smirks. A chuckle gets caught in his throat at the way their eyes darken with lust.

"I'll let the two of you have them if you ask me nicely." He teases.

"Fuck you-"

"Please!?"

Jay and Jake look at each other wide-eyed. Sunghoon isn't sure which of them said what, but he just tosses them onto the coffee table in front of them, sauntering back into the bedroom just as they begin bickering over who gets to have them first.

Sunghoon is met with the sight of your crossed arms, pretty nose up in the air.

"I don't recall giving you permission to do that. Those were expensive, and they came in a set."

"I'll buy you more, baby." He murmurs, kissing your pretty thighs as he spreads them far apart.

Your ire is quickly forgotten at the feeling of his kiss swollen lips ghosting over your engorged clit. Sunghoon knows your body so well, knows exactly how and where to kiss and lick and suck, having you seeing stars in a matter of minutes.

You're giving him exactly what he wants, moaning and gasping and rolling your hips into his eager mouth. He can't help but gently grind his dick into the mattress at the way you start moaning his name, begging him to finish you off.

"Yeah? You like the way Daddy eats you, baby? Your pussy tastes so fucking good. All sweet and creamy for me, huh?"

"Yes. Only for you, Sunghoonie. Only for you." Your gripping his hair now, forcing his mouth on your clit and shamelessly fucking his face.

"Fuck." You hear a deep voice groan.

The voice doesn't belong to your boyfriend, but to Jake. The sound causes your head to turn, curiously peering into the living room to see the two of them rubbing enticingly at the bulge in their pants, taking turns sucking on the wet spot in your panties as they watch you. And the needy, whiny tone of Jake's voice is so hot even though it makes you feel guilty just thinking that. You feel even more guilt when the sound of Jay whimpering makes your cunt clench around Sunghoon's tongue.

"Hey!" You feel a sharp smack to the side of your thigh, making you jump.

"Eyes on me, slut."

"Sorry, Hoonie." But it's too late, you've already been bad. So now Sunghoon won't let you finish in his mouth. You whine and complain as you watch him stand up, untying the string of his sweatpants. You feel a bit of pride at the wet spot on the front of them.

"I think they might be having just a little too much fun with you watching them. Maybe you could focus on me a bit better if I fuck you?"

That's all he has to say to have you begging for him, opening your thighs wide and toying with your clit as he watches.

"Please, Daddy? I want you so fucking bad. Take me? Please?" He looks like he's won the lottery.

"You want me, baby? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me. Nice and loud so they can hear you."

"I want you to fuck me. I need it, Sunghoon. Please?"

He's gripping your thighs and pressing them to your chest as soon as you finish speaking. The sight of his swollen head dragging through your slick to bump up against your throbbing clit will never get old for him. He's moaning loudly as he slowly presses his tip into your entrance, gasping as he sink in to the hilt. The initial clench of your pretty cunt around his cock has him seeing stars. His primal instincts are telling him you probably don't need a minute to adjust to his fat girth, that he should start fucking you fast and brutal right away. He feels so fucking territorial, wanting to fuck and breed you right in front of his friends, so they never make the silly mistake of flirting with you right in front of him again.

"They're watching us." You whimpered, burying your face into the crook of his neck as he starts to fuck into you. You're immediately shaking from arousal, so turned on from the situation, from the orgasm you never got to experience earlier, that you know you won't last very long at all.

"Want me to tell them to get lost?" No matter how much Sunghoon is dying to show you off in a display of dominance, your comfort will always come first for him.

"No. I want you to show them how good you fuck me. Show them you own this fucking pussy." You're speaking his fucking language now.

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. I want them to-fuck, want them to take turns stuffing my panties in their mouths, and wishing they were you." Could you be any more perfect?

"You're a fucking perv." He hides his grin in your neck.

"A depraved little freak. I love you so fucking much." Another sweet kiss to your lips before something captures his attention. His best friends whining and moaning desperately as they take turns with your panties.

"Look at them. Their probably seconds away from jerking their pathetic dicks because of all the pretty sounds you're making, babydoll." He grunts, angling his hips to hit your swollen g-spot. Your grip on his hair returns, tugging roughly at the dark strands, pussy getting creamier at the resulting moans.

"You like it, don't you? You like knowing how bad they want me and knowing that I'll only ever want you, Sunghoon."

"I fucking love it." He growls, head falling forward to watch himself thrust into you.

"Keep fucking me just like that, baby. I'm gonna cum so hard for you." Sunghoon couldn't recall ever wanting to feel you cum this badly.

"Fuck, yeah! Wanna feel you so bad, baby. I'm gonna make you fucking scream for me." He was slamming into you now, retracting his long length all the way to the tip before slamming home again.

"Fuck! W-wait, Sunghoon! Sunghoon....baby!" He felt one of your hands come around his waist, wantonly gripping his ass in an attempt to keep him deep inside of you.

"Come on, baby. Take this big fucking dick." He grunted. His grunt turned into a moan as he felt you lock tight around his dick. You jerked fiercely beneath him, a loud scream escaping your lungs as you came around his dick.

Your hand tugging and yanking at his hair, your other hand still fiercely groping his ass, the clench of your cunt around him all sent him over the edge as well. He pulled out, crying out your name as he spilled his cum all over your battered mound and stomach, a few ropes of his cum even stretching out to cover your chest in a messy display of possession. He panted hotly into the air, soaking in the last few seconds of rapture, before untangling himself from you.

He stood naked as the day he was born, making his way to the door.

"Wait, don't close the door!"

"No, Sunghoon, don't-!" He slammed the door in their faces.

"Round two, baby?" He grinned.

Sunghoon makes me so fucking dizzy with want, is this normal 😫 😭 😩

---

wrong person right time-L.HS

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!!,angst(idk how much),sex,unprotected sex,name calling,mentions of cum

wc; 4.5k words

For; @heesquared

If you could count,it has been exactly 4 years,2 months,and a solid 3 days,ever since you last saw,or heard from him, got a last proper kiss from him, got to hold him in your arms,and its been way too long since you both ignored the random show going on the background and just focus on each other’s pleasure. You, for sure missed all of it. Every small details of when you were together came rushing down your mind. It was still fresh on your mind how it all ended. You downheartedly sat in the car,with Heeseung,who was appreciating the outside view,with his hands on his lap. You weren’t sure where to look at all. Your mind was screaming for you to go and just say hi,the first words you ever would’ve spoken to him that day,but you stayed quiet,the courage inside you slowly breaking down into uncountable pieces. But it all came to a halt when heeseung spoke up,”did you eat anything yet?”. You were hesitant to answer. What could you say?that you had been on an infinite diet,scratch the times where your friends forced some nutrients down your throat because you were in a spiral of depression?that you were a total wreck?that you didn’t have the heart to eat without him? Your silence was killing him from the inside. He couldn’t help but still worry about you. Your well being. If you ate or not. If you slept soundly or not. If you still…love him or not. You being quiet at his question,made him feel like he was overstepping the boundaries which were never there when it was all lively. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable around him, this one last and first time being with you,he would rather get humiliated in a full setting rather than making you feel uneasy, He was that serious about you. So he just muttered a small ‘whatever’ and went back to sightseeing. The tears were really stinging your eye,threatening to fall.But you acted quick and grabbed a napkin from your purse,wiping the unnecessary droplets of water. The motion caught Heeseung's eyes. Oh how badly he wanted to make you sit on his lap and hold you close to his heart,knowing his heartbeat calms your cries down,and strokes your hair. However,it took all his willpower to not do that. He couldn’t do that anymore. But,it was just only going to last for an hour or two,so why not just….calm you down? Your hands were clutching onto the cloth’s material like it was the only thing you had at that moment,until,you felt a sudden warmth engulf your fisted hands.heeseung

Opting to move your hands,you couldn’t…like at all. It seems to have frozen both you,and the time around you and heeseung,who was now rubbing his thumb above your knuckles in a soothing manner. “Is this ok?” he asks,not patching his eyes up with your softened gaze yet. Of Course it is. It always has been. You can even tell me to sit on your lap and cry my heart out,I would do that. You know I would.

You just nod,and he acknowledges. You both fall into a pit of silence after that,not knowing what else to do anymore after. 

When you got out of the car,Heeseung wished he could at least kiss your forehead before the last hearings were announced. And that you both would officially part your ways as what once you both believed to be called eternal love. His breathing seemed ragged and unstable as he signed the papers. He couldn’t believe this day would be left to be ever imagined,let alone be witnessed. It was all like a hallucination when he saw you signing it too…with a tad bit more tears escaping your eyes. All this happened while haera was outside,playing with your mom in the car,who was just as equally as sad as you were about this decision. But she had to stay strong for both you and her granddaughter. She waited till you got back,and drove you both home. “Do you want to go to my place y/n?I cooked your favorite” your mother offers when she sees you sucked too much into your phone. And she could tell you were looking back on the memories your phone held. Knowing you won’t reply much,she just sighed and took the matter in her own hands. Haera had been asleep the whole ride,for which she’s very energetic when you all reached home. “Here you go” your mother’s voice chimes in as she sets a plate of your favorite dish and places a fork beside it. “So….” “Hmm?” you reply taking a bite of your dinner,in which you had zero interest in as of now,mind filling in the thoughts of certain someone. “What’s your plan on going back to your place? Have you and hee talked about it yet?” At the mention of his name,you stopped eating and kept the fork down and looked at her. “We both agreed on getting our own places earlier when the lawyer was contacted and yori said she would let me binge in for a bit before i could work again and get a room for myself” “Will that be good for you?i want to keep haera with me for a while as well..” she says as she looks over your shoulder,to the child who was know focused on her crayons and drawing stick figures. A part of you wanted to say yes. Because it would definitely be not ok,in a situation like this,for heeseung to come and visit his daughter while you’re around. It was already awkward between him and you,it was more than enough to not create such an environment for your daughter. You didn;t want to face heeseung for now,and not for a month or two..you needed to get back on your feet again,you had to put yourself and your daughter first this time. “It’s okay mama,i can manage it,yori even said she hadn’t met my daughter for a while,it will be fine” you assured her the best you could. At least,it would be less awkward when yori would be with you if heeseung strikes a visit… 

“And..what if he visits?” “Just tell him where i am beforehand of his arrival,it would be better” “Oh okay love”

After moving in with yori,you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If he were here,he would pick you up out of the blue,just to tell you he loved you alot. If he were here,he would not waste a single chance of stealing kisses from your lips…If he were here..he would never…hesitate to bury his cock all the way to your womb,filling you up till he was satisfied…

You still remember how faint his voice was on your years,moaning and whining,just by bottoming out in a hurry,his hips in a halt because of how tight your walls would squeeze him. He would chant your name over and over again as he would notice the bulge of his twitching length inside you. How fun it was for him to apply pressure down the place under your navel,seeing you squirm under him  and scream his name repeatedly. He would never stop his assaulting thrusts till you cream his cock good,only you could milk his cock the best.and he would- Mere thoughts like this were interrupted when you heard the doorbell ring. So you went to the door,opening it,only to reveal..your ex husband..yours and his child in his grip.

Your mind went blank at the sight of his appearance. You were not expecting a surprise at this hour of the day. But to your dismay,it was never meant for you as his eyes went directly went to his daughter who was hugging her dad,almost asleep because of the journey she had to get here,to you. You and Heeseung shared the duty of taking care of your child in turns.He would pick haera up for a week or two,given that the distance between you and him got a lot wider,and would drop her off to you at the end of his shifts when he could. You did the same. Your daughter couldn’t help but giggle when he started kissing all over her face playfully. The scene alone made the butterflies wilder in your stomach. He was always gentle and kind with kids. No wonder kids like him. No wonder kids want a dad like him. Your daughter was just as lucky as you were.. heeseung asks her“be good to mommy okay?i’ll take you to a playdate next time,only you and me okay cotton ball?” Your eyes were focused on his way,and your mind kept recalling the words that just came out of his mouth. He was just being nice. He was just being nice. He was just being nice.

She nods earnestly,and earns a head pat from the man,who just smiles at her answer. “Can you wait for me a bit?i have to talk to your mommy,you’re my angel girl,we’ll go to the slides right after okay?and we can get any ice cream you’d like” he says as he pinches her nose softly,not too hard at all.Her eyes instantly lit up at the offer,she looked so happy and agreed,going back to her plushies,playing with them. The breath you had been holding out for who knows how long,eventually escapes as you see him walking towards the door…Should you ask him to stay back for a bit long?Would that be too indecent?would it look selfish for you to hold him back..?what would he think about it? “Heeseung-” 

don’t say it… He turns on his heels after stopping midway,his eyes finally falling on your figure ever since he got here. It’s not like he was apparently disgusted by your presence,it was just that he didn’t have to break down right then and there,infront of you,believing that you wouldn’t be there to rub his cheeks and wipe his tears for him anymore… “Yes?” Don’t you dare….know where you are now “Would you mind if-umm..” Anything else but that…please “What is it?” Dammit he’s being all soft again..his voice…

“A k-kiss-” ………. “It’s okay if you don’t want it-i understand i was just spewing random shits-” “We can’t….it’s not like it used to be anymore…i’m sorry” Oh….if him ignoring you earlier didn’t break you,this kind of did…like..a major damage to your hopes. Your eyes started to sting alot and before you knew it,tears gushed out..And what happened to be the softest touch you could remember,it was just a tissue paper,with none other than heeseung holding it under your eyes for you…He was not the person who loved you anymore..He was trying to be different. “Please stop crying,haera might worry later and i would lose my dignity as a dad” he tried to joke it out,tried to be sure that you didn’t hear his voice breaking,and he might have succeeded but it didn’t help your tears at all. He wished he still could just at least hug you.His heart was begging for him to just go forth and engulf you into the world's tightest hug,whisper how much he missed your presence,the scent of you,your everything… You do the work for him when you finally shatter and clutch onto him,finally crying in his arms… his breathing just got shakier than ever as he just hesitantly moved his arms up,but not fully hugging you.His chin,now placed atop your head as he inhales a deep breathe,having to have gotten over a big pressure off his chest…all just for a hug he didn’t know he needed..ever since you both got divorced. When your cries seem to have calmed down,he carefully navigates his eyes down to look at you,not caring anymore if it affects him or not…he just needed to see any bits of you. He had to. Or else his heart would go crazy. The moment your red and puffy eyes went up to his face,you caught him staring right back at you. The air suddenly feels too thick to even move a muscle among the two of you. You’ve never felt this much warmth ever since he walked out of your life,leaving him to feel the exact same. But this all was wrong. “Even if you look at me like that,I cannot” he says while holding you firmly. “Just once,i promise i won’t ever bother you about it……please” Bother….it never had been any ounce of what you just claimed to be as a bother. He would kiss you in a heartbeat,you knew that too. But the weight on his heart felt a lot heavier. It was just a kiss…but was it like old times?not at all…he couldn’t see it like that at all. You’re existence and the recalling of the divorce was distracting him from everything he had. “Fine..but only once.okay?after that,i leave” “H-hmm,okay,thank you for consid-” He captures your lips in the most delicate and the softest way possible,still worried if he crossed any non-existent boundaries. But the way you can feel the heat of his body radiate to yours completely,you don’t know what to focus on anymore. His lips had always felt this moist and soft whenever you both shared a kiss. It would always end up with you being on his lap. Your hands,as if it was a reflex,worked their way up to the back of his neck,pulling him closer. Heeseung didn’t seem to care anymore,finally having your lips on his after a whole year,and he felt like he could kiss you forever,hold you close like this,rip the paper into pieces.

His hands started lifting up your cardigan,feeding his fingertips in to feel the bare skin underneath the layer of clothing,making you sigh as you felt his cold touch on your waist.

Somehow, he can’t help but ponder silently about all the times he had been craving nothing but your touch,only for you to not be there,crave how you would sit on his lap and paint his face all red with your newly bought lipsticks,telling him how much you loved him,adored him,and cherished him,only for you to leave all that and walk on a path of your own. And now,he has a stable life now,he knows how to balance his work life and spending time with his daughter,he was contended with how his pace was,he was recovering from everything……

Unfortunately for you, his mind quickly took charge of him as he abruptly pushed you away. He couldn’t be in here..with you anymore without getting carried away. He needed to be out of here as he started to feel the urge to completely turn into a putty for you. 

“I should go now,i’m sorry for getting carried away” he says as he turns to leave Please stay hee…I need you so much…

As if he had telepathic powers,his instincts told him to run back to you,and he did. “Fuck it” he hastily ushers as he basically runs to you and lightly picks you up while connecting your lips with his in a hungry kiss. He couldn’t take it anymore.His lips work wonders as he swiftly licks your lower lip making you gasp,easily earning access to slide his tongue in. He makes sure to devour every corner of your mouth,not caring about the way your teeth clash. He doesn’t give you enough time and backs you up to the nearest wall. 

Gently, he places you on your feet,your small frame now caged in by his broad one. His eyes looked down to where your thighs were rubbing together in anticipation. “Fuck look at you”

“We need to go somewhere more private” he says, not even bothering to guide you to the nearest bathroom he could find. He leans in and kisses you again,a bit harder this time,hands instantly moving down to grope your rear cheeks,caressing them. You moaned at the contact of his perverted touch against your skin but you craved this so much…. 

“Needed you so much too angel,been such a mess ever since…do you feel that way too?” “Yes hee,been wanting this for so long…couldn’t think of anything else but you” you confessed,your words earning a chuckle from the latter. 

“What was I doing to you in your mind,hmm?”he asks as hands are now under your cardigan again,snaking up to your chest. His hands molded perfectly with your breasts as he gave them a light squeeze. Moaning at how good it felt,heeseung looked pleased by your reaction. He wanted to do more,and he is going to do more before he starts regretting where he is right now. “Gonna fuck you so good” he says as he unbuckles his belt and ties your wrist with it,behind your back. The action sends your mind in a frenzy as you felt his tongue licking a fat strip on your neckline. He dragged it down to your collarbone,sucking onto the bone and showering the area with his love bites. “Tastes just like it used to– fuck can never get enough of this” the taste of your skin melts in his tongue as he completely lets himself go. His hands quickly drop down to grab your hips and turn you to face the mirror in front of you. The sight was oh so pleasant,your pussy gaping and clenching on nothing but air,waiting and begging to be filled,stuffed,abused,reddened. You would take anything from him. His fingers,his tongue. But nothing would satisfy you the way his cock does.

“Pretty girl tell me where should i put it?guide me” his voice got more raspy as he looks at the mirror,eyes totally enchanted by the way your face looks so wreckable. He could just stuff your mouth with his cock but that's not what you wanted now,he knew very well how to please you…how to have you begging for him to do more than just using your face to get off.he knew you better than yourself.. “A-ass,want it in my ass–” you whined out as you felt the tip of his length rubbing up and down from your butt hole and your leaking hole,teasing each one at a time,watching you hiss whenever he playfully pushed in the tip on either. “As my girl wishes”

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion in your very small and tight hole,his raging cock penetrating past the tightness and the heat hugging his meat deliciously. It was so much that he had to halt his hips,feeling like he would be pushed out before he could even bottom out properly. “Never been so tight,fuck– you’re gonna be the death of me i swear–loosen up a little” his lips purse as the pleasure of your walls smear over his senses. And when he finally pushes in more of his girth,he can’t help but moan when you suddenly open up for him,taking him to the brim. “That's it,open up for me–let me give you what you want”Your mind was all over the place as he started moving,grabbing a hold of your hips. He pulled you back into his length,your hole getting wider each time he thrusted up. It was something in you,you didn’t know,needed to be fucked like this,with the chances of being caught by anyone,yori or even your daughter. His hips jerked up to yours,on loop as he led his hands up,bending down on you to capture your nipples in his torturing hold. He flicks it over and over. You can’t help but moan louder each time he rams right into your spot,so fucking perfectly he could die for this to happen over and over again. You looked so beautiful like this. All blown out,so pretty just for him. His palms move to your thighs,feeling the soft skin as he uses them as a leverage to plough into you even more. In between your thighs,your slick coats his dick to the right amount as it slides back in and out with the urgency to feel you even more. Heeseung thought he was living in a dream. You were chanting his name like he was doing yours. He moves your bended figure to the closed door of the bathroom. Your palms now flat against the wood as he fucks up to you. His eyes watch you lovingly as you try to blur out the obscene sounds coming out of your mouth but he smiles when he realizes the sounds down there are never doing you justice. “Be fair baby,let those tiny gasps out,come on”he demands, issuing a harsh thrust which aims enough to form a small bulge in your stomach. He almost succeeds in making you moan out loud. Your eyes roll back as he does so,telling him to go faster. He turns you around and rakes your thighs up with a bruising grip around them,lifting your ass up a bit for him to shove it in more easily.  That for sure would leave a great noticeable mark. And you’d love that. Wrapping your legs around his torso,all while his dick still inside you,he wastes no time in repeating his motions again. But only this time,his lips are desperate to find yours. Biting any piece of flesh his lips find,he keeps licking and sucking your lips. Giving you the messiest and dirtiest makeout you could ever have. Strings of saliva connect you both as he takes a moment to breathe,mouth open,eyes bewildered by your appearance. He couldn’t stop sliding it in,he got meaner about his thrusts as each second passed by,making you moan uncontrollably as you just stay there,being held and fucked dumb by your ex-husband. He’s so good with his hips that you don’t even notice his fingers teasing your other hole. “Think you can take it?bet you can’t and i don’t care if you can or not”he whines as he forcefully pushes in two of his digits in your cum hole,the thumb being left out to rub the nub. He does it so effortlessly,fuck your ass and penetrate your pussy at the same time– it all was too good for you Your starts clenching on his fingers and his dick,was as equal with it’s pace,not slow at all. He was so close,he could feel it. Eyes in a trance as it only saw fuck her fuck her fuck her soo good she can’t stand for days. You cried out at how good he was being to you. Giving you his cock,abusing your cervix like he owns it,slapping your ass countless times…

“Baby i’m gonna cum–it’s too warm and tight f’me–shit y/n!” his whines got louder as he felt his high approaching. “Could fuck you like this every goddamn day if you’d let me–feels like heaven in here–fuck”

You could only moan at how precise he was with what he wanted,and he wanted you to shower his dick with your juices. He wanted you to lose your mind over how good he made you feel. He wanted you to cum so much that it would push his cock out of your hole itself. It was getting too addictive in there,he wanted you to make sure you were left all used,broken and only for him to fuck anytime and anywhere. After all you were his fucking woman. “Should i cum in your ass?your back?your mouth?your pussy?” “cum in my mouth please–” “C’mere” he quickly pulls out and brings your face down to his cock,forcing it in your mouth. Your jaw hung only loose at his demanding hands. He fists his cock,stroking it fast,the tip flush pink and ready to shoot his seeds right down your throat. “Take it take it-take all of it-fuuckkkk!” Hot spurts of cum get in your mouth,your face and your chest as he keeps jerking off to his hands,chest heaving up and down slowly as the post orgasm breath gets taken in by the both of you. His eyes look warily,of any signs of negativity in your face,noting that there’s none,he collects his pants and retrieves his belt from your wrists,eyes not surprised when he catches a slight bruise over there. He felt sorry for hurting you like that…or even when he mindlessly took you by your ass… But it all was a one time thing-you just wanted any type of solace,and he only gave you what he could. He prayed you won’t take the words he said prior to him finishing in your mouth,to heart. He would feel guilty if he was the reason your feelings resurfaced again,he couldn’t risk that to happen. His eyes watch you now,but there only a hint of sadness in them now,as he knew if he walked out,it would be only him again…But that’s what is the best for the both of you. Things like this happen hee,just walk out….it’s ok

Millions of words could have been said to each other if only he just cupped your cheeks and told you he loved you always and forever,if you replied with a kiss on his cheeks,letting him know you both would work it all out again. It would have even worked out if you both had cried it out to you heart’s content,being in each other’s arms..But he was scared..scared that it would end up happening again. One time was more than enough to shake him up completely as a man. 

Haera reminds me of you so much….it hurts,love The only words which made up to your ears before you watched him leaving you alone….again,was

“I-i will be back next week,y/n”