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Text me Better

NEW STORY. ENJOY THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

A phone mishap, an illiterate clown, a genius stuck in the hospital. Nothing bad can happen with these two constantly texting, right?

ENJOY IT HERE

Text me Better Update! - 14 My Foam Finger is still Cool

"Heh, alright Bones. Where are you so I know to look at you when I make the winning point?"

"I shouldn't be that hard to find. I'm waving my foam finger in the air."

"You still have that thing?"

"Don't mock the foam finger. My foam finger is still cool."

"Sure it is, Logie."

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My fluff. I feel the need to show him to the world. He’s shedding like crazy. I would love to make a mini bunny out of his shed fur.

On other news, a Country Doctor by Kafka is… taking me some time to interpret.

Sweet Hibiscus Tea

If you don’t know the inspiration for this writing, it’s called Sweet Hibiscus Tea by Penelope Scott! LMAO I decided my first Dream writing would be fluffy don’t mind me.

Also if you notice I only ever use Natalia, I promise I only do this for non-requests and ideas for my fanfic. Not sure who I’ll pair her with yet so I’m trying things out for now.

Warnings: Nothing! This is a very fluffy fic despite the lyrics of this song lol

Theme: A fluffy little adventure! 

Characters: Natalia/Nattums (OC), Dream

“C’mon, Nattums! Let’s go!” Dream was beaming at the female, who was trying to get her supplies as quickly as she could. “You take so long! Do you want to see this place or not?” Though his voice was teasing, lilting slightly, it still made Natalia pick up the pace. Closing the last chest, she grinned back at him, sprinting over. 

“Yeah, let’s go already,” Natalia complains, grabbing onto one of his hands. Chuckling, Dream pulls the female along a little path away from the usual path they took into the little town that they and their friends all shared. The path grew dark, this area filled with trees that blocked the afternoon’s sun. “Where are we even going..?” She wondered aloud, earning a mischievous little grin from the man.

The two came across a river, and Dream stopped. Natalia peeked ahead from behind Dream, her eyes a bit wide. There was a detailed bridge built here, and for a moment Natalia believed that Dream had hired maybe Phil, or someone else to build this. 

Almost reading her mind, he laughs and speaks up, “Yes, I built it myself.” He turns around to look at her, resting a head on top of her head, slightly mussing her dark brown locks. “Anyway, let’s keep going. I just figured we could stop to admire my work,” He adds, smirking proudly, the ends of his mouth slightly pulled upward. 

They continued slower this time, taking the time to look around at the dense greenery in this forest. The trees start to thin out, until finally they come up to a clearing with a gigantic tree right in the middle. In this big tree was an impressive-sized treehouse, a faint glow coming from inside of it. Natalia couldn’t even speak, she was absolutely amazed with this place. 

“Yes, I also built this,” Dream says quickly, which earns him a slight laugh from his girlfriend, which made his smile widen. How he loved to hear her delightful little dove-soft laughs, and see the way she smiled so bright that it felt like a rivalry to the sun. He gently pulled her up to the ladder, motioning for her to climb first. He follows quickly, looking up at Natalia, who held out a hand to help him the rest of the way up. He took it gratefully, and with their combined effort, he was up on the floor. Intertwining his fingers with hers, he leads her through the house to show her around. 

“This is really nice. I’m very impressed, Dream.” She turns to look at Dream, who looks so proud that he might burst. “How long did this take you to make, anyway?” He just shrugs, a little embarrassed by how long it took. It didn’t matter to him; it looked good, and Natalia was even impressed by it. “It’s very pretty. Thank you for showing this to me. This could really help with hunting, and being safe at night.” She beams, and Dream’s heart throbs almost painfully. She’s so sweet. What the Hell... how did I get so lucky? He laughed softly.

“You’re cute, Nat.”

⋅ 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?” 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.

I am sorry for your loss, Inquisitor.

YEAH, THEY GAY, KEEP SCROLLING

OH DEAR GOD THIS POSE, THIS DAMN POSE TOOK SO LONG TO DRAW, IT HURTS MY HAND AND MY SOUL!!!

But other than that, have some cute ship art of Alley and Sarah

I think if I do anymore stuff that involves shipping these two I’m gonna write fics, I’m much better at writing fluff than I am at drawing it

Though I will say that I think I’ve gotten better at drawing wagging tails

Yeah so, I guess it’s canon now that Sarah and Alley are GAY for eachother, wanted to do a sort of grand reveal but man, my motivation gets sucked right out of me. Maybe I’ll do something bigger next time

(Also working on my other AU ideas, so keep an eye out for that owo)

Sarah belongs to @creepychippy

Tesselation

Summary: Yoongi loves being your good boy W/C: 2,489 Genre: smut, fluff Tags: Idol!AU, unprotected sex, blowjob, riding, cream pie

Yoongi is aware that it’s hard. 

Being apart from you is hard on him as well, for every second that passes seems more daunting than before. Sure, his world doesn’t revolve entirely around you and vice versa, but he still has not figured out just how to cope without your body beside him. 

Your scent has become his home, the smell of your shampoo residing neatly in the back of his mind where he keeps all of his memories of you. You’re there, all the time. 

He’s taken a new appreciation for when you are beside him, though. Even if it’s something as simple as now– your head resting on his chest while a movie plays in the back round. His hoodie covers your figure and a blanket rests on each of your legs, you’re both entwined with each other. Legs locked and the sound of your soft breathing securing his emotions. 

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Mood Boards

An insight into 2 of my upcoming series. I love creating new worlds and concepts. Don't be completely fooled by the colour pallets though, or the songs I've listed.

Lucid

Your eyes tell - BTS

💜♾💜♾💜

Crown

Panic Room - Au/Ru & You should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish

Who was staying up till 3 AM to finish the second chapter? Definitely not me ha...ha...ha...

I loved this too much not to reblog this, it’s so cute and sweet with everyone and I love it!

The Undertale Crew ~ Kissing Headcannons

People like me are ruining the fandom. But…

Here y’all filthy sinners. Also, warning: if complete and utter fluff is not your thing, then I advise against reading this post. Also includes PDA and height headcannons because I have no impulse control.

~Sans~

-Soft and gentle. Almost like a face-nuzzle. With his teeth. Because… no lips… He’s actually kinda surprised that you don’t dislike the feeling of literal teeth against your skin, but he doesn’t really complain since, well, you like them.

-Too lazy to always go up on his toes to smooch your face or wait for an opportunity when you’re down to his level (his level is 5 foot. He smol), so you find that he has a fondness for your hand or, if you’re minuscule enough, your neck. Also, he never asks to kiss you. It’s spontaneous and kinda jarring because, y’all could be doing nothing when surprise motherf*cker you just smooched the skeleton.

-Caution: he might fall asleep half-kiss if you’re lazing around during it, and/or there is a 99.99% chance he’ll follow the display of affection with a display of puns on said affection. Bad puns. Stop him.

-Likes to receive kisses on the cheek. Not too much effort, but he knows you love him. Plus, you’re lips are soft, and he enjoys the feeling of them on his bones. They’re nice, but he doesn’t want to abuse his privilege, so he won’t demand much of you.

-When you lounge around with him, there is a high percentile chance he’ll nudge your temple once or twice. It’s lethargic and faint, but you know it’s there. He just wants to make sure you still tolerate his presence, no biggie.

-Overall there isn’t a lot of kissing initiated by him, but he’s contented with you just being there, and he makes sure his lethargic opposition to PDA and/or excessive apathy doesn’t get in the way of you fully understanding that.

~Papyrus~

-Boisterous, and usually painful because his overzealous nature can get in the way of the common sense that his teeth hurt like balls clunking against your comparatively squishier lips that exuberantly.

-But sweet and genuine kisses nonetheless, swollen bruises aside.

-Picks you up in a swinging hug almost every time without fail. Will make you feel fairly dizzy by the end of it, and not just because of the affection. Will also trigger fear of heights if you have it, probably. Because, I don’t know, a 7 foot something monster is picking you a few feet off the ground? He might accidentally throw you once in a while. Whoops, nope, he didn’t mean to do that. Forgive him.

-Likes to proclaim his uttermost feelings to you in-between smooches. Even in public. PDA to him has no bounds. If you’re uncomfortable with that amount of… zest being shown to others outside of your home, he will pitifully attempt to restrain himself until you get back to the house.

-He just loves you too much, dammit.

-He likes any and all kinds of kisses, but has a squeamish dislike for French-kissing. It isn’t because of you, or anything, of course. He just feels as if it’s too… scandalous to be doing on a normal, everyday basis. Also, the tongues. Why. It just doesn’t look like a good time to him, and he’ll be hesitant on trying it.

Keep reading

The minute i read the plot i almost knew i'd fall in love. There's so much about innocence in this - surprisingly, i should say - that i regretted taking so long to read it all. TH700, V or Taehyung (i kinda like them all, but Tae > anything else) is the most adorable android i've seen. His emotions are delicate, simple and yet so deep that we might startle a little, but the writer makes it lighter when they're presented fully.

Remarkable and lovable things about this are the "feeling-feeling-feeling" or "verb-verb-verb" sensations you describe. I tend to repeat some words in my head, writing and speech in order to make them look dynamical, to lay emphasis on their meaning, and i finally found someone like me. This feels like an embrace, just like these remarks, and i'm really thankful you wrote this entire fanfic.

(Also i decided to read pts 1.5 and 2 at 1am and it's a half past three so i should probably sleep!!!!!! Don't mind any typos, i'm just tired ig)

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 24.4k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, smut (NSFW, 18+)

warnings: cursing/explicit language, very brief injury mention/blood mention (nothing violent/explicit I promise!), alcohol consumption, reference to former sex work, sexually explicit content, reference to masturbation, reader has sex for the first time, oral (f + m), multiple orgasms (f), unprotected sex (taehyung is an android but please take necessary precautions irl), I think that’s it but please let me know if I’ve missed anything

a/n: this got so incredibly long,, I hope that makes up for the wait! thank you to @hobi-gif​, as always, for being so supportive and uplifting and beta reading this for me, you are a shining star in my sky. and thank you to the wonderful @flowerseokjin​ for letting me pick her brain about art galleries and telling me about the incredible exhibition/paintings that I wrote about in this fic, you truly are the loveliest 💕

note: this is the final part of the main story! I’ll be writing minis/drabbles etc in the future but,, this is part 2 of 2 💖

A month after Taehyung walks into your life, you finally get new neighbours.

You’re aware of this because: 

a) Rory had let you know in advance (to wit: “I have been instructed to inform you that the new tenants of apartment 4A will be moving in next Sunday.”)

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

Keep reading

This is sweet. Jeongguk here is the sweetest boy alive and to imagine the exact moment he stopped and just stared is almost hurtful as he's the type of boyfriend that does exactly this. We just know. It's adorable to read! Thank you so much for writing this.

𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 ☽ jeongguk

𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 jeon jeongguk / reader genre: boyfriend/band-geek au, fluff words: 3455

I never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands.

a/n: i luv this song and this is soft. also i rlly cant stop writing guk fics so i guess im a guk fic writer now

warnings: fluff, clichés i love, it’s like glee if u squint and think about it hard enough, fresh new awkward relationships, raise ur hand if you’ve watched whip it (san marcos high school, i know nothing about you besides the fact i wrote this story listening to caricakes on youtube talking about how she went to this school)

Falling in love was a scary thing.

With people, that means. There was something about love when attached to another person that was unbelievably unnerving, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that your parents were divorced and at least one person in your family had been cheated on, thank you very much! The pressure of ultimate commitment and trust was something you just couldn’t wrap your head around; what if you gave all of that love to somebody who’d throw it all away overnight?

When people told you that you only thought that way because you were young, barely fourteen and watching your friends get into those week-long romantic relationships over fruit loops and milk cartons at break time, you insisted that no, you knew best. You knew what love was like. Love was the way your parents had fought most of your childhood, screamed, cussed, broke some things. Love was finding out the person you gave everything to suddenly didn’t want it anymore.

Eventually, you grew up and realised that life was better and happier now that your mother had moved across the country with somebody else, and your Dad was finding love in his new job and learning how to play the guitar. Life was no longer a slash horror film, but instead the colourful opening of a Disney movie, the birds singing- and hey, maybe love wasn’t so bad. Love wasn’t just what you experienced with a partner, you discovered as you transferred to high school and found that something in your chest hurt when you joined band and made some of the best friendships you had ever had. Love was open and opportunable, unpredictable and beyond kisses and hugs and hearts floating around your temples.

Love was the way you heard piano keys, or the sound of Taehyung and Seunghee laughing as you entered the band-rooms during every free period you could possibly find. Love was the guitar strings between Seunghee’s fingers, and the evenings around the campfire behind your house with the aforementioned duo and your father and his older stringed instrument, corny songs shared over the tamed embers. Aged seventeen, now, and still in love with music and the people in your life in the San Marcos High School Band Club, you didn’t think you’d be able to share that love with anything- or anybody- else. Until you met Jeongguk.

Continuar lendo

"I See No Fear In Your Eyes." - Alastor x Reader

(This story includes some of the pilot from Hazbin Hotel)

"Oh no, that didn't go as planned." Switching off the TV in the hotel lobby, you heaved a sigh. You had just seen the 666 news broadcast that showed Charlie explaining the hotel and redeeming demons. She had broken into song, and ended up being laughed at by the residents watching. It slowly became worse when Angel appeared on the news, during a turf war with some snake guy, making Charlie's situation worse. Soon after that the interview turned into an all out brawl between Katie Killjoy and Charlie, leading to the camera to cut off. Your name was Y/N, and you had just arrived in Hell five days ago. The fall you experienced was not pleasant, almost causing broken bones. Charlie happened to be in the area, and rushed you back to the Hotel. It took you a while to process it, but you soon realized you were in Hell, which confused you since you never sinned in your life. Charlie was nice enough to explain everything to you, as well as how she was the princess of hell.

Well that definitely shocked you when she told you that. How could the princess of hell be such a sweet and kind individual? Her personality was like a warm hug, very inviting. After she patched you up, she introduced you to Vaggie, her girlfriend, and Angel Dust, their first patron. Smiling, you introduced yourself, which caused a smirk from Angel Dust and a slight glare from Vaggie until she calmed down and shook your hand. Inspired by Charlies ideas, you volunteered to help with her dreams for the Hotel, earning a giant hug from her. There were many things that needed improvement here, so it was decided that advertising and handling the front desk would be suitable.

Soon the door to the lobby opened, where Angel Dust, Vaggie, and Charlie walked in. Vaggie clearly had a migraine, with the way she rubbed her head, and slouched on the couch. Angel Dust had grabbed a popsicle from the cooler, licking it. Charlie took a seat on a crate, appearing very distraught. Angel Dust made a comment about getting more food for the hotel, since there should be a boatload of sinners making their way here. "Not helping Angel" you thought to yourself. Charlie sunk down more on the crate, making Angel feel bad, but he wasn't good with comfort so he walked to the couch where Vaggie was staying. Moving closer to Charlie, you placed a hand on her back, rubbing circles. "Are you okay?" you asked. Charlie looked up and smiled, yet it seemed forced. She jumped off the crate and went to the door, heading outside. Wondering what she was doing, your feet carried you to the door. Leaning closer to hear her, it appeared she was calling someone. Her mom? It was a bit hard to hear, but you heard the lines of "Dad was right about me." Oh no, Charlie. The aching in your heart was painful. Once she came back inside, she was looking at the ground. Wrapping your arms around her, you pulled her into a hug. Charlie tensed, but eased into it, whispering a thanks. "You are trying your best Charlie. This project will be rocky, but its not impossible. Me and everyone here will support you. Trust me." Charlie squeezed back at your words, until she let go. The smile on her face was bright, vibrant. She appeared to be feeling better. Motioning your head to Vaggie, you told her to sit with her girlfriend. Nodding, she walked towards the couch, joining the others.

"Knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock" Sounds of knocking began to resonated from the lobby door. "Who could that be?" Opening the door, you look to see who it was. Standing in front of you was a very tall man. He was wearing a striped red suit, that matched his pants. His face adorned a monocle and a microphone was in one of his hands. The most noticeable thing on him was his smile, outstretched. to inhumane proportions. His eyes glowed a crimson red, as he gazed below to look at you. "Hellooooooo~!" came from his mouth, sounding like static. Opening the door further, you smiled: "Hello sir! How may I help you?"

***Alastor POV***

Alastor continued to gaze at the little demon in front of him, smiling widely back at him. "What a strange reaction!" He thought to himself. He expected a scream of terror or the sound of the door slamming against him, but not this. The eyes that peered back at him were sparkling, no fear contained in them whatsoever. "Is everything okay?" The demon in front of him, tiled her head, worried as to why he went silent. Shaking his head, Alastor remembered what he came here for.

***Your POV***

The man in front of you seemed to be thinking hard, before he bent down to your level. "Alastor my dear! Pleasure to be meeting you! Quite a pleasure!" His hand had grabbed yours, pulling you closer to his face, before shaking it enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you Alastor. My name is Y/N." you said, shaking his hand back. Alastor's smile got wider. "Ah! What a charming name!" His hand let go of yours, before he stood up to his regular height. Thanking him for the compliment, you moved to push the door back: "Would you like to come in?" you asked, moving your hand towards the door, motioning him to enter. Alastor smiled, showing more of his sharp teeth. "Why thank you my dear!" He entered inside the hotel, while you moved away from the door to close it. There was the sound of metal being drawn, causing you to jump. Vaggie had appeared in front of Alastor, holding a sharp spear. ""STOP RIGHT THERE! Cabrón hijo de perra! I know your game. And I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone here! You pompous, cheesy, talk show shitlord!" Vaggie was glaring at the man, furiously as she held the spear against his chest. Stepping between the both of them, you raised your hand. "WOAH WOAH! Vaggie! What are you doing?!" The action you did was enough for Vaggie to drop the spear down, but she was still gazing at the both of you in anger "I'm defending this hotel! That's the radio demon, the most powerful being in all of Hell!"

***Alastor POV***

Alastor was left a bit in shock at what you just did. He had just met you and here you were, stepping in to stop the other demon. "Quite bizzare!" He thought. He had heard the other demon, Vaggie, tell you that he was the radio demon, most feared in hell. He observed you listening to Vaggie, letting you know who he really was. Excitement filled him, waiting for those eyes of yours to become struck with fear. Surprisingly, when you turned around to look him up and down, he saw no fear once again. Why? "He doesn't seem so bad." he heard you say as you smiled at him, before looking back at Vaggie. "Oh ho! I think I'm going to like this one!" The sharpness in his smile got bigger, as he walked a bit closer to the both of you. He placed his hand on your shoulder, giving you a closed eye smile, as he pushed you gently back, before turning back towards Vaggie. ""Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here, ̵̹̇͜I̸̻͆ ̶̰̏̍w̵̝̟͒́o̴̤̾ū̶̗͘͜l̶͚͂͝d̶̼͎̉͐ ̷̝̘͗̉h̸̫͌͊á̶͖͉v̶̺͚̋̇e̶̮̽ ̴̼̞͌d̸͙͚͋ǒ̸̤͎͑ň̴̠̟̕e̵̢̛̓ ̸̞͗͜͝s̶̺̹̾ǫ̷͋̚ ̴̼͋͋a̶̜̻̒̒l̸͓̙̃̉r̶̞͛ě̸̖̟̈́a̵̗͊d̷̦̔y̵̙͙̽͒.̵̹͝"

Vaggie’s eyes were glazed over with shock from Al's display of power. However, you were gazing at Al with slight fascination. A bit shocked, yes, but not scared. He apparently wanted to help out with the hotel, shocking both Charlie and Vaggie. Despite seeing it as wacky nonsense, he wanted to volunteer his services to Charlie while also getting some entertainment out of it. Husk and Niffty were added into the mix after that.

**Few Months Later**

It had been a while since that whole ordeal. It was still difficult to find new patrons for the hotel, but it was coming along. The snake guy you saw on 666 news, Sir pentious, had joined in the program as well. He was like an evil mad scientist/inventor, except evil didn't quite fit the bill for him. He was a softie and a gentleman, and you were glad he decided to give the hotel a try. The relationships you had with everyone grew the more you stayed with them. The relationship you had with Alastor was the most surprising to everyone. The two of you were like two peas in a pod. His mannerisms and dad jokes always brightened your day. The kindness in your soul as well as the genuine concern for his well being warmed his cold heart. Alastor was still baffled with how you were with him. It was an unusual feeling, to have a person who knew who he was and what he did in Hell and his past, and still treat him normally. There were moments where he imagined you were hiding your true feelings underneath the kind gestures and smiles you gave him, and he hoped that was the case, but at the same time he didn't want it to be.

Inside his radio tower, he was giving one of his signature broadcasts. The only difference in is that you were in the room. There was a small corner where you were sitting. Your irises scanned the book in front of you while your ears listened to Alastor's voice. Al was told time and time again that his voice was one of a kind by you, which left him slightly bashful. It led to you eventually hanging around his workspace, just to listen to him, but also to spend more time together. Taking a slight break, his blood red eyes beamed over towards you, observing you. There were still nagging thoughts in the back of his mind, and it was driving him to the point of insanity, if they were not answered.

"My dear, may I ask you a small question?" He turned his body around, chair spinning to face you. Looking up from your book, you smiled and set it down. Getting up, you walked closer to him: "Yes Al? What is it?" Snapping his fingers, the chair that you were sitting on before levitated to where you stand, motioning you to sit back down. As you did so, your eyes continued to look at Al. His smile never left his face, but his eyes held an emotion you couldn't decipher. Confusion? Melancholy? "This had been meddling in my mind for quite some time. I have been around for a millennium in hell and the fearful gazes were always common to see. However! Your eyes never shown an ounce of fear during our time together." After his dialogue, he waited to hear what you had to say. A bit shocked at Al's question, you looked at him, wondering what brought this up. Hesitantly, you asked for his hand. Raising his eyebrow, he pondered why, yet he still extended his hand out, like he was giving a handshake.

Laughing at his antics, you grabbed his hand, holding it upright in front of both of you. Webbing your fingers together, you filled the gaps between them, causing Al to tense a bit. "I'm sure since you are the radio demon, you were prone to being run from and feared. But, there is more to you then just the radio demon, feared overlord in Hell. Something about you intrigued me the first day you arrived. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I wanted to know more about you. The more I got to spend time with you, is when I started to learn more about you, the real you. You're gentleman, bit wacky yet polite. You tell funny dad jokes to everyone. You're handsome as hell. You are an amazing cook. You speak French. Your singing is incredible plus your dancing. The static nature of your voice is soothing. The confidence you carry towards your foes is admirable. The power you yield is dark, but has its beauty too. You have a kind heart, despite hiding it from others. That's the Al I have gotten to know and care for, and despite your past and misdeeds. I will never grow to fear you ever."

Stunned was the correct way to put what state he was left in after your small speech. The whole time he was listening to you, the faster his heart raced. All those words that came flowing out of your mouth was giving him goosebumps and an odd sensation in his stomach. His other hand went to cover his face before moving down to cover his mouth, failing to conceal his rosy cheeks. "I-I see." Words were hard for him at the moment. “Haha. This is the first time I have ever seen you speechless.” Leaning closer towards him, you admired him up close. His microphone played a laugh track after you said that, causing Al to become more flustered, darting his eyes away.

Getting up from your seat, you were still holding his hand. “Al, look at me.” A hand was placed against his cheek. Gazing back over to you, Alastor removed his hand that was covering his mouth. The signature smile was gone, and on his face was a very small grin. Moving slowly, your lips had made their way to his forehead, giving it a peck. Radio screech! You were going to be the end of him. Heaving a deep sigh, his hand laid upon yours that was attached to his cheek. His eyes looking back at you were tender. “Thank you, my dear.”

-END-

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked , @ghostdoodlen , @aceofcards0-0 -0, @jyoongim , @saturnhas82moons , @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah , @cookiekyo , @iiotic , @delectableworm , @91062854-ka @alastorsgoldie

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

Sickly Deer - Sick Alastor X Female Reader

❥Summary - Alastor is a very proud man, and he will almost never admit that something is wrong. However, you noticed he seemed a bit off today and wanted to know what was wrong?

❥Tags: Sick alastor, sick day, alastor becomes sick, female reader, reader takes care of a sick alastor, stubborn alastor, fluff , adorable fluff, taking care of someone sick

❥Notes: Always wanted to do a sick character story and I finally get to do one with Alastor.

Was a quiet day in the hotel today. Usually there was the occasional chaos, but surprisingly it was peaceful. Charlie and Vaggie were out shopping for groceries for the hotel. Angel was lounging in his room, relaxing with Fat Nuggets. Niffty was reading a book, most likely manga in the lounge room, with Husk taking a cat nap on the couch next to her. Sir Pentious was in his ship, crafting some devices with his egg bois.

You were lounging in the hotel library, enjoying some quiet time to yourself while reading. Well it was quiet for a second until you heard the sound of static-like cough coming from next to you. Alastor happened to be in the library as well, reading his weekly newspaper. He's usually very quiet when he reads, except with the occasional sound of humming or static. But this was new, as you almost never heard him cough or let alone sneeze for that matter. The coughing started slow, but then it kept getting rougher as he kept doing it, causing you to worry. "Hey Al?" Your eyes were gazing at him with concern. Alastor turned his head towards you, wearing his signature smile: “Yes? What is it my dear?” “Well, are you alright? I noticed you have been coughing a lot. Once you said that, Alastor let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh-ho! It is nothing my dear. Just a small tickle. Nothing to concern yourself with!” He waved his hand in the air, after he finished talking. You still felt unsure, but if he said it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t question him.

How wrong you were, the more and more you saw Al throughout the day, the worse his cough got. Not only that, his face was slightly paler and a bit drenched with sweat. He still was acting like everything was alright, but you knew he was lying. Enough was enough. You caught up with Alastor, as he was walking down the hallway. “Alastor! Stop!” You yelled his name out. He stopped in front of you, and slowly turned around, head tilted in confusion. “You’re sick, aren’t you” Alastors face stayed neutral when you said that, but you knew you got him. “I told you already, my dear. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Alastor just smiled wider and turned away from you to continue walking. He was stopped again when he felt a hand grab one of his coat sleeves. His body grew tense and he turned back eerily, not appreciating you touching him. You gave him a strong look: “Well, I AM concerned. And you should be resting cause you’re only going to make it worse.” His garnet colored eyes locked on to yours, static in the air getting louder. “I am the radio demon, my dear. I do not get sick, so please remove your hand, n̸͚͇̏̉o̸̼̓ẇ̷̹̓.” His eyes flashed into radio dials for a split second, causing you to remove your hand from his sleeve quickly. “Thank you. Now then, I shall take my leave.” He turned back around and began to walk away from you. As you were watching him walk away, you noticed he drew to a stop again. His body was still up, but then he began to fall forward. “AL!”

**Alastor POV**

“Ugh….huh?” Alastors eyes opened slowly. He recognized he was in his hotel room as the ceiling was covered in grassy moss and leaves, as he was the one to change it due to his magic. He soon realized he was laying on his bed, wearing his pajamas as he slowly got up from lying down. He doesn’t recall heading back to his room, as his head was still a bit fuzzy. His head was throbbing and his throat was feeling sore. Alastor knew he was feeling sickly, but he refused to believe it. He hates to be perceived as weak, so he preferred to play it off that he was fine.

The sound of the door opening alerted him, causing him to look up. He sees you walking into his room, carrying a tray along with a plastic bag hanging from your arms. “Oh your awake? How are you feeling?” You bear a smile at him, as you walk closer to his bed, setting the tray down on the night stand. “How did I end up here?” Alastor questioned you, still confused at what happened. “You don’t remember?” Your eyes gazed at him back with concern. Alastor shook his head. “You fainted Al. I stopped you in the hallway cause I knew you were sick, but you said you were fine and as you walked away, you stopped and fell forward.” Al’s eyes widen at your statement, as he kept listening to you talk. “I carried you back to your room after that.” You gave him a small smile.

“I see. I’m sorry for the trouble you had to go through my dear, but I’m quite alright now.” Pulling the covers off, Al swung his feet to place them in the floor. He was stopped by a hand on his chest. “Oh no you don’t mister. You are staying in bed and getting better. Understand?” Your eyes were filled with determination. “My dear, I am qui-” “Understand?” His words were cut off by you. He continued to look at your face, seeing that you were refusing to budge. Heaving a sigh, he nodded his head. He positioned himself back to how he was on the bed. “Does anyone else know about my ailment?" He said, as you turned his head to look at you. You were removing some stuff out of the plastic bag and set them on the night stand before turning back to him. "The only ones who know are me and Niffty. No one else, I promise you. I had to tell her you were under the weather, and she told me to head to the store to get you some medicine while she made you some venison stew." Alastor continued to listen until he asked you another question: "Did you change me into my pajamas as well?" Your face flushed at that, and you shook your head no. "Your shadow happened to appear when I brought you to the bed. I told it to change you." Alastor just nodded his head at that, smiling at bit wider at your adorable reaction.

Grabbing one of the chairs from Al's desk, you brought it over to where his bed was and took a seat. Reaching for the bowl, you placed it on your lap. He observed you blow a bit on the spoon and hold it out to him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you. "Come on Al. There's nothing wrong with me feeding you." Alastor sighed, and opened his mouth, allowing you to give him some of the stew that Niffty prepared. He was able to finish it all off, which pleased you. Placing the bowl back, you grabbed the medicine and a glass of water and handed it to him. Alastor grabbed it and quickly popped them in his mouth, chugging the water to get them down. Sighing, he laid back on the bed, placing his head on the pillow, turning it away from you. "I despise this feeling." He whispered that to himself, but you were able to pick up on it since you were still seated next to him. "What feeling?" you said back to him, tiling your head. "Alastor continued to look away. "The feeling of being sick. Makes me appear weak." Alastor grumbled out the response.

Alastor remained quiet after that. A hand was placed against his cheek, allowing his head to turn back towards you. His eyes widen at you, as he saw you wearing a kind smile. "You're not weak Alastor. Everyone gets sick from time to time, nothing wrong with it. Also, you should know the others would never think about that, they would rather you get some rest and get better." Your thumb stroked his cheek. Alastor listened to what you said and gave a sigh, closing his eyes. "I know, my dear. Just.....feels strange." Moving his hand, he placed it against the one on his cheek. "Thank you, my dear. If there comes a time where you are ailing, I will return the favor." His lips curved into a soft smile. He heard you chuckle, as your hand moved away from his cheek. "Get some rest, Al. I'll come back to check on you." Smiling, you got up from the chair, and grabbed the tray, heading over to the door. Alastor just watched you walk away, leaving his room, and closing the door. His eyes began to grow heavy, as his body started to relax, drifting into a deep sleep.

TAG LIST:

Tag List:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac , @sweet06tart , @nobuharashinyao , @aria-tempest , @fluffismystaplefood , @darischerry , @nightmarenaya , @mooniee123 , @yakultt-art , @ktssstuff , @blakedbeanss , @sweet06tart , @ihyperfixatedagain , @alastorssimp , @sadnessiscoldtea , @artemisandhunters , @crystalreads , @thereeallink

I asked for adorable steamy fluff and you DELIVERED IT❤️🩷🥰🩷❤️🩷🥰. Thank you for doing my request @fraugwinska .

I swear your stories make my heart skip beats❤️🩷❤️🩷 I need some soft spicy Alastor x Female Reader. Maybe a Morning After scenario with Alastor and the reader (waking up together, being soft and cute. Kisses and stuff and maybe a slight continuation of last night😏😏)

After the last stories I was EAGER to write your request, my dearest @alastor-simp. I've accepted my rank as fluff fairy, and I oh-so-love to write these cute, tender moments!!! Thank you for this ask, I hope I did it justice!

For the best experience, I suggest to listen to Ingrid Michaelson's "Love is', which I imagined the radio to play in the story (and listened to while I wrote it)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

We only have Forever

The birds in hell weren't like anything on earth – their songs were not sweet and melodic, but rather ominous and melancholic.

Which is why, when you were woken by an unusual, bright chirping sound, you thought for a split second you were alive again, waking up from an intense, unusually immersive dream.

You shifted, cheeks still pressed into the white, soft pillow and body messily wrapped in cotton sheets, too drowsy to realize that the chirp was not coming from birds, but the little, vintage radio that sat beside the bed in. It quietly came to life, the search for a channel resulting in high, pitchy squeaks and fuzzy static feedback. Which was always the tell-tale sign of a waking Alastor.

The arm around your waist twitched, causing you to sigh peacefully. Your lids fall close and you let it pull you back into the center of the bed, into a warm, waiting body - a soft chest, thinly covered in silky taupe fur that tickled your nose, an underlying, hearty scent of wood and vetiver and the familiar rhythm of another heart drumming against your ears.

You left your eyes closed, relying on the most comforting senses of touch, hear and feel, the latter came into use as the sensation of sleepy, light kisses on the crown of your head that caused your lips to pull into a blissful smile.

"Mornin' my buck."

"Good morning, my doe."

His voice was nothing more of a mumble, still lazy and half asleep, hoarse and slightly deeper than when up and about. When he finally seemed to have picked a radio station he liked, the room was filled with a soft, dreamy song which suited the very same ambiance that was present - happy, in love, slow, silent bliss. It was one of your favorites, and one of the few more modern ones Alastor tolerated.

He ran his slender fingers up your back and shoulders, through the disheveled masses of hair, stroking it gently with his sharp talons, scratching ever so lightly on the scalp. He pulled himself a little more forward, tangling his legs even more with yours in an effort to maximize the connection of your bodies and minimize the space that span between you.

"Hey, easy now or I'll think you're afraid I'll jump up and leave as soon as my eyes open." you teased playfully, as Alastor nuzzled his nose deep in your hair, taking in deep breaths, inhaling your scent and humming in content.

"I had hoped after all my efforts tonight you wouldn't be able to even if you tried, darling."

You flicked his ear in fake indignation, but chuckled and raked your fingers over his back in soft, tender streaks, your fingertips gliding over his spine and sides. He shivered under your touches and melted deeper into you. A rhythmic, shuffling sound joined in with the faint tune from the radio, and Alastor groaned when you purred in lofty pride.

"Damned, traitorous thing...", Alastor scowled, trying to evade the hand that reached for his wagging tail under the sheets.

"Don't you talk like that about my precious friend.", you cooed and caressed the plush fur on his lower back, scratching with nimble fingers close to the base of his tail, the very spot where he was extremely... responsive. Alastor just growled again, missing any angry or mad edge, his tail continuing to thump louder and even quicker and causing him to whine as he failed to stop its excited sway.

"It betrays me."

"No, it only tells me that you're happy."

Alastor tilts his head to brush his lips over your own, almost not touching, a tiny, bittersweet distance between his and your mouth.

"If it's that much more of a conservationist for you, maybe I should stop talking then."

With a faint, sighed chuckle he finally closed the agonizing gap, lips met lips in a slow and flowing embrace, moving almost at the tempo of the song, it's calming beat guiding the cadence and harmony of his kiss. You felt him smile, more relaxed and at ease that his usual signature grin, even though your eyes were closed shut in drowsiness and enjoyment. The slow, lazy, fullness of this morning's intimacy, of your bodies so closely pressed together in ruffled sheets while hell's sun was only slowly rising on the horizon, making out and embracing each other without the need to rush or be somewhere in another hour or so was a rare occasion and therefore worth savoring.

His hands traveled over your hips, up your waist to settle in a gentle, cradling grip around your neck, fingertips grazing the outer edges of the delicate bite mark still there as a reminder of the contrasting feverish passion you both shared last night. With Alastor - It was war and peace, in a circle - hard, unforgiving, passionate desire at the beginning of dusk, and soft, tender and sensual love at the break of dawn. A clash of burning flames and gentle streams, all on an even ground of equals.

You sensed the slight change in the mood, the licks over your parted lips with the warm tip of his tongue soon turned to be deep and demanding, less lazy and more eager movements from his tongue - exploring the insides of your mouth, playfully flicking yours and circling around and between your teeth. His large hand left it's spot in the crook of your neck and pulled on the base of you head, sinking his digits in the tuft of your hair. You moaned softly into the kiss, more of a wanton, sloppy sound rather than anything else and you started to grow flushed, your skin tingling pleasantly under every touch and lick and nibble.

You deeply enjoyed the roughness and depravity you shared in the nights, you really really did. But this, this was what you loved. It was when Alastor wasn't starved for you, endlessly hungry and hasty to devour you but when you were a well prepped meal, slowly cooked and seasoned with care and love that you felt the most powerful connection of your souls - his touches were careful and secure and when he held you in his arms like this, kissed and adorned you like that, every and any gesture or caress spoke so clearly the sentence he had captured your heart with - you are mine and only mine.

"You are saying an awful lot with that body language for someone who wanted to stop talking, my buck." Alastor laughed fondly at your husky breathed words, rolling you on top of him, sheets sticking to the planes of your bare bodies. You threw a leg over him to sit in a straddling position, your face a mere few inches above his as he rolled his hips and swayed your body against his growing length.

“That's the beauty of a loophole, my doe, for no spoken words could express me quite as honestly as this."

Alastor kissed you once more and, now grinning as devilishly as you were used to, let his hands find rest on your hips, ready to start one more of those heavenly nonverbal conversations before you both had to ready yourselves for the hellish world outside of your bedroom.

Again, thank you for suggesting this. And a big shoutout to @minkdelovely, who made my heart skip with her article on 'Pictures of you'. The fluff fairy had you in mind with this, too ;>)

Awww this gives me life is strange vibes with the character Maxine. Alastor is defintely worth taking a picture of❤️🩷❤️🩷 Great Job @fraugwinska

Hi! Hello! 🥰 first of all - big fan, of all your works, from angst through fluff to smut.

I have an idea for a potentially sweet oneshot:

Reader wants to make an album/photobook of all the residents of the hotel but of course Alastor is avoiding it since she's using her phone for it. She quickly notices and sets on a journey to get an old camera and when Alastor asks her why does she care so much about him being in the album, she without hesitation tells him that it's because he's a part of this family and she cares about him. :)

♡ thanks ♡

Heya my lovely ♡ I think we all need some fluff today, and your ask was perfect for it! Thank you so much for your patience and your prompt! I hope after all this wait this tickles your fancy ;> (2.3k words)

"Frank, no, the other left. A little more... Okay, yes, perfect! Now say 'Cheese'!"

The little eggs threw their hands in the air with enthusiastic vigor, chanting everything but 'Cheese' and you had to steady the hand holding your phone to snap their picture while you supressed a giggle. The little buggers sure did look as energetic in the photos as they were while taking them. You laughed as they stormed over to you, climbing over each other to look at the picture and promised them they'd all get a copy before you returned to your room.

You flopped on your bed and looked over your phone gallery - almost everyone in the hotel was in it. Some pictures were little snapshots you secretly took when nobody was looking. Those were your favorite ones: Angel and Husk laughing at the bar, Charlie and her dad, Lucifer, deep in conversation with a flustered looking Vaggie, Pentious and his Egg Bois playing cards. A selfie with Niffty made you smile, her petrified, empty-staring eye next to your smiling face. You had printed out the best of them, carefully working on putting together a thick, handmade photo album.

Taking photos was a passion you brought with you from your previous life - it made your heart all fuzzy and warm to capture precious moments, finding beauty in almost anyone and everything, if the angle was right and the light wasn't too harsh. With your phones' advanced camera app, that wasn't really a problem and most of the residents didn't mind being the object of your lense, Angel in particular was more than eager to get his picture taken. You accumulated so many portraits and body-shots of him, you could fill a whole album just with those alone. Charlie loved taking selfies with you, pulling anyone near her on their shoulders into the frame (mostly Vaggie, since she seldom left her girlfriends side). Husk had been hesitant at first, but after a while, he just grinned and showed off a tad more when you took photos of him mixing drinks - twirling bottles and winking into the camera with a sly smile. Seeing your work, even Lucifer himself agreed to a few goofy snapshots with his beloved ducks, joking that you would have made a killer advertisement worker with your way with a camera as well as your encouraging words. They, however, failed you with Alastor.

Usually content in your company, he, in an instant, was nowhere to be found whenever you snuck out your phone to secretly take a shot, and you could swear, there were times when you were sure he was actually avoiding you. And you didn't like that at all.

You liked him. He was handsome, of course, but also witty and quick with words, and his laugh was contagious, his smile a delight when it was not murderous, and his jokes (though a bit corny sometimes) were always on point and often had you giggling for minutes. You desperately wished you could capture him when he drinks his morning coffee, an image so sophisticated it made the aesthete in you cry, or immortalize the way he casually leaned on his cane when he was pretending to listen to Charlie's newest plans for group activities on film. Yet, you couldn't even so much as reach for the case of your phone before his eyes snapped to you, and he found excuses to escape you once again. It didn't take you long to catch on that his sentient shadow companion was the snitch, watching you and warning him if it sensed your intentions, the damn thing.

So one day, when you were both alone in the kitchen, him stirring the stew he was preparing for dinner and you, cutting apples for the apple-crumble as dessert, you outright asked him if he would take a photo with you.

"HA! No, I don't care for this frivolous digital tomfoolery, dear." the Radio Demon said simply, his shadow sneering at your disappointed expression, and that had been that. And even though you wanted to respect his wish, it felt like something major was missing when you flipped through the pages of the book, seeing the faces of everyone within the hotel except for his. Incomplete.

'And to hell if I can't do something about that!' you thought as you stubbornly turned off your phone and left it on your dresser, determined to go out and find an old fashioned analogue camera. Maybe, with a little luck and another cautious effort of yours, you could convince Alastor after all if the picture was a physical, tangible piece of paper instead of some abstract pixels on a screen.

On to the streets you went, enjoying the strange but picturesque scenery Hell provided. It's colors, shapes, people you walked by. Your keen eyes automatically looked for nice backgrounds and motifs you could maybe capture, and you also were a little excited to return to analogue photography. As convenient and simple as your phone's camera was, the difference in experience was immense. There was a special kind of magic around capturing moments with an old, clunky thing and developing the films yourself you just couldn't artificially replace.

The Voxtech store was a bust from the beginning. Of course, you already suspected that hell's equivalent to Apple probably wouldn't sell anything older than the 'V-Phone 34.2', but to be outright laughed at had been uncalled for. "Analogue camera? You must be shitting me, girl." the clerk said, not even bothering to turn his head from the TV behind the counter to acknowledge you. "Nobody uses that outdated shit-tech anymore."

You left the store in a bad mood and with the strong urge to flip off the guy through the window, but settled for kicking the dumb grinning cardboard cutout of the store's flatscreen-faced namesake, advertising for the 'V-Phone 55.1' instead. Smug piece of shit.

Your search continued through the streets, but with every store you visited - offbrand electronic stores, thrift shops, even a sketchy looking flea market - your hope dwindled. No one seemed to have a single analog camera to sell, and your options ran thinner by the seconds. Feeling defeated, you finally decided to return to the hotel when a store caught your eye. The wonky wooden store sign just said 'Old Crap', displaying a black pentagram globe, a medieval looking longsword under a big porcelain crane and a cathedral radio on a pedestal in the shop window. With a last spark of hope, you entered the shop, ready to give your last penny if needed if they had what you were looking for.

You ran the whole way back home, cheeks flushed and with hell's biggest grin on your face.

The bag on your shoulder bounced and swayed with every step, the newly acquired Polaroid 100 in it's pocket knocking heavily against your hip, and you clutched the small, paper parcel with the packfilm to your chest like a treasure.

"I did it! I found one!", you shouted into the lobby when you entered, immediately catching the attention of a surprised Alastor standing in front of the lobby's fireplace. "Where have you been? You missed dinner, dear." he asked, eyeing you curiously as you ran over to him.

"Out. I don't really know, and it doesn't matter, because look, Alastor, LOOK!" you repeated, almost jumping up and down on the spot as you rummaged through your bag, and his smile faltered a bit as he tried to make sense of your erratic babbling.

"Easy now...What are you going on about, darling?" he asked, confused, and you proudly pulled the camera out, presenting it to him like you found the holy grail.

"See? It's an analogue camera! The only one in hell, apparently, since I spent the whole day combing the entire goddamn city for it.", you explained, and the deer demon's eyes widened at the sight of the vintage gadget. He hesitantly reached out to touch the camera, carefully brushing the tarnished silver metal frame with his fingertips. His brows furrowed as he eyed the device in your hands, and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but you were too excited, cutting him off before he could speak.

"I thought maybe this would be a good compromise, you know, to get a photo of you without it being digital, since you really don't like that! I've never used one like this before, though, but the seller told me how it works! It's easy, really. You put in the film..." You did what you said with nimble fingers, almost shaking with anticipation whilst Alastor just watched you silently, his hands folded behind his back and a curious tilt of his head. "… then you pull the tab here, and it's ready to use! Like this!"

You pointed it at the fireplace, making sure the Alastor could see that you didn't direct it at him as to not spook him away before you really convinced him, and pressed the shutter, the proud smile still on your face.

With a long whining squeak, the whole thing fell apart in your hands, and you stared in horror as the pieces of what once was your camera clattered through your fingers to the ground and tiny screws rolled in different directions. You didn't move a muscle. You didn't even breathe. All that had transpired in the span of the last few seconds was too much for you to process, and you were on edge of tears as your face fell. The initial shock was quickly replaced with despair, and the welled up tears finally fell from your eyes. You felt incredibly stupid. How could you be so naive to think that was a good idea, when clearly, the whole goddamn universe was telling you otherwise?

Alastor's ears flicked when the first quiet sniffle broke the silence, and he glanced over at you. "I don't suppose it was meant to do that?"

You didn't say anything, just shook your head, trying to hide the wet streaks on your face. Alastor patted your hair lightly in an attempt to console you.

"Mh I see... it's a pity, really. I hope you didn't invest too much in that old thing, sweetheart."

You laughed humorlessly. "Only my savings."

The hand on your head froze still. "You surely mean part of it, right dear?"

"All of it."

He looked at the pile of loose leather and broken metal, then back at you. "All of... Why would you do such a foolish thing, darling?"

The question hit you harder than the door had slammed shut behind you when you stormed out of the Voxtech store earlier today. You shrugged.

"I just thought... I guess I just really wanted to get a picture of you." you confessed, wiping your face. It sounded so silly, when said out loud. "It's so nice, to have everyone I came to love in my album, like a family. And I felt like you were the only one kind of... left out, and I just..."

You had trouble explaining to Alastor exactly what was the motivation behind your thoughtless purchase - it all came together so naturally inside your head, but now that you tried to convey it out loud, your reasoning felt childish and embarrassingly naive. You lowered your head, tears blurring your sight, when a hand softly brushed over your cheek. You looked up at him, startled, as the back of his hand brushed away stray tears.

"Your heart was really set on this, wasn't it?"

His voice was gentle and soft as he spoke, and you could swear his eyes had a weird gleam when you barely nodded. You felt your cheeks blush and attempted to turn your head to avert your eyes, but he suddenly pulled you into his side, his face pressed against yours as with the flick of a wrist, an old folding camera appeared in his hand that he held, lens pointing at the both of you.

"Smile, my dear."

A poof and a flash later, and he held a developed photograph in his fingers, handing it to you with a smile much more genuine than you've ever seen. "There you go. I hope this'll do."

The picture was crisp and in stunning, vibrant colors, and you couldn't tear your eyes from the way his red irises seemed to come alive and the how it perfectly captured the pink hue on your cheeks, face flustered and yet oddly beautiful next to his own gleeful, picture perfect face.

"It's perfect." you breathed out, pressing the picture to your chest as tears, this time ones of gratitude and something warm and entirely unknown to you, threatened to spill over again. Alastor tutted at the wet sound, his long fingers tenderly wiping them away before they could fall.

"There, there. No more tears now."

You nodded, unable to lift your head as the feeling of his touch lingered on your cheek and you shyly looked away, hands still firm on the photo and over your racing heart. He cleared his throat and brought a fist to his mouth in a quick not-cough, and from the corners of your eye you thought you saw the faint traces of a blush on his face before it was already gone.

"Come now, there's still dinner left to be had, dear, and I am very interested to know who sold you this..." he picked up a piece of the shattered device from the floor and held it between his thumb and his index finger, the expression in his red eyes unreadable, and there was a certain intensity to his gaze you couldn't interpret, but it certainly made your heart race a little faster. "faulty device. I fear he and I need to have a little word."

THIS WAS SO GOOD❤️🩷❤️🩷 Thank you @fraugwinska for the birthday gift, it means a whole lot.

Ok so it’s going to be my birthday tomorrow and your the best writer I know that can do fluff so please for me do an alastor x reader birthday fic. Can be romantic and fluffy and do not rush it. Take all the time you need. Thank you

Happy Belated Birthday, my darling @alastor-simp! <3 I wanted to publish it on your special day, but it wasn't ready then and I didn't want to deliver something sub-par - But here you go! <3 I hope you had a wonderful day and this little gift brings a smile to your face! And thank you for always making me smile with your interactions! <3

You shuffled in the darkness, sheets clinging to your thighs and entangling in between your arms. Hell's summer nights, not unlike those on earth, were hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. But it wasn't the heat or the stickiness of your skin that woke you.

Tiredly you blinked, trying to focus your eyes to make the room at least a little more visible. There was the typical static noise that always buzzed around Alastor's and your room - something you grew so accustomed to that you weren't able to fall asleep without it anymore. But there was another sound, barely audible, coming from the other side of the bed.

"Al? " You murmured sleepily. He wasn't next to you as he usually was. You had become so accustomed to having him curled around you like a cat, that sleeping alone was a rare and unwelcome thing.

"I didn't mean to wake you yet. Ignore me, dearest, do continue sleeping." He replied with a small smile. Alastor sat by the open window, curtains drawn and only his silhouette visible against the purple and pinkish glow of the Pentagram's eerie moonlight.

"Mmh... are you okay? What are you doing?" You groggily sat up, the covers falling away and exposing the bare skin of your chest to the nightly air. You couldn't make out his expression, but his voice sounded smooth and a little husky from sleep.

"Waiting." He answered simply.

You knew better than to ask him what he was waiting for - there was a reason you and him quickly became 'an item' as Angel loved to tell anyone who'd want to hear it. A couple, Charlie said, though it sounded too mundane to you. Partners was the word you and Alastor agreed on. It was a complex term to describe your relationship with the overlord - he was your equal, your friend and lover and the one person who could truly understand you and vice versa. He was your home.

You stood from the bed and shuffled your feet to his side. You didn't feel any discomfort walking practically naked through the room - after all, it was hot as hell (pun intended), every bit of clothing would've just added to the unbearable heat. And who'd be watching anyway except for Alastor, who had basically mapped out your entire body more than just once?

Alastor shifted on the wide windowsill, making a space for you to sit in his lap. You settled your back comfortably against his chest, head tucked beneath his chin and began to gently caress the arms that instinctively wrapped around you. The nightlife of Pentagram City illuminated the streets below you, there were faint sounds of honking cars, small booms from ongoing turf wars and a steady buzz of voices filling the air - the night was the most lively part of a hellish daycycle for most sinners. In the distance the Heaven's Embassy tower stood prominently erect, counting down the days until the next extermination right below the clock, indicating it was just five minutes before midnight.

"I will wait with you." You murmured, closing your eyes again and relaxing completely in his hold. You wanted to give him the same sense of security that he provided you with, even if all you could do was keep him company.

"You don't know what we'll be waiting for, my love." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't have to." You replied. Alastor chuckled. He leaned down to kiss your neck softly and you tilted your head in order to give him more way. "I'll always be here, with you, when you need me." You added.

There was a moment of silence as Alastor held you close. Your breathing evened out again, your hands slowly falling from his arms. Your head rolled onto his shoulder and your chest rose and fell gently in a calm, hypnotizing rhythm. Alastor sighed in contempt while you were fighting the sleep, humming now and again to keep yourself awake.

The clock ticked, the volume of the noises outside rose and fell in an ever changing pattern. He waited, his eyes fixed on the fingers of the clock, his hands absentmindedly combing through the silky lengths of your hair.

It was a minute to midnight.

He could smell it in the air. The magic, the static, the energy. His shadow came to his side, a quick nod confirming that everything was in place.

Alastor turned his head, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as the clock struck midnight and he whispered.

"Happy Birthday, my darling."

Your eyes fluttered open, you were almost drifted back to sleep when his words reached you and you tried to turn in his arms, but Alastor kept you firmly in place, chuckling at your tired movement. You turned your head back and craned your neck, looking up at him, confused.

"What did you say?"

"Shhhh, love. No questions for now, just listen."

The streets below were suddenly silent, the constant noises stopped abruptly, as if someone had shut them off with a remote control.

You heard a soft melody, like a music box's tune, rising through the window. It was familiar, a song you've heard many times before, and each time it reminded you that it was your favorite.

"Darling, close your eyes." Alastor instructed.

"Why?"

"Come now, dear, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then just do as I say, and close your eyes."

And you did as you were told. A shiver ran through your body when the world was suddenly covered in darkness, sleep no longer on your mind - you were suddenly wide awake.

Alastor let go of you, gently helping you to your feet, taking your hand in his and leading you through the bedroom. The melody got louder as you neared the balcony door and you had a strange feeling that Alastor had something everything to do with it.

When you stepped outside, the wind brushed past your naked form and a cold shiver ran down your spine. Your grip tightened on Alastor's hand and his thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of your hand.

"Keep your eyes closed." Alastor instructed, his hand leaving yours. You felt him move away from you, his warm body no longer a support, and you instinctively reached your hand forward to try and catch him, but you only grasped air.

"Trust me."

You heard the static buzz around you. Alastor was using his powers.

The next moment you felt a soft material wrapping itself around you, the texture of the fabric unfamiliar, but comforting and incredibly soft.

"May I open my eyes?" You asked, a smile on your lips as you guessed his answer.

"Not yet." Alastor's voice was behind you, he was still oozing magic, the energy crackling and fizzing around you. The material tightened around your form and you had an inkling of what it was that he conjured for you.

"Well then, darling. Now, you may look."

You opened your eyes.

Standing in front of you, his red eyes shining bright with excitement, was your partner, your equal, your best friend. His signature suit was replaced with a black, silky dress shirt, a matching bow tie around his neck, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his pants and shoes changed to a darker shade of the same material.

"Wow, you look incredible." You breathed, admiring him in his new attire.

"I am flattered, my dear. But I think you're the one who truly outshines the stars tonight."

You glanced down.

It was a dress, as you suspected. The same style as his, a silky black fabric falling in gentle folds around your calves, delicate lace trimming the hem. It was cinched at the waist, a dark bow tied in the front, the ends of the bow floating down your front. It was the perfect size, not too loose or tight, fitted to your form and hugging you in all the right places, the fabric indescribably cool and soothing on your heated skin.

You were stunned.

"It's... amazing, Alastor, but... What's the occasion?" You asked, still a little dumbfounded.

"Something I've been preparing for for the longest time, my darling." He stepped towards you, a hand stretched out to you which you took without a second thought. He smiled at the undisputed trust, at the instinctiveness of your every move towards him. "Today, my love, is your birthday."

Your eyes widened and a small gasp left your lips. "My... my birthday? How did you..."

"Yes, my love." He leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. "I cannot restore your memories, but I vowed to gift you at least some parts of your life, if I were able to."

You looked up at him, and his smile widened at the adoration and admiration in your gaze. You couldn't recall anything from your life above, a blank slate waking up in hell, and you only shared how miserable and sad you were about that fact with Alastor when things got serious. He was the only one who knew how lost you felt, how the feeling of a missing identity made you restless and frustrated. You remembered the first time you two talked about it, the look on his face as he realized just how much trust you were putting into him by telling him the truth. Back then, his smile had been laced with incredulity, his disbelief strangely making his face look softer and kinder, more approachable. But in the weeks and months after, when he understood the seriousness behind your words, how much at least having some knowledge of your past life - however vague or unknown it would be - meant to you, this disbelief was replaced first by sympathy, and after a while determination.

Determination, apparently, to figure out a way to find and bring some of those memories back to you. And now he was here, dressed to the nines in the middle of the night, revealing that he had managed to find a significant one - your birthday. Handing it to you as a gift, right when the clock struck to begin it.

"My darling?" Alastor tilted his head, catching your attention. "Is everything alright?"

You didn't answer. How he found it out? No clue. How long did he know? Didn't matter. Did he find anything else? Didn't care. He had brought to light something you gave up on having so long ago, something so meaningful to you, that in that moment you couldn't find the words to express it in a satisfactory manner. You moved forward instead, arms rising to circle around his neck and using your own, meager powers to levitate yourself to bring his lips as close to yours as possible and his grin grew wider in response.

Alastor laughed and licked your lower lip playfully. "I take that as a yes."

And his lips finally met yours. The kiss was slow and gentle, no hurried movements or demands of any kind. Alastor could be a selfish partner, especially in taking claim over you. But not today, not right now he wasn't. He was only giving, not taking. Pouring every ounce of feeling he had towards you - impish joy and mischievous happiness and passionate desire and cocky pride - back into you, transferred through gentle swipes of his tongue against yours and wistful sighs that felt cool against your lips. It was a rare display that you weren't the only one that trusted their partner wholeheartedly - Alastor surrenderred to you willigly, gladly, and it weighted on your heart even more than the actual gift he intended for you.

When you broke away from the kiss you could swear there were sparks visible flying between you and him. Your breaths mingled as your foreheads rested against the other's, and you took the moment to collect yourself and speak.

"I have no idea how you did it, Al, or if I even want to know, but this is... Incredible. Thank you." You purred, nuzzling his nose affectionately.

"Of course, I am quite impressive, my love. But we are far from done." Gently, his long fingers gripped your chin as he pushed you away a little, encouraging you to open your eyes. His smile was a little wild at the edges and his eyes glowed with an excitement that promised mischief and thrill. You've seen this look before.

"Come now, darling. If we're to celebrate your most important day, we might as well make the most of it." He pulled you into a dance, your favorite song playing from within him - the perks of being the Radio Demon. You felt your dress gliding over your legs in smooth waves, and the soft fabric of his shirt under your fingertips as he swung you into another turn. With your past being his present, you thought, the real gift was a future with Alastor by your side.

And this future would be worth sacrificing your memories all over again.