The Best Thing About Firefox Is That It Kills Youtube Autoplay

singing in the rain

pairing: non-idol!college au!han jisung x gn!reader, slight non-idol!felix x gn!reader

prompt: a stray kids version of enouement.

word count: 12.2k~

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mutual pining that’s fully believed to only be one-sided by both parties. temporary relationship with felix. heartbreak. no communication at one part after jisung ghosts reader for almost three weeks. big brother-figure chan having serious talks with reader. fluff in certain parts, though.

daisy’s notes: haha sorry i rarely write for skz so i’m sure this is bad in terms of like… characterization. i am trying :) (also the fic is named after the golden child song)

By most people’s standards, Chan should be your best friend. The two of you grew up close to each other, Chan’s house right down the road from your own. His family knew you by name and all of your favorites (because Chan knew them first), they watched you follow Chan around like a duckling, and your parents were always making enough food for Chan to have when he inevitably showed up with you for dinner most nights. If anything, Chan was like a brother figure to you (sometimes a bother figure when he was in that affectionate mood). You loved Chan like family. If you had a best friend, Chan would be it…

… If it weren’t for the way you seemed to click with Han Jisung ever since that first day of freshman orientation.

Keep reading

Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete arsehole, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

when you left us, part three | ksj

pairing: dad!seokjin x absent mom!reader (or not? ohoho) warnings: angst (of course); fluff; mentions of financial issues; allusions to su!cidal thoughts; mentions of sickness/illness (not serious); mentions of cigarettes and alcohol; a scene in a hospital/healthcare setting; pregnancy; mentions of the korean postal service written by someone who has never used the korean postal service word count: 7.0k note: this really just ended up being a love letter to the korean countryside… to which the resolution of this story is incidental, oops. this was originally just meant to be a two-shot; i had no plans to reconcile this couple at first, because i felt okay leaving their story open-ended. but by popular demand (i.e., the 2-3 of you who directly asked lol), i’ve brought them back! disclaimer: this ending may be a little too simple for some, but i literally could not put them through any more angst lmfao

part one | part two

— 

The letter arrives, and to Seokjin, it feels weightless in his hand, a hope waiting to be shattered—a delicate and fragile thing in an envelope no bigger than a paperback.

These days, this is what passes for a routine: He puts his daughter to bed, reads her to sleep with a bedtime story, then waits for the sitter to arrive. Sometimes Hyejin will stir before then, will demand his attention and presence a little longer, but these nights are becoming increasingly rare. She needs him less and less, something he tries not to take personally.

In the thirty minutes it takes the sitter to get to his apartment, he sits at the kitchen counter and takes care of things, the excruciatingly mindless tasks that make up adulthood. He pays his bills, renews his auto insurance, sorts through his credit card statements, orders toilet paper and hand soap. He saves the paper mail for last, pulling the catch-all basket across the counter and shoving his laptop aside.

He doesn’t know when checking the mail became such an unpleasant part of his evening. If he had to guess, it’s probably around the time you left. The mail delivered a lot of difficult things back then: automated alerts that your name had been removed from the joint bank account; boilerplate notifications from the police station that there were no updates on your case; school forms that asked for only one parent’s signature. 

The postman never brought missives from you. Any sign that you were still out there, any hint that you still cared for him and Hyejin.

But time heals wounds, and the ache has simmered down somewhat by the time he drops down tonight in his usual spot. He rubs a sore spot above his eyebrow. The day hasn’t been a good one—he had to postpone two important development meetings to pick up a feverish Hyejin from school in the middle of the day, and spent the better part of the afternoon convincing her to take cough syrup and calling the doctor. A dull headache pounds between his strained eyes as he sifts through the overflowing basket.

An ad for a new supermarket nearby, coupons for pizza delivery, a plea to subscribe to the local paper. He sets these aside. And then his eyes land on the letter.

It’s your handwriting. The same hand that filled out all of Hyejin’s school forms, left him love notes on the fridge and drafted personalized thank-you notes to your wedding guests. He marvels at the rounded, sloping curves and sharp corners in your characters. There’s no return address.

Before he can think about it any longer, he slips his finger under the flap, tears it open, and slides out the thin piece of paper inside. His hands shake as he unfolds it and presses it flat against the granite.

Dearest Seokjin,

I’m sorry.

Maybe you’ve moved on. Maybe this letter is unwelcome. But I have so many things to apologize for.

How are you? How is Hyejin? Is our little girl doing well? Are you healthy? Maybe it’s meaningless to ask these questions when I can’t ask you for a response.

I’m writing because I’ve missed you, and I am so sorry for leaving the way I did. I want you to know that it wasn’t easy for me to leave, and it didn’t feel like much of a choice. I know this means nothing to you now—in fact, reading this may hurt you more. But know that I continue to love you, forever, always. I think of you and Hyejin often.

I don’t know if or when I can return. I won’t ask you to wait for me. But please know that I didn’t leave easily. My heart remains with you.

It’s not signed—it doesn’t need to be. Seokjin would recognize your script anywhere.

A thousand emotions sear through his chest, all at once. Anger. Denial. Grief. Panic. Back to rage, and then just an immutable sorrow that lodges deep in his sternum and turns his mind to static.

He flips the envelope and letter around in his hands, unsure what he might be looking for. And then he sees it—a postal hub, crookedly printed into the corner. Nearly faded, but distinctly there—and legible.

The second the sitter arrives, he bolts out the door, keys in hand.

—

It only occurs to him once he’s well into the countryside that he has no idea where to start looking.

He has the name of the postal hub, yes, but this particular hub centers at least twenty spokes, at least twenty villages in this area. He can’t tell if it’s better or worse that it’s in the middle of the countryside. Fewer places to look, he supposes, but everything is so dispersed here, at least fifteen minutes of driving between each cluster of buildings, through narrow bridges over rice paddies, dirt roads cutting through patches of arable land. Even at night, the white humps of greenhouses breach the darkness.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn’t play music to fill the silence.

He’ll stop at three villages tonight, he decides as he comes up on the first one, his tires crunching on the unpaved path. He sees a sign for a kalguksu restaurant, a worn-down convenience store, a handful of grizzled old men drinking and smoking on plastic chairs outside of it. This must be the equivalent of their town square, an intersection of two roads lit dimly by grimy street lamps and interior lights from the establishments surrounding it. The men look up as he approaches.

It occurs to him that he looks exactly like the type of person they wouldn’t welcome easily—broad-shouldered and scrubbed clean, still in his dress shirt and pants from work, emerging from a car that isn’t exorbitantly fancy but pricey nonetheless—but it’s too late now. He bows politely to them at a distance, and they incline their heads back, eyeing him warily.

“So sorry to bother you,” he begins, voice wavering. He pulls out the photo of you he’s kept in his wallet for years, worn around the edges but still clear. A solo shot of you on your wedding day, smiling brightly, so radiant that Seokjin’s heart still skips a beat at the sight. He hands it to the man nearest—the man puts it right up to his face, peers at it over the rims of his glasses. “I’m looking for my wife. Have you seen her?”

“Hey, Hyunjin-ah, doesn’t she look like….” The man pauses to think, puffing on his cigarette, and passes the photo to his friend on the left. “Ah, shit, why can’t I remember where I’ve seen her?”

Seokjin’s breath hitches as the photo gets passed around the circle of four, past the glowing ends of cigarettes and tanned knees hiked up to chests. A foolish lightness glimmers in the center of his sternum, one he fights like hell to tamp down. He doesn’t expect to find you tonight. Since when has life been that simple?

The man referred to as Hyunjin tips his chin down to his chest and grunts at the photo. “That girl... Youngja introduced her once. Can’t remember where she works.”

The lightness blooms a little brighter. Seokjin swallows the cool night air, fighting to keep his voice at a normal volume. “So… she’s here?”

The man sitting closest holds out the photo and brings his foot back down to the wooden plank below, sighing heavily. “Young man, come here.”

Seokjin does as asked, taking a tentative step forward, taking back your image. The man’s eyes grow unexpectedly tender, fond. This close, he can see the sunspots peppering the man’s face, deep grooves of exhaustion and stress parting his forehead. 

“Son, if she left you, she won’t return unless she wants to. There’s no use in bringing her home. She’ll just find a way to leave again.” The man pulls his mouth into a thin, knowing line, a joyless smile meant to placate. Seokjin closes his eyes in an attempt to stifle the protest swelling inside him.

The man doesn’t know, Seokjin tells himself. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know him, doesn’t know anything. He’s just old, bored. Convinced he has wisdom to impart from his advanced age.

“Thank you,” Seokjin chokes out, turning on his heel and heading back to the car.

The old man might be right, he concedes to himself as he backs out of the narrow space, cutting the wheel with one hand, but Seokjin sure as hell won’t stop until he finds you.

Not when he’s this close.

—

At this hour, an impenetrable silence permeates the rest of the village. Seokjin’s headlights offer the only illumination on the roads. It’s not as if the town is stuck in the Joseon Dynasty—he spots flashes of smart TVs through open windows, newer-model cars parked with well-loved farming trucks flecked with rust. But it’s quiet, a kind of quiet he couldn’t find in Seoul even if he tried. He likes it: the sound of cicadas, the thick and earthy scent of irrigated dirt and fresh greenery. 

He’s not sure where he’s heading, just letting his car navigate the roads aimlessly. The few businesses he comes across have shuttered for the night: grocery stores, a small cafe, restaurants specializing in single dishes. As he drives, easing the car over a particularly rough patch, the man’s words ring in his ears.

She’ll just find a way to leave again.

He shakes his head, gripping the wheel.

You won’t, he’s convinced. Your letter lies open-faced on the passenger seat—he turns the wheel to the right, stopping in front of an old house, and parks, bumping on the overhead light so he can read your words again.

Know that I didn’t leave easily.

I don’t know if or when I can return.

All he has to do is find you, and you’ll come home with him, and his world will be righted again, placed back on its axis, continue to spin as it should. You won’t leave, because you love him too much to do it again.

He’s wondered about the reasons why you’ve left, of course, contemplating every possibility. There wasn’t much else to do on his long drives on Korea’s network of highways, in the dead of night with no one else on the road, no one buckled into his passenger seat. In the strained, muffled quiet of his softly humming car, he thought only of you.

He has his suspicions: a family matter seemed the most likely culprit. He thinks now he should have pried further, earlier, perhaps tried to get you to open up about your past. You only gave him the barest of details, just enough for him to know that they’d mistreated you and that you were thoroughly uninterested in reconciliation. Even now, the sight of your pained and watery eyes as you told him he’d never get to meet your family sends a knife twisting in his stomach. He wants to find the people who made you feel inadequate, unsupported, alone. He wants to make them pay.

He just can’t imagine what would be terrible enough to make you leave behind your daughter. 

He runs a distressed hand through his hair and traces the strokes of his own name at the top of the page. He sets the letter down. Perhaps, if he keeps driving—

Tap tap tap. He nearly jumps out of his skin, knocking his head against the ceiling of the car. Wincing, he turns to the right. 

An older woman—perhaps in her late fifties, early sixties—stares at him from the other side of the glass, wearing a floral nightdress and thick parka. She jabs a finger downward, indicating he should roll down his window.

Maybe he shouldn’t be interacting with so many total strangers tonight, people who could easily rob or dismember or maim him, but oddly enough, this serene and remote town inspires an indescribable trust. An ill-advised one, probably. But he cracks open the window anyway, rubbing at his throbbing scalp.

“Why are you parked in front of my house at this hour, you city slicker?” she demands. Her voice emerges loud, brash, but in a way that suggests stern affection, dry but fierce love. It reminds him of his mother.

Seokjin wordlessly hands the photo to her across the passenger seat. She takes it, squints down at it. “I was wondering if you’ve seen this woman.” 

The woman’s eyes flicker with something—something that sends another shot of light crackling through him, a feeling as blurry as a dream. “And what if I have? You’re going to get off my property? Stop crushing my plants under those tires of yours, hmm?” She snorts at the look on Seokjin’s face. “I can’t just give out information about people, kid. I don’t know who you are, what you might do to this woman—“

“She’s my wife.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Anyone could roll through here in their fancy little car and say that. You won’t get more out of me.”

Seokjin takes a deep breath—at once grateful for the woman’s discretion, relieved to know that at least someone around here cares about your safety, and frustrated that she won’t divulge anything. “The photo. It’s a wedding photo. Our wedding.” He thrusts the letter in her direction, too, for good measure. “She wrote me. She’s here, isn’t she?” He swallows, blinking back the tears that swell without warning. “Please. Please, I need to find her. I—I’m so close.”

The woman skims the letter, then looks up at him with an unreadable expression for a moment. “Why don’t you come inside, for some tea,” she says finally. “I think you’ll need to calm down a bit before going anywhere.”

—

The inside of the woman’s house glows golden from incandescent light bulbs, stuffed with items that remind him of his childhood—well-loved wooden tables low to the floor, seat cushions deflated from overuse, walls paneled in stained wood. He bows in gratitude as the woman offers him one of the cushions, right where the TV displays a rerun of a drama he’s already seen.

The living room opens up into the kitchen—Seokjin watches as the woman puts an electric kettle on. He's wondering why this woman trusts him enough to let him into her home, and then she says, so quietly he can barely hear it, “She is here. The woman you’re looking for.”

He sits up straighter, alerted by this admission, fingers curling against the edge of the table. “Where?”

Instead of answering him, she just keeps talking, hands moving briskly to tear open packets of barley and set out floral-print mugs. Her words come out soft, slurred, like she isn’t thinking very much about them at all. He hangs onto every one, nudging the volume down on the remote so he won’t miss a thing.

“She came a while ago. Small thing, pale. A little peaky, right?”

Thinking back, he had noticed you’d lost a lot of weight just before you left. He’d chalked it up to running around after Hyejin, not having enough time to eat while watching her—he’d always reminded you to eat breakfast before he had to leave for work, tried to cook for you as much as possible when he got home. He swallows back the belated guilt, jaw working.

“She wanted a job, and a place to stay. Those things aren’t easy to come by, around here. If you’re not a farmer, or related to one, not many empty beds, you know? Not many places to work, either. But I felt bad for her. I set her up at the cafe, found her an apartment.”

Seokjin can barely stand to hear the words, the history that he doesn’t know. Enough, he wants to shout. Does it matter why you left? Does it matter how you came to be here? 

It does, he realizes as the woman continues. Everything he’s missed in the intervening months—he needs to hear it. He needs to know what you’ve been through before he sees you again.

“How much do you know about the men who come around here?”

Seokjin freezes. “Men?”

The woman levels a stare at him, eyes swimming with something like pity, something like regret. Seokjin’s heart clenches. “I’ve lived here since I was born. I know everyone except the men who come knocking on her door. Do you know about them?” She takes in the look on his face, clicks her teeth. Turns her back to him to take the kettle off its base. “Your face tells me everything I need to know.”

Seokjin closes his mouth, unsure what to say next.

“I went over there once, to bring some misdelivered mail to her neighbor. Damn postal service. I don’t usually go to her place—she keeps to herself, you know, a very private person. But there were men at her door. Big guys.” She pauses to remove the steeper, frowning slightly. “Heard her call them oppa.”

Brother, or an older male friend. Seokjin realizes with a pang that he doesn’t know anyone that you would refer to as oppa. You used to call him that, actually. Then, once Hyejin was born, oppa became Hyejin-appa, became jagi-yah. 

He knows you have a cousin, one you used to contact once in a while, but the only time he saw her was to ask her if she knew where you’d gone. He’s never met a single other family member of yours. His heart contorts again.

At the time, he was too in love to press it. So enamored with your mere presence in his life, so determined to keep you safe and protected, that it didn’t matter to him how private you were. It didn’t matter that you kept parts of your life cordoned off and locked away, even from him. He told himself—at least back then—that he didn’t need to know. He accepted your judgment as best. He doesn’t overthink most things, and he chose not to overthink this.

Only now does it occur to him that protecting you, loving you, might have necessitated some honesty on your part. Some pressing on his part. 

Under the table, he rapidly taps out a Kakao to the sitter—he senses he’ll be here a while. The sitter agrees to stay overnight, and he lets out the breath he’s been holding. 

The woman brings over a plastic tray: two steaming mugs of tea, a small plate of cut persimmon and apple. He bows his head in thanks, accepts the mug, lets the warmth seep into his skin. The rich, sweet scent of the tea curls into his lungs, easing his ache just a bit.

“I only really heard them once,” the woman continues, crossing her legs under the table. “But they were asking for money, from what I could hear.”

Seokjin lets his eyes slide shut. “Money for what?”

The crunch of fruit between teeth. “I don’t know. Heard mentions of family, maybe. Family needing money. They mentioned a husband. Her husband. You, I’m guessing.”

Seokjin still doesn’t open his eyes. “They wanted my money.”

He didn’t grow up wealthy. They had just enough to get by, his parents running a series of street food stalls in a tourist-heavy part of Seoul. They weren’t poor, necessarily, but he does remember bundling up in the winter to cut down the heating bill, having to skip the occasional school trip when his parents couldn’t afford to send him, working part-time as a chicken delivery boy through high school and college. 

All of that changed once he graduated from college. A series of strokes of luck, some late nights sending off resumes at the library, and a few good sunbaes had landed him where he is now: an executive at a popular gaming company. He isn’t at the top of the food chain, but he certainly makes enough for Hyejin to have a sizable trust fund, to retire his parents, and to pay off the practically luxurious apartment he lives in now. He’s still careful with his purchases and hyper-conscious of his account balances, what with old habits dying hard and all. But he knows that he has more money than he knows what to do with.

No amount of money would have made him hesitate in the slightest, if paying it meant he could keep you safe forever. The air rushes out of his lungs at the thought of you not knowing this. At the idea that you could even doubt this.

The woman observes him with that mix of pity and regret again, then suddenly becomes stern again. “It wouldn’t be a good idea to see her. Not at this hour.” She nods at the ancient radio alarm clock on the end table—Seokjin realizes with a start that it’s almost eleven. “Do you have a place to stay for the evening?”

—

Seokjin doesn’t fall asleep until almost two in the morning.

His mind gnaws at Hyejin. Wonders whether she’ll be okay at home without him, wishes he could have explained to her before leaving her overnight. He’s told the sitter about Hyejin’s illness, trusts her to give Hyejin the right medication and feed her bland porridge, but regret washes through him anyway, and sleep evades him.

He’s grateful for Hyejin. She doesn’t have to be anything or do anything for Seokjin to love her—she just is, and for that, he loves her endlessly. But she also kept him together when you left, and without her, he isn’t sure he would have survived the worst of it.

The mornings when he woke up against his will, his chest searing with raw and unbridled pain when he realized that no, your departure wasn’t just some terrible nightmare, he got up anyway—Hyejin needed breakfast, needed someone to help her brush her teeth and drop her off at school. The afternoons he struggled to sit in his meetings, take phone calls and draft emails, proceed with business as usual—he only had to look at the framed photo of his daughter on his desk for a swift kick of motivation, a little extra push to get through it all. And the evenings he felt sorely tempted to sink into the couch with a bottle of whiskey and enough Ambien to put himself into a coma, he walked into Hyejin’s room instead—curled up on the rug beside her, one of her endless stuffed animals tucked under his head, and let the soft rise and fall of her breathing lull him to rest. She was his medicine, his therapy, a small pinprick of light at the end of the darkest tunnel. 

If he couldn’t stay alive for himself, he kept himself alive for her.

And then, of course, there is the promise of seeing you in the morning. The woman had offered to take him to see you when the cafe opened at dawn, handing him a set of pajamas her son had left behind on his last visit. He wriggles around in the well-worn fabric—they’re a bit too short on him, but feel soft on his skin nonetheless.

It was foolish—not to mention risky—to agree to sleep in a stranger’s house like this, and it occurs to him now that he should have insisted on staying at a motel nearby for the night, but at any rate he’s already buried three blankets deep on this woman’s living room floor, and it would be terribly rude for him to leave in the middle of the night. So he burrows deeper into the blankets, waiting for sleep to claim him.

He wonders how you’ve changed. Worry buzzes through him: Will it be like starting all over again, with you? Do you still love him, still remember all the little quirks about him that he remembers about you? Is there anything even left to salvage?

He shakes his head at no one in particular. It’s you, it’s him. He doesn’t care how long it takes—for you, he’d wait an infinite number of years.

—

By the time the woman emerges from her bedroom to take him to the cafe, Seokjin’s already dressed again, in his slightly wrinkled clothes from yesterday, blankets folded in a tidy stack by the couch. The woman glances at the clock—it’s only six in the morning.

“Let’s go,” she says simply.

The walk to the cafe is long by Seoul standards, easily at least three subway stops, but Seokjin’s too consumed by his own nerves to care, grateful for the half-hour of peace he’s been granted. The half-hour allows him to collect his thoughts, sort out his complex feelings. He’d offered to drive, but the woman had turned him down. 

You need time to calm down and think, she’d said. Seokjin knew she was right, but he was tiring quickly of that pitying look in her eyes. Like he had no idea what was ahead. 

Of course he’d come here to find you. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so fast.

The village hums with energy, the farmers having gotten up much earlier than he did to work the fields, well before the sun came up. The pair of them attract a number of curious glances on their way, some questions about where they’re headed, about the young man walking beside her. She just waves them off with a mild grin, says she’ll explain later—Seokjin bows his head obediently anyway, utters his greetings. His mother would kill him if he didn’t.

He tilts his head up to look at the silver sky, sucks in the humid air, takes in the bluish-green hue of the rolling hills around him. Dirt cakes his loafers as they pass over well-worn footbridges and narrow paths crowded by overgrown foliage, but he can’t bring himself to mind. Not when he’s this close. 

And then, all too quickly, the woman rests a hand on his upper arm and nudges him out of his head.

“She runs the place,” the woman says, nodding toward the building in front of them. It’s small, a bright blue house-like structure, so completely unlike the minimalist cafes peppering every street corner in Seoul that it takes a moment for him to recognize what it is. He reads its name from a small wooden sign above the door.

Café Moon.

Moon. You’d always loved looking at the moon. He swallows, looks at the woman for reassurance, unsure if he’s ready.

“Go on,” the woman snaps, that stern and dry affection making itself known again. She gives him a firm shove in his upper back. “I’ll wait out here.”

Seokjin nods gamely, clasps his hand around the handle, and yanks open the glass door, pushing himself through it before he can think about it any longer.

He sees you, and his world comes to a stop.

—

You see Seokjin, and everything around you slows—words, images, sounds.

Full lips, bright eyes, dark brows. Hair slightly mussed and pushed back from his forehead. Why is his dress shirt so wrinkled? Is that mud caked on his shoes? 

The cafe’s hit a lull. Most of the early-early risers have come and gone, and the next wave of regulars—employees from the local businesses, produce truck drivers, the retired women’s group that gathers to gossip and complain about their useless sons—won’t be in for another hour or two.

Which means you’re staring at your husband across an empty space, eyes rounded, lips parted. You have enough of your wits about you to not drop the glass carafe in your hand—you set it down gently on the wooden counter, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

You swallow. “Hi.”

He blinks, his entire face crinkling into it in a way that both feels utterly familiar and shatters your heart into a million pieces. 

“Hi,” he breathes back. His voice is the sweetest thing you’ve heard in months, and it’s like you never left.

—

“You wrote me.”

The woman who housed and walked Seokjin here is Youngja, the closest thing this town has to a village chief, and the closest thing you have to a friend here. Youngja putters around behind the counter now, serving the occasional customer and eyeing the pair of you from a distance. She doesn’t own the cafe, but she’s been around long enough that she can probably run it better than you do.

Meanwhile, you and Seokjin sit across from each other at a corner table with bated breath, hands wrapped around steaming mugs of coffee, unable to look away from each other.

You feel an odd tightness in your chest. You stopped crying ten minutes ago, and after running into his arms, you’d untangled yourself from his grasp with an overwhelming sense of shame. 

You don’t even know if he still loves you, cares for you, after what you’ve done to him. Now, your eyes drop to the table.

“I did write you,” you say slowly. “I didn’t expect you to be able to find me.”

“Ah, well. Mail goes through the postal hubs, you know.” His lips twitch a little, and it almost feels like you’re in college again, on your first date with the goofy but beautiful boy from your literature discussion, palms sweating and heart thumping with uncertainty.

“Right.” You say it quietly, and then you inhale. “Seokjin, I—“

“I’m sorry,” he says, interrupting you. 

You look up, eyes widening. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who left.”

Seokjin flinches a little, as if the reminder stings him. “Yes, but… I feel like I might have done a better job at… well. Being your husband, figuring out what was going on. And in case you forgot, I know you. I know you didn’t leave for no good reason.”

Your chest aches. What did you do to deserve him? You curl into yourself, still unable to look directly at him—if you do, you’ll cry again, and neither of you needs that now. “Please don’t apologize. I did this. To you. To us. To….” Your throat tightens. “Where’s Hyejin-ie?” Her name emerges broken, hoarse. It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in over a year.

Seokjin makes a small noise, and you finally look up. His eyes are shining. “She’s with a sitter right now. She’s… wonderful, so smart and funny. We’re… we’re doing okay.”

“That’s good,” you murmur, but you’re not surprised—you’ve always trusted Seokjin, wholly and fully. You wouldn’t have left otherwise. 

But he’s here; he came to find you. You’d sent the letter with no intention of seeing him anytime soon, but maybe some part of you had hoped he’d find his way to you. That the letter would reopen the door, re-tie the invisible string, and bring him back.

You realize now, though, that he hasn't changed. He’s always been steady, ever-present like a heartbeat, or the moon. Of course he came to you. He never left.

You take a deep breath to ground yourself.

“I think you deserve an explanation.”

—

Epilogue

You feel like absolute death. 

You press your cheek to the blissfully cool porcelain of the toilet seat. You're vaguely disgusted by yourself—it's not the cleanest place to rest—but you're too wrung out to care, your entire body aching from bending over all morning. And not in a good way.

Your knees are starting to throb from pressing into the tile floor when you hear Seokjin calling for you, his voice growing closer as he wanders deeper into your bedroom.

“Jagi-yah, Hyejin-ie is calling for you, she says I don’t cut her sandwiches right—yah.” 

He rushes over and crouches beside you, brows knit with worry, one hand raised automatically to stroke your upper back. His touch feels nice, the warmth soothing you despite the residual ache pounding through your head and searing the back of your throat. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t even wrinkle his nose at the smell of vomit lingering in the air—you make a mental note to reward him for that later.

You try to take a deep breath to calm the roaring in your ears, but it emerges shuddering, unsteady. Seokjin stiffens beside you, face going white. 

“Hey,” Seokjin says gently, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I need you to tell me, please. What’s going on? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“N-No,” you manage, closing your eyes. 

Your hand drops automatically to your stomach. You haven’t had your period in a while, you realize distantly. Seokjin doesn’t notice—he just waits patiently for you to come back to him, to find the words.

“Did you eat something bad?” He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, a gesture so tender and domestic that it threatens to flood your nose with tears. “Or feeling sick?”

“No,” you repeat softly. You take a deep breath and unstick your face from the toilet seat, then let yourself sink into his arms. He pulls you closer to him, presses your face into his broad chest, runs a hand up and down your arm.

Seokjin sighs, and you can hear the gears working in his head. “Okay. Why don’t you—“ 

“I think I might be pregnant.”

He freezes. “What?” Hushed, shocked.

“I said, I think—“

Seokjin doesn’t wait for you to say it a second time. He pulls back and holds your face in his hands, effectively shutting you up. But you smile, because the look on his face is the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. Surprise, joy, delight, pure euphoria flicker across his soft features, his eyes flitting between your pupils.

“Pregnant,” he says quietly, bitten lips pulling into a small, disbelieving smile.

“I’m not sure, but I am late,” you say, just as quiet, just as elated. You’re afraid to shatter this moment, afraid to break the unadulterated joy settling over the two of you on your bathroom floor. “There’s a test under the counter.”

“Okay, I’m going to make sure our little monster isn’t cutting her own fingers off in the kitchen,” Seokjin whispers. He presses a kiss to your temple, long and deliberate, before getting to his feet with an old-man groan that makes you snort. “You take the test. I’ll be right back.”

You peel open the box, which does that annoying thing where the layers of cardboard separate, which leads to a few extra seconds of puncturing past the paper with your thumb before your hand finally closes on the plastic stick. You skim the instructions, pee on it, snap the cap on, and wait, taking deep breaths, pulling your pajama shorts back up. Maybe you should go see what your husband and daughter are up to while you’re waiting, you wonder, pacing back and forth over your bath mat with your arms crossed.

It wasn’t easy at first, working your way back into Hyejin’s life. Tying up the loose ends had been one thing—figuring out how much money would placate your family, having it wired, getting restraining orders in place to keep them away from you and Seokjin and Hyejin. Then it had been moving back to Seoul, saying goodbye to the people you’d come to know in the village, promising Youngja that you’d send pictures of your daughter, promising to return for visits. 

And then there was Hyejin. You learned quickly that she took after you, for better or for worse—hers was a trust that needed to be earned, not given over easily just because you bought her bungeoppang or took her to Lotte World. Both of which you’d done in the first week alone, in a pathetic attempt to win her affections.

You’re not certain you deserve to be bringing another child into the world. The guilt still eats at you, despite Seokjin’s (decidedly undeserved) reassurances that you had only been doing what you thought was best for her. That your leaving her had nothing to do with selfishness and everything to do with protecting your family. And it lasts even though Hyejin has warmed up to you, comfortable enough around you now to tease and blow kisses and throw tantrums the way she does with her father, putting her small and fragile heart in your hands again.

But it’s better now. Different. You run your fingers between your hips, almost without thinking about it. You know it is.

You glance at your phone—five minutes have gone by. You flip over the test.

Not pregnant.

Huh. Your lips twist into a rueful, joyless expression. Well, perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.

You hear your husband’s footsteps approaching again, and then he’s at the door, his wide shoulders brushing against the frame. “Well?” he asks, slightly breathless, eyes wide with anticipation.

You wordlessly hand the stick over, wet side toward you with the cap secured over it. “Nope.”

It’s almost comical how abruptly Seokjin’s face falls. But he’s your husband, so he composes himself quickly, and it only takes one deep breath to wipe the utter devastation off his face. “Oh. Well… how are we feeling about that?”

We. You feel like you’re on the most insane rollercoaster of emotions—going from feeling like shit to shaking with excitement to sinking with something that feels suspiciously like heartbreak, all in the span of ten minutes. You sigh. “Confused, I guess.” 

Seokjin wraps his arms around you again, resting his chin on top of your head like he likes to do, and you let your body heat meld with his, let this small gesture dissolve the lump in your throat. “Disappointed?” he murmurs. 

You’re grateful. You fell in love with him because of his simplicity, the ease with which he moved through life—his ability to make light of even the darkest moments. But you’re reminded now that he sees you, fully, completely. That he sees your pain and bears it with you, even if it’s not in his nature to sit with negative emotions.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “And maybe a little nauseated, still.”

He presses his hand flat against your lower back, and it feels nice there. Secure. “How about you visit the doctor, and I’ll take Hyejin to school? Could just be something you ate, but… just to be safe.”

You nod, pout a little. “But I love taking her to school.”

“I know,” he laughs, “but you can take her tomorrow, if you’re feeling better.”

So that’s how you end up sitting in an urgent care clinic alone on a Thursday morning, leg bouncing up and down nervously against a green plastic chair. The nausea persists—you step into the restroom a few times to vomit but just wind up dry-heaving, force yourself to breathe through it and take small sips of water, try not to inhale the powerful smell of antiseptic, shield your eyes against the blinding fluorescent lights. You’re far from the highest-priority patient, so it’s about two hours of stewing in your own thoughts before a physician finally sees you.

The doctor examines you briefly, asking you a few questions before taking your temperature and sending you for various tests—by the time the various physicians’ assistants and nurses are done poking and prodding and interrogating you, it’s nearly noon. As you idle in the patient room, waiting for your doctor to come back with results, you tap your phone awake to find about a dozen messages from Seokjin.

Seokjin [11:02 AM]: Any news? 

Seokjin [11:02 AM]: Hyejin pitched a fit this morning when she found out I was taking her, by the way

Seokjin [11:03 AM]: Trying not to take it personally. it’s not like i clothe and feed her or anything

Seokjin [11:03 AM]: Checked your location, you’re still at the hospital??

Seokjin [11:04 AM]: What do i even pay taxes for

Seokjin [11:05 AM]: Wait, are urgent cares publicly funded

Seokjin [11:06 AM]: I love you

Seokjin [11:06 AM]: Sorry I couldn’t be there with you, have to meet with Mr. Park today, that asshole, i swear he wants to run this business into the ground

Seokjin [11:07 AM]: I promise i don’t use that word in front of our daughter

Seokjin [11:15 AM]: Ok, I can’t stand the silence, I postponed my meeting, i’ll be there soon

Your eyes flicker to the corner of your screen—it’s 11:45 now. You quickly tap out a response.

Me [11:46 AM]: It's fine, take your meeting. I’m doing ok, doctor will be back with test results soon

Seokjin [11:47 AM]: Too late

There’s a knock at your door, and you look up.

It’s not Seokjin. It’s the doctor, grinning beatifically in a way that immediately puts you on edge. “Hi, ma’am, how are we doing this morning?”

“Fine,” you say tersely, too nervous to come up with a more polite response.

“Good!” If the doctor notices that you’re stiff, she doesn’t comment, wiggling the mouse to wake the computer in the room. “So, I have some news…. You’re pregnant!”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline; your hands twist into and tear the paper covering the vinyl bed under you. “But I took a test this morning. It was negative.”

“Well, that can sometimes happen, if you test too early on,” the doctor says knowingly, handing you a pile of pamphlets. You accept them, eyes roaming over them blankly. They all have unbearably corny titles, like What to Expect in Nine Months and Feeding You and Your Baby. You don’t know what to say—your brain is short-circuiting, feeding you nothing but static. 

“I take it this is good news?” the doctor asks, not unkindly.

“Yes,” you say quietly, tears belatedly springing to your eyes. “Yes, it is.”

She sends you off with information for scheduling prenatal appointments and tips on managing your morning sickness, but you can’t get out of there fast enough, and the second you step back into the waiting area, you see him, sitting on one of those stupid green chairs with his hair falling in soft waves across his forehead.

Seokjin. 

The father of both of your babies.

subtle intimacy is so soft!! knowing someone’s routine and slowly becoming a part of it. memorising favourite teas and soups and drink orders. good morning and good night texts and messy paragraphs of love written half asleep. nicknames only you know. just!!! small things that say “look how dear you are to me.”

you’re the one i love

Pairing: Jungkook x (ft.) Reader

Genre/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, breaking up, sad but hopeful ending? i’d like to think it is.

Chapter Word count: 2.7k

Summary: this is about you and jeongguk after a breakup and you’re returning each other’s belongings through soft, yearning letters

A/N: i read the book why we broke up by daniel handler years ago when i was still in college, trying to move forward from a really hurtful breakup. this small fic is inspired by that because, i don’t really know, sometimes i like making myself hurt and cry. this is written in both y/n and jeongguk’s perspectives so you may interpret this (especially the ending) however you like, but please be kind, this story took a lot out of me and by extension, a literal piece of my heart. there’s also a sort of familiar kdrama scene in one of the letters, let me know if you spot it! as always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think or maybe chat me up in the ask box :)

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN || CLOSURE

SYPNOSIS (of chapter). in which you thought you were getting better.

SYPNOSIS (of series). breaking up with your first love was heartbreaking, but not as heartbreaking as getting invited to his wedding after years of not seeing him. that is, until things seem to be easier when you encounter a certain guest, who could end up being more than just a blooming friend to you.

CHARACTERS. kamisato ayato, diluc ragnvindr, and thoma (w/ gn!reader)

CONTENT. fluff/angst/no-comfort, swearing (dropped the f-bomb 3 times), mentions of violence (almost getting hit/slapped), sh1nsuke 🤢🤢🤢, mentions of yelling, mentions of threats, mentions of jeanluc, reader is an emotional person

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @nejibot @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @lychme @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @elychee @astrxlis @denkineptune @franini @sophisticatedleslie @thedivinepriestress @smashsubs @httpmitsuya @bl6o6dy @cottonkendi (visit this post if you’d like to be tagged!)

WORD COUNT. 6.4k words

LINKS. EVERMORE MASTERLIST \ MAIN MASTERLIST \ EVERMORE SURVEY

POST-SCRIPT. AAAAA after 3-4 weeks, i finally updated !! super sorry for the delay, ill try and see if i can publish the next one next week during school (no promises tho) 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

PREVIOUS || NEXT || VERSADIES’S VERSION (PROCEED THIS LINK FOR FLUFF LOVERS)

The next day after all has happened, Zhongli noticed how you seem to be… happier. 

You really weren’t lying when you told him last night that you and Diluc have been getting along pretty well, because you surely never seem to take your eyes off of your phone as you type out responses to your newly found friend the whole time in the hotel room. 

By the time you take your eyes off your phone is when you came out of the hotel room to do your activities for the day, such as eating breakfast, taking a stroll around the garden once more, visiting the convenience store once again, hanging out with a friend of yours by Good Hunter, and so on. 

The thing is, all of these had one thing in common. 

Besides a certain experience, you kept seeing a certain red-haired man to the point where it’s no longer a coincidence. Do you two just really have the same schedule or something? 

As you lined up for the buffet with your plate in hand, you were tempted to grab your phone and check if you received any message from a certain man, still smiling from enjoying your last conversation with him on the phone. 

It wasn’t until you hear someone clearing his throat behind you when you turn around from recognizing it, causing your eyes to brighten at the sight of the familiar man you’ve been talking to for the past hour earlier. 

“Diluc!” You greeted happily. 

“( Name ).” He greeted, also pleasantly surprised.

“I thought you were out for work already! Didn’t you mention you often go to Angel’s Share early?” You ask curiously. 

He nodded in response. “I do. Just not today it seems, I have something important to do today.” 

The two of you started picking your foods by the time the food is now displayed in front of you after taking a step forward, choosing what you want to eat for breakfast all the while chatting with Diluc – a major difference a few days ago when you and the man were suffering from the awkward silence between you two. 

Turns out, Diluc supposedly had a plus one, but the person wasn’t able to make it due to not having time, hence how he finds himself being alone. Today, however, is the day when the plus one visits the hotel just to greet the wedding couple and wish them well, who will be leaving tomorrow for their honeymoon. 

You’re curious to know who his plus one is, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s someone as important and highly regarded as him. 

Once you two finished picking your meal at the same time, you started heading towards where Zhongli is, who’s waiting for you to come at last. You paid no mind how Diluc is following you, perhaps he’s heading towards his table as well that’s in the same direction as yours. 

“You could sit with me and Zhongli if you want. You two seem to know each other back then before we visited your establishment.” You offered with a smile, carefully holding your plate in fear of dropping it. 

He shakes his head. “Oh I’ll be alright. Mr. Zhongli has visited Mondstadt back then a few times and would come by for a nice tea and brunch. Though, he tends to have his chatty friend with him whenever he does.” 

You can’t help but grin when he mentioned the chatty friend. “You mean Venti?” 

Diluc nodded. “Yes. He usually comes around to drink a lot of alcohol. It’s a miracle he didn’t get any sickness from drinking so much.” 

You visibly imagine Venti drinking lots of alcohol, causing you to laugh at the thought. “Well I’m not surprised to hear that. He seems the kind to do that.” 

Before you knew it, you’re finally at your table, causing you to stop your tracks instantly and bid Diluc goodbye before sitting on your seat. If it weren’t for you noticing Zhongli waving at you as well as Diluc slowing down his walk, you would’ve not noticed the fact that you almost walked past your table thanks to you being distracted with your conversation.

“Let’s talk again next time. Enjoy your meal, Diluc.” You said as you watched Diluc giving you an acknowledged nod before walking away to where his table is. 

By the time Diluc is long far away, Zhongli decides to speak up after taking a sip of his tea. “You know, I was starting to think you were too busy being indecisive on your food, but I suppose I was wrong.” He said with amusement. 

You chuckled, picking up your eating utensils. “Consider yourself lucky that I wasn’t in the mood to eat seafood, lest I decide to tease you with it.” 

You feel satisfied seeing the cringe look on his face, grinning to yourself as you take a bite of your food. 

–

After eating breakfast, you and Zhongli went back to your hotel room and got ready for your first activity. While your friend is getting ready to go somewhere, you decided to go visit the convenience store to buy some snacks. 

You wanted to try something new this time, so you decided to choose snacks that are from Mondstadt instead of Liyue or Inazuma. Of course, you wouldn’t forget the ones Zhongli wanted, particularly another certain drink. 

“It’s a non-alcoholic drink called Fruits of the Festival.” He says as he zips his bag that contains the things he needed. “Venti recommended that we drink some now that there are a lot of them in stock for the celebration of the upcoming Weinlesefest festival.” 

With that in mind, perhaps you should’ve taken into consideration that the drink would possibly be out of stock soon , because by the time you encounter the aisle that supposedly contains the Fruits of the Festival, there was only one bottle left.

Just as you’re about to take the bottle, you didn’t notice how someone else was reaching out to it as well, causing your hand to touch his. 

Surprised, you look at the person who’s getting the same item as you, only to be even more surprised when you realize who it is. 

“...Diluc?” 

“( Name )?” 

You can’t help but let out a laugh, not believing that you saw your friend again coincidentally. “Oh wow, I didn’t expect to see you here! Are you trying to get this one?” You asked, gesturing to the drink you’re still touching. 

He hums in agreement. “Don’t worry, I could always get the other one.” He said, about to let go until you immediately let go of it. 

“Ah no, no, no! It’s better if you take this one since it’s the last one. Consider it a payment for letting me have the grape juice last time.” You said with a laugh, gesturing to the man to take the drink.

He shakes his head, letting go of the drink. “It’s fine, you can take it. I wouldn’t want you to miss out tasting something such as the Fruits of the Festival.”

You refuse to get the drink. “Oh come on, it’s better if you’re the one who’ll get this.” 

“No, no. It’s fine.” 

“Just get it, Diluc.” 

“I prefer you getting it.”

“No you–”

Suddenly, someone else takes the drink in front of the two of you, causing you to flinch in surprise. 

“Brother Albedo! Is this blue drink the one you’re talking about?” A little girl with a red dress says before running towards where her brother is with the drink in hand, leaving you and Diluc stunned. 

“...”

“...”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh man, this reminds me of what happened back then.” You said, remembering the way you and Diluc fell into the same situation and kept insisting on who’s taking the drink.

His lips twitch upward. “Likewise. We really have come a long way after that.” 

You nodded in agreement with a smile. “We have. Though it’s really a shame none of us got the drink. I’m sure they’ll restock soon.” 

“We can visit tomorrow if you’d like.” Diluc offers. “I’m sure my plus one will be asking to go visit the store to buy some together, you can join us.” 

You shake your head. “Ah, no need! I wouldn’t want to bother you catching up with whoever your plus one is. I’m sure I’ll eventually be able to try it when I hang out with my friend later.” 

He nods in understanding. “Very well then. I hope you’ll enjoy the drink. If you somehow weren’t able to drink it, you could always visit Angel’s Share. It’ll be available today or tomorrow.” 

Your eyes brighten, remembering the delightful establishment. Now that you think about it, you do miss their drinks there – so it wouldn’t exactly hurt to go there before you and Zhongli leave to the airport. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again, Diluc.” 

“See you next time, ( Name ).” 

Then you two parted ways, unaware that next time is very much later. 

–

After coming back to the hotel from the convenience store, you were itching to go visit the garden after passing by the entrance. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to wait there for your friend instead of here when it’s time for you two to hang out.

Which is what led you to immediately get ready for your hangout once you finished unpacking the things you bought from the store.

“How do I look?” You ask Zhongli as you come out from the bathroom, now fully dressed for your brunch. “Do I look alright?” 

You watched as your friend looked away from his book, looking at your outfit carefully before nodding in confirmation with a smile. “Yes, you look great.” 

You sigh in relief, grabbing your bag from your bed to start packing up your things. “That’s good. What will you be doing while I’m gone?” 

Zhongli shrugs in response. “I don’t have any plans for today, but a walk around the garden would be nice later.” 

“Alright. I’ll be back in a while.” You said, checking your phone for any messages (from a certain man) before putting it inside your bag. 

“Have fun, ( Name ). Don’t forget to tell Diluc I said hi.” He said with a chuckle, remembering what you told him about the wine tycoon today. 

Your mouth opens agape. “Wow– Alright, whatever. Have fun too, Zhongli.” 

As you zip your bag closed after getting all the things you need, you immediately head towards the door. Maybe I should try taking pictures of some of the scenery, You thought to yourself. 

Fortunately the trip to the garden didn’t take long, and by the time you entered the hotel’s beautiful garden, you delightfully inhaled the fresh air. Thank Celestia it’s a good day today, you thought, looking around your surroundings. 

As you walk around the area trying to find a place to sit on, you bring out your phone to take a few pictures. You were so fascinated with how each flower looked amazing in the pictures you took – with the lightning and atmosphere bringing ethereal energy to your pictures.

While admiring the pictures you took, you didn’t notice a person walking towards the same direction as you, causing you to accidentally bump into them. 

“Ah, so sorry!” You said with a yelp, maintaining your balance. “I didn’t mean to bump into you–” Your eyes widens when you realize who you bump into. 

“The apologies are all mine, I should’ve watched where I was goin–” The red-haired man’s words slowly trail off when he hears your voice, now realizing who’s in front of him.

“..Diluc?” 

“( Name )?” 

You let out a laugh once more. “Oh wow, I can’t believe this! I’m starting to think this isn’t a coincidence now – since when have you started visiting the garden?” 

“Just now. I wanted to see what it looks like during the daytime. What brings you here as well?” 

“Ah, I wanted to take a stroll around the garden while waiting for my friend to come and pick me up so we can go have brunch. This place is really beautiful, isn’t it?” You replied, keeping your phone aside. 

He hums in agreement. “It is.” 

You then thought of something. “Wanna walk around the place together while I’m waiting for my friend?” You asked. 

“I don’t mind.” He said with a nod. 

And so, you two continued where you left off from last night in the garden, talking about Weinlesefest as you wait for your friend to come. 

Throughout the stroll, Diluc explained to you all the things you needed to know about the upcoming festival. Apparently, the Weinlesefest festival is more about making new wine as they invite their Archon to drink with everyone. So it makes sense that someone like Diluc, whose entire business and establishment is famous for the amazing wine, is currently thinking of something that could make good wine.

He also explained about what you could do if you participate in the festival, particularly visit Springvale and explore around the place since it’s where the festival will be held. Ah, just hearing all the things you could do and eat made you want to consider extending your stay, but alas, you think one week in one of your favorite regions is enough for you. Besides, even if you decide to extend your stay, only Celestia knows what would happen to you once you’re back to work. 

While you converse with your friend, you couldn’t help but notice the way he looks as though there’s something in his mind. You didn’t find the guts to ask him though, thinking you’re meddling into his business if you do so. Still, you’re a bit concerned that something bad happened and you want to at least help – it’s the least you can do for everything he did for you. 

Before you could bring up and ask what’s on his mind, you hear someone calling out your name. 

“ ( Name )! Over here!” Your eyes light up when you hear the familiar voice of your friend, causing you and Diluc to turn around and look at the person who’s calling you. 

“Thoma, there you are!” You greeted, walking towards the blonde-haired man who’s also walking towards you. “And here I thought you weren’t gonna show up any time soon, what took you so long?” 

Thoma spreads his arms wide as you give him a hug. “Aw man, I’m sorry for being late! I was busy helping Ayato out with preparing for his next trip, I didn’t notice that I was about to be late.” He explains. The two of you quickly separate each other from your hug.

He looks at where Diluc is, causing him to stand up straight and offer the tycoon his hand. “Hello! You must be the infamous Diluc Ragnvindr. A pleasure to meet you!” He says with a smile. 

Diluc didn’t hesitate to shake Thoma’s hand, giving him an acknowledged nod. “Likewise. I would like to congratulate you for your efforts in this wedding, it’s truly amazing.” 

The blonde-haired man lets out a bashful laugh. “Oh you’re too kind, Mr. Ragnvindr! I hope I wasn’t bothering you two, did I?” 

You hesitantly look at Diluc, who remains the same expression as always, before looking back at your friend with a smile. “Ah not really. We were just talking about the Weinlesefest festival until we heard you.” 

“That’s good to hear. I’m a bit disappointed that I won't be able to experience the festival though.” Thoma lets out a sigh. “Oh well, there’s nothing we can do about it. Mind if I take ( Name ) away, Mr. Ragnvindr?” 

Diluc nodded in response. “Of course since that’s what they’re here for. I’ll see you next time once again, ( Name ).” 

You gave the red-haired man a grateful smile. “See you next time, Diluc. It was fun talking to you!” 

–

The purpose of your brunch with Thoma is simple. Catch up with one another, talk about the things you’ve missed in Inazuma while you talk about the things he missed in your trip. 

So why, why do you feel so bothered? 

Despite being able to listen to your dear friend and keep up with your conversation, your mind lingers on Diluc. You’re still worried about how he seems to be out of it back in the garden – is it perhaps because of how he needs to think of a new wine? 

“You know, I’m glad you and Ayato had spoken to one another about what happened back then.” Thoma confesses, causing you to be taken back by surprise. “I hope you won’t be offended with what I have to say but.. You look happier than before.” 

You raise your eyebrows from his words. Happier? 

“I… I didn’t notice that.” You replied, letting out a small laugh. “Am I really that happy because of how me and Ayato have resolved?” 

Thoma lets out a small laugh as well. “Well, that’s just my guess. Did something else happen that made you happier than that?” He asks. 

You took a second to think about it. It’s true that ever since you and Ayato have made up, everything's been going a bit well for you, but then again, it’s sort of weird how you’re a lot happier about it than normal. 

Is it… really just because of that? 

Seeing how you hesitated, Thoma’s eyes slightly widened in surprise. “Wait, did something actually happen?” 

You look away from Thoma, a bit flustered. “I-I really don’t know either!” 

“Really?”

“Yeah!” 

“Then… It’s not about someone, is it?” 

You begin to scratch the back of your head. “Well… I did become friends with Diluc…? That’s the only thing that happened besides me and Ayato talking each other out about what happened.” You said, looking at your friend while you fiddled with your fingers. “He’s fun to talk to, I’ll admit. I had a lot of fun for the past few days thanks to him.” 

The blonde haired man nods in agreement. “I can tell. Every time I look at you during the bachelor and reception, you look like you’re having fun talking to him,” He then lets out a laugh. “It honestly reminded me of back then when you and Ayato were still pining for each other.” 

You look at him in confusion, still smiling. “Huh? What do you mean?” 

“Well for starters, it’s the way you’re looking and talking to him. You always pay attention to him and everything he says that you don’t focus on eating your food or your surroundings much — I was able to see you while I was hosting the bachelor party.” He explains. “...Of course, I’m sure you don’t see Mr. Ragnvindr that way though, right?” 

You slowly glance down at your food, processing his words carefully. 

…Huh. 

You didn’t notice how Thoma’s face slightly fell from how you didn’t answer his question. “...You don’t see him that way, right?” He repeats. 

You want to answer yes, but something is holding you back. You don’t understand, you don’t really see Diluc that way right? You two are just friends – and yes, there were some moments between you two whereas your new friend made you feel… things – but that’s normal, right?

This feeling… Isn’t surely the same as what you felt towards Ayato back then, is it?

Then again… When was the last time you had fallen in love? 

You wipe your now sweaty palms on your lap, starting to feel a bit conflicted from your thoughts and feelings. Even if you are in love with him, how could you even deal with it? How can you even face him knowing your feelings? What if you end up being heartbroken? 

But if you aren’t in love with him, why does that make you feel.. Unsatisfied? 

You can’t help but think about him, and you realize you’ve always been thinking about him for the past few days. He makes you happy obviously, there’s never a dull moment with him besides when you two first interacted with one another, and he’s understanding and gentle. The gentle look he gives you as he respectfully treats you well makes you feel… something.

He also treats you equally and always manage to get along with you despite your differences to one another. Not to mention how you always smile whenever you think of him, something that Zhongli had pointed out one time — and how you couldn’t help but always get excited at the thought of what’s to come for you and Diluc the next day—

Oh.

Oh.

Meanwhile, Thoma tries to think of a way to change topics. “It’s alright if you’re unsure, ( Name ).”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You quickly reassured your friend. “I just.. Didn’t realize it until you pointed it out.” 

“So.. you do love him, do you?” 

You stayed silent for a few seconds, unsure how to break it to him. “...He makes me feel things no one has made me feel for a long time.” 

“…Does he make you happy?”

You nodded in response. “He makes me the happiest I can be.” He made me realize there’s always a chance, a chance to love. You thought.

Thoma hums in understanding. “I see. Then I hope you get something good from rhat.” 

You smile gratefully. “Thank you. Though, I feel bad our conversation went this way, we were just laughing a few minutes ago.” 

He quickly lets out a small laugh. “Oh it’s no problem. At least you found something you didn’t know, right?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, thanks again, Thoma.” 

“Anything for you, ( Name ).” 

You decided to try and change the topic, clearing your throat. “Uh, anyways, wanna share Good Hunter’s newest dessert together?” 

Thoma nods with a smile. “Fine, but you better not finish everything in one go.” 

“Hey!” 

–

It took perhaps another hour before you and Thoma decided to get the bill and get out of the restaurant. Unfortunately, your friend won’t be able to join you in going back inside Goth Grand Hotel once he drops you off, telling you how he has some things to do for Ayato and Chisato before they go off to their honeymoon destination. 

As you enter the hotel lobby, you can’t help but think back about what happened during your brunch with Thoma. What will happen between you and Diluc now? Will you still act the same as before, aware that your feelings for him are possibly more than platonic?

While thinking, you didn’t notice someone behind you heading towards you until you felt them harshly gripping onto one of your shoulders.

You turn around, wondering who on Earth would be so rude to do such a thing, only for your eyes to widen when you realize who it is. 

“Good afternoon, Mx. ( Last Name ).” Shinsuke greeted you with a smile that’s obviously fake. “I apologize for bothering you on this fine day,” A lie, “but I must request you to come with me somewhere more private.” 

You hesitated for a moment, knowing the risk if you said yes. But even so, who’s to say what could happen if you turn down his request? 

You look around the area, trying to look for someone who can notice your troubled situation and help you, only to unfortunately find no one around. If only you could’ve convinced Thoma to escort you back to your hotel room…

“...I suppose I could spare some time for a chat.” You said, trying to act calm. 

You suddenly feel an eerie presence looming behind you, causing you to glance at your back and see a few bodyguards standing behind you – as if to prevent you from running away. Unlike the ones who were stationed for the wedding events, these particular guards were foreign, with strange but somewhat familiar symbols on their brooches. You could tell they’re not like the bodyguards you’ve seen.

“Perfect.” Shinsuke comments, and you start to regret accepting his offer. “Come with me.” 

Without letting you reply at all, the man turns and starts walking, causing the bodyguards behind you to shove you in order for you to follow, leaving you no choice but to oblige. 

On your way, you hoped that you would at least encounter one of your friends, frantically glancing around the hotel lobby looking for a familiar face. Unfortunately, you finally arrived at what you assume is a private room. 

You’re going to be alone with Shinsuke and these scary bodyguards. 

“Before we can go in, I have one more thing to request of you.” Shinsuke spoke up before he could open the door. “Take your bag away and give it to one of the guards.” 

Your eyes widens, hesitantly looking at the bodyguards behind you, who all remain unfazed and emotionless. Slowly, you take out your bag from your body and pass it to one of the guards. 

“Don’t worry, they won’t open your bag and look through your things if that’s what you’re worried about. We just need to make sure you won't try to... record anything and break our privacy.” Shinsuke said in a nice tone, as if that’s enough to reassure you in this situation. “Let’s go inside now.”

You feel fear crawling up on your spine as you enter the room, unsure of what’s going to happen to you. 

The room is a conference room, with multiple chairs surrounding one long table as one of them is situated by the end of it; you assume that chair is where he’ll be seated. 

“Go sit down here.” He says, pulling back a seat that’s right in the middle. “We have a few things to talk about, it won’t be long, don’t worry.” 

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you carefully went to where the seat is, trying to contain your frantic breathing in order to hide your fear. The bodyguards that were following you both are situated outside.

By the time you sit down is when Shinsuke starts talking, not sitting down on a chair. “Now that we’re in a more private area, let’s start talking, shall we?” 

You nodded slowly. “..Is there a problem, Mr. Hiiragi?” You ask carefully.

He laughs, starting to walk slowly around you. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He comments. “Yes, there is a problem, Mx. ( Last Name ). I'm sure you remember our conversation yesterday.” 

Your breath hitches; he proceeds to explain more. “You see, this wedding is a very precious event to the Hiiragi Clan. Everyone thinks the lovely couple is perfect like straight out of a fairytale, so I like to keep it that way.” You watch as he brushes one of the chairs as he walks by. Did he find out about you and Ayato? 

“So when someone reported to me that they caught sight of you walking back inside the bachelor party venue together with the bride – who didn’t bother hiding the fact that she was crying – I have to make sure all’s well.” He adds. 

His eyes then narrow. “I hope you understand where I’m coming from, and I fear that you might take the opportunity to taint the Hiiragi name and accuse that Chisato is unhappily married to Kamisato Ayato.” 

You shook your head frantically. “N-No, I wouldn’t dare to do such a thing to my friends.” 

“How should I know if you’re telling the truth? And before I knew it, the media would talk about how Chisato had unwillingly married the CEO of the Yashiro Company because of you and your schemes!” 

“I am telling the truth, Mr. Hiiragi! I wish nothing but happiness for the couple.” 

“As if that’s enough to do so.” He lets out a “tsk”, glaring down at you. “I have no choice but to get rid of you. Who knows when you will eventually risk tearing down my reputation!” 

You gasp aloud, immediately standing up from your seat. “Get rid of me?! But Mr. Hiiragi, that’s too much! I haven’t done anything ever since the bachelor party happened–”

“You dare to raise your voice on me!? Did you forget your place, or shall I remind you?!” He exclaims. You panic when he suddenly storms towards you, his hand slowly raises up to hit you. 

Suddenly, the door opens, causing the man to stop himself from hitting you and look at the intruder. 

“Was I interrupting something?”  

Your eyes brighten when you recognize the person’s voice, and you look at the intruder who’s standing by the doorway. 

“O-Oh, Mr. Ragnvindr!” Shinsuke spoke, his tone is now nice and kind unlike a few seconds ago. “What a lovely surprise. I was just having a special meeting with Mx. ( Last Name ) regarding the wedding–”

“I’m here to talk about your pesky bodyguards who aren’t doing their job right” Diluc spoke, his voice dark and cold – a big comparison to his gentle tone when he talks to you. “I was just passing by when they suddenly confronted me and dared to lay a hand on me for no reason.” 

You saw the way Shinsuke’s eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowing. “What?! How unprofessional of them! Where are they now?” 

Diluc opens the door wide. “Feel free to go check on them. I had to defend myself since they tried to fight me. Had this happened to someone else, I fear an innocent person would get hurt by their recklessness.” He scolded Shinsuke, who hesitated from his offer to check on the bodyguards. 

The elder man glances at you, causing you to freeze up from his glare. “This isn’t over yet.” He mouths before looking back at the red-haired man. “I apologize sincerely on behalf of my bodyguards. I’ll make sure it won’t happen ever again.” 

“Good. Now leave.” 

Begrudgingly, Shinsuke heads out from the conference room. By the time the CEO is out of your sight, Diluc looks in your direction.

You feel your shoulders starting to relax. “Diluc.”

His eyes softened. “( Name ).” He then gestures to you to come with him. “Come with me. Let’s get you out of here.” 

When you come out of the conference room with Diluc being by your side, you’re surprised to see the sight of Shinsuke standing over the bodyguards on the ground, some groaning out in pain while some were out cold. Just what did Diluc do to them? 

You dare not to question it, you’re just grateful that he saved you from Shinsuke. 

As soon as you two are somewhere where most people don’t come to in the lobby, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’re holding. 

“Are you alright?” Diluc asks worryingly, giving you your bag you didn’t know he was holding. “What happened back there?” 

You slowly grab your bag from him, avoiding his gaze. “I… I don’t know.. He just took me to that room and threatened me for something that happened in the bachelor party. I wouldn’t dare to do that to my friends.” You clench your teeth at the audacity the cruel CEO has. “I’m just grateful you were able to come by before something happened. How did you know I was there?” 

“I saw one of the guards holding your bag.” He answers honestly. “I recognized it was the one you were carrying when we were taking a stroll around the garden, so I had to investigate. Did they hurt you?” 

You shook your head. “Mr. Hiiragi was about to, but you made it in time before he could hurt me.” 

Diluc’s eyes slightly widened, before quickly narrowing his eyes at the thought that someone would dare to hurt you. “How dare he.. I knew he wasn’t good news.” 

“It’s fine… None of us could’ve predicted he would do something like this.” You mumbled. It was technically a lie, you knew someone like Shinsuke would do this, but you didn’t want your friend to be worried and angry. “Thank you for your help, Diluc. I owe you a lot.” 

“Anything for you.” He replied. He suddenly puts a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you, causing your heart to start beating fast while your cheeks begin to warm up from his words and gestures.  “You don’t owe me anything. Just… be more careful, I don’t want you to get hurt by someone as cruel and despicable as him.” 

You nodded slowly, your mouth twitching upwards. “I’ll try.” 

“Were you heading towards your room?” He asks, and you hum softly in response. “I could escort you back there if you’d like. Just in case Mr. Hiiragi dares to come to you again.” 

You shook your head. “Oh I don’t want to bother you. I think I can go back on my own.” 

“I insist. It would hurt me if something bad happens to you again when I could’ve helped you.” He insists. “Come.” 

“...Thank you again, Diluc.” You spoke softly before the two of you started heading towards the elevator area that’s across the hotel lobby from where you are.

The two of you didn’t say a word to one another while you’re walking, but you didn’t mind. You were still shaken up by what happened. Who knows when Shinsuke will try to bother you again? What if he comes to Liyue and ruins your life? 

“Will you be alright, ( Name )?” He suddenly asks, causing your worrisome thoughts to fade away from his voice. 

Before you could say anything, someone suddenly called Diluc’s name. 

“Diluc?” 

You look around the area to look for the person who was calling your friend, spotting a woman standing not too far away from where you and Diluc are with her eyes brightening. 

“There you are! I was looking around for you.” She spoke, walking towards you two with a smile on her face. “Did you just get out of the hotel room?” 

You can’t help but admire the woman who’s now standing in front of you two. She’s quite beautiful, you admit. Is she perhaps a friend of Diluc? Or an acquaintance of his in the business world? 

Or… Is she his plus one? 

Diluc shakes his head. “No, I just happened to come across a friend of mine and got distracted. Did you wait for too long?” 

The woman shakes her head as well, smiling reassuringly. “Ah no, don’t worry. I just entered the hotel.” She then looks at you. “Hello, what’s your name?” She asks you politely, causing your eyes to widen a bit in surprise. 

“Oh uhm.. My name is ( Name ) ( Last Name ). It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms…?” 

“You can call me Jean. Thank you for keeping Diluc company while I was gone. I feel bad that I wasn’t able to attend the wedding.” Jean said. 

Ah, so she is his plus one. 

You try to ignore a strange feeling bubbling in your chest. “It’s no problem, I’m glad I’m friends with someone like Diluc. I had a lot of fun and learned a lot more about Mondstadt thanks to him.” 

Jean giggles, a tune that’s so sweet in your ears. “I’m glad my fiancé made a friend. I hope I’ll get to know you more, ( Name ).”

You felt like your heart dropped when you heard what Jean called Diluc, your face almost fell. 

…

Fiancé? 

“...O-Oh, you guys are engaged?” You asked, stunned from your realization. 

Jean instantly covers her mouth. “Oh, my bad.” 

“It’s alright, Jean.” Diluc reassures her, you saw the way he looks at her. It’s different than the way he looks at you. “I was meaning to invite them to the wedding before they leave for Liyue.” 

Jean sighs in relief, then looks at you with an apologetic smile. “I apologize for the shock. But yes, me and Diluc are set to be married in December. We haven’t announced our engagement to the public yet so we’d appreciate it if you could keep it a secret until it’s announced. I’ll make sure to give you an invitation tomorrow if that’s fine with you!” 

You felt sick, swallowing the sour taste of heartbreak in your throat. “Of course! I’m honored I’m invited to your wedding. Congratulations on your engagement.” 

You’re too caught up with the sudden news that you didn’t notice the way Diluc looks at you in concern.

Jean didn’t notice either, still smiling happily. “Great, I hope we’ll talk again next time. I’m afraid Diluc and I have to go now to meet Mr. and Mrs. Kamisato before they leave. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Mondstadt until you leave! Shall we, Diluc?” 

The red-haired man hesitantly looks at you, and you remembered how he was supposed to escort you. You feel selfish for wanting him to go with you, but you knew your place. 

“Go.” You mouth to Diluc with a reassuringly small smile, despite your heart wanting him to stay. “I’ll see you two next time. It’s nice to meet you as well, Jean.”

“...See you next time, ( Name ).” Diluc spoke up before walking towards Jean. 

Without another word, you turn away and walk back to where you’re supposed to be going. Away from Shinsuke, from your heartbreak, 

And away from Diluc. Your first love for the first time in 4 years. 

You tried your best to hold onto your facade that everything’s normal and okay as you’re on your way back to the hotel room rushedly, your heart racing and lips shaking from what just happened. 

You aren’t sure if you were overwhelmed by what happened between you and Shinsuke, or from the unrequited love between you and Diluc. 

You should’ve known he wouldn’t be single. You should’ve known he was taken by someone as beautiful and amazing as Jean. You should’ve remained oblivious to your feelings towards him,

You should’ve known he would never see you that way.

By the time you enter the room and close the door behind you, you knelt down on the ground and let out a sob, dropping your bag as you cover your face with your hands. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Everything hurts. Everything is too much. You feel like you’re being burned inside as your heart aches deeply. You feel like you want to jump off a cliff and land in an ocean, never to be seen again. Why did you had to find out you’re in love when you found out your love is unrequited? Why is this happening to you? What did you do in your past life to deserve such cruelty? 

You were so busy crying that you didn’t notice Zhongli walking towards you in concern. Words didn’t exchange between you two, but your friend knew what to do. He always comforts you whenever you cry about Ayato after drinking too much back then, reassuring you that you’ll eventually move on someday. 

He kneels down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder comfortingly. You didn’t hesitate to lean your head on his shoulder as a result, continuing to let out your wails and tears. 

“I fell in love, but he… He belongs to another. Why does this always happen to me?” You sobbed. 

Zhongli slowly pulls you closer to him. “I do not know.”

You let out another sob, closing your eyes shut. “It hurts.” 

He closes his eyes as well, his heart aches at the sound of your cries. “I know.” 

That day, you didn’t look at your phone anymore to see if he sent you a message. Spending the rest of your time engulfed in heartbreak as your dearest friend comforts you. 

Just when you thought you were willing to fall in love, that chance was once again out of your reach.

It’s true he made you realize there’s always a chance, a chance to love.

Just not a chance to love him.

—

Somewhere by the hotel’s parking lot, someone is going through the same thing as you.

Thoma leans against the steering wheel of his car, exhaling deeply as he closes his eyes.

He knew he’d never have the chance to win your heart, yet it still hurts to think that you’re now in love with someone else. Don’t get him wrong, he’s truly happy for you — especially knowing that you have never bothered trying to give love a chance again and never had a date with anyone since the break up.

He just wished it was him you had fallen in love with, even though it sounds as impossible as going to outer space in this life.

But nevertheless, it wasn’t the fact that his love for you stayed strong and you still see him as just a friend—

It was the fact that you’re in love with a man who’s out of your reach.

Thoma didn’t know what to think when he learned you love Diluc. He wanted to be happy for you — he knows the man has a good heart after hearing so many good things about him — but he knew you’re going to be heartbroken when you learned about his secret engagement with one of the most powerful and well-respected women in Mondstadt.

There’s nothing he can do about it. He can only hope you’d get through the same pain you felt back then.

Thoma lets out a sigh, leaning back up from the steering wheel.

Even if he cannot provide it, the blonde-haired man just wished that someday, you’d love someone who loves you too, with nothing that can stop you both,

Unlike the men you fell in love with.

DAN’S NOTES

(1) diluc isn’t leading reader on nor was he flirting with them. chapter 14 will explain his side as well as his feelings towards reader. (see my response to this ask here for more details)

(2) i understand if you’re willing to drop the series, but it’s better if you keep it to yourself if you intend to insult this series or me. if you’re planning to send ask about the problem of this chapter, make sure to read my responses regarding asks about this situation because i dont really want to repeat myself again.

(3) i apologize for the disappointment if you expected reader to end up with diluc as well as for not adding it in the warnings about jeanluc being mentioned — i made another version of this storyline where they do end up together, which is versadies’s version ( look at the links ) to make it up to you guys :>>

PREVIOUS || NEXT || VERSADIES’S VERSION (PROCEED TO THIS LINK FOR FLUFF LOVERS)

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