Oh God I Just Everywhere

⋆｡°✩ [ch.5] for when you need me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 4.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, also AHH VIOLENCE IN THIS ONE, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

“You sure you’re okay?” Mira’s voice echoed as you got inside your townhouse, the sudden sounds of clicking locks and shifting gears of your front door echoing against the city ambience.

“Yeah.” You sighed.

Mira took a short time to breathe too before she prompted to leave you to rest. As soon as she said her goodbyes, you tucked your phone on your left pocket and walked straight towards your most beloved house possession—the fridge.

The weight of Mr. M's ultimatum pressed against your ribs like a second heartbeat as your hands traversed the cans of carbonated drinks inside the fridge.

“Should I even get cola today?” You pondered.

Outside, the city was bleeding from gold hour into twilight—windows glittering amber across brownstone rooftops, the Chrysler Building's spire catching the last fiery streaks of sunset.

God was it such a treat of a view.

You stopped at the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing your forehead to the cool glass, watching your ghostly reflection blink back at you in the darkening pane.

“Hey, you.” You spoke, alone in the dim living room.

You twisted and curled your toes as you tried to think of anything amusing to say to your own reflection, yet there was nothing that came to your mind.

“You’re pathetic.” You muttered under your heavy breath.

Buzzing into existence, your phone rang from your side pocket.

Flipping through your messages, you see one notification from the only person in your mind right now.

Jay: Remember that bench back in Battery Park?

That message drew a smile on your face, memories resurfacing and thoughts flooding your senses.

You: Yea?

Jay: One hour?

The message burned in your palm. You counted the passing seconds by the throbbing pulse in your wrist—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—until the screen dimmed to black. Then lit up again.

Jay: There’s a new taco joint my students recommended me to. Got coupons for 50% off tacos. You down?

A punched-out laugh escaped you, fogging the glass. The condensation mirrored how your thoughts had been all day—clouded, unclear, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

Without missing a beat, you quickly grabbed your spring jacket.

–––

“I guess it that time of the year already…” You spoke to yourself as you see petals pass above, below, and to your sides.

The park smelled like freshly cut grass and distant rain. Cherry blossom petals swirled through the air like pink snow, catching in your hair as you followed the familiar path—past the old elm with the gnarled trunk, around the fountain that never worked quite right, down to that one bench facing the harbor where the paint was chipped away from years of weather and restless fingers.

And then—like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—there he was.

Jay sat waiting, backlit by the harbor lights beginning to flicker on across the water. Two glass-bottled colas sweated between his knees, their labels peeling from condensation. A grease-spotted paper bag sat balanced precariously on the bench beside him, the scent of cumin and charred corn tortillas cutting through the salt air. And it’s not even a Tuesday.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

He turned at the crunch of gravel under your shoes.

"You came," he said, voice scraped raw like he'd been shouting. Or maybe not speaking at all.

You sat carefully, leaving exactly eleven inches of painted metal between you. The space felt both cavernous and infinitesimal. The thin tree beside the bench still bore the faint carving you'd made one drunken summer night — ME + JAY inside a lopsided heart. The memory of his laughter as you struggled with your metal fork warmed your cheeks even now.

"You asked." You said, accepting the cola he handed you.

His fingers brushed yours—just for a millisecond—but it was enough to send electricity shooting up your arm.

Jay took a long pull from his bottle, the muscles in his throat working. The fading light caught the shape of his bare face—still as soft, plump, and charming as you’ve last seen them. Behold them. Had them between the warmth of your palms.

"Naomi and I talked," he started, then stopped, jaw tightening.

It was weird. For a new dish from a new store in New York, the tacos smelled like lime and nostalgia. You focused on picking at the label of your cola instead of the way his shoulder pressed against yours, warm even through two layers of fabric.

"And?"

A harbor breeze ruffled his hair, longer now than in your days together as a bunch of cram heads. He watched a seagull swoop low over the water before speaking.

"She knew.”

Your face dropped the moment you heard him say those words.

“Before the article. Before Leah's wedding." His laugh was hollow, bouncing off the pavement. "Apparently I'm shit at hiding it when I..." He trailed off, fingers tightening around his bottle.

"When you what?"

Jay turned to face you fully, the bench creaking beneath him. The dying light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

"When I'm still in love with you."

It was as if the world has tilted on its axis. The cola bottle nearly slipped from your fingers.

"She said she'd always known," Jay continued, voice softer now. "Saw how I'd go quiet when your songs came on. Even down to how I kept that stupid festival wristband in my wallet from years ago."

His thumb traced the lip of his bottle, around and around. “Then she saw how I lingered on your music. How I’d go quiet when someone mentioned your name.”

The thought of it almost ruined you. Wrecked you.

From your recent conversations, you figured it was just nostalgia of a relationship past. The ‘miss you’s you’ve exchanged fleeting thoughts that echoed regret and nothing more.

But right now, it finally hit you. He still thought of you all this time.

Just like you did.

"She told me she also found the CD you made me years ago—the one with all our road trip songs—in my glove compartment."

A cherry blossom petal landed on his knee. He didn't brush it away.

"She said she wanted me happy," he murmured. "Even if it wasn't with her."

Your throat tightened.

You looked back as you remembered Naomi's hand on Jay's arm at the wedding—not possessive, but protective. The way she'd looked at you with something that wasn't quite jealousy, but instead resignation.

"And you?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Jay set his cola down carefully on the bench. When he spoke again, it was like he'd ripped the words from somewhere deep inside.

"I dropped out of law school because of you."

The non sequitur startled a wet laugh from you. "What?"

"That day you left," he said, eyes fixed on the Statue of Liberty's distant torch, "I realized I'd spent all my years of living following a path my parents have built and paved for me.”

Jay grew quiet at that. “Just like you were about to do with Atlas."

You looked at him as he tried to say all this words without breaking.

His fingers flexed against his knees. "So I quit. Switched to music theory because I thought..." His voice cracked. "I thought if I couldn't save you, maybe I could at least be someone else's guide."

The confession hung between you, fragile as the spiderweb glistening on the bench's armrest.

You swallowed hard. Mira's voice echoed in your memory—"He teaches at NYU now. Music theory. I knew he was an ace but he’s actually good at it."

"You knew," Jay realized, watching your face. “… haven’t you?”

You nodded, the motion jerky. "M-Mira told me last week."

The harbor sounds filled the silence—waves lapping against the seawall, a distant ferry horn, the screech of gulls fighting over scraps.

“If there’s anything that made me realize after all this time, it was that …”

Jay shifted, turning fully toward you until his knee brushed yours.

"I never stopped loving you," he said, simple as sunrise.

Time stopped.

Four years.

Four years of platinum records and sold-out arenas and hotel rooms so silent you could hear your own pulse. Four years of telling yourself you didn't miss the way he snored softly through his nose when exhausted, or how he'd absentmindedly hum old radio songs in the shower, or the particular way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at his own jokes.

It all came rushing out in a single breath. "I thought about you every goddamn day."

Jay's breath hitched. His hand hovered between you, trembling slightly in the golden glow of the park lamps. Waiting. Always waiting for you.

And now, you bridged the gap.

His fingers laced through yours—calloused from guitar strings and piano keys, warm and familiar and right. The tacos tumbled forgotten to the side as you turned toward each other, knees knocking, free hands reaching.

Around you, the city pulsed with its usual relentless energy—car horns blaring, a street performer's violin carrying on the breeze, the million lights of Manhattan flickering to life. None of it mattered.

Not when, for the first time in four long years, the hollow space beneath your ribs finally felt full again.

Not when Jay's thumb was brushing your knuckles like he was relearning your topography. Your texture. Your temperature.

You.

"What now?" He put his forehead against yours as you leaned into him, breathing in the cedar-and-salt scent that had haunted your dreams.

“Now I take my time with you.” You said softly. “I’ve missed your warmth, Jay.”

Jay smiled, creasing his cheek with that one-sided smirk that complimented his features.

“Me too.”

And all that you ever needed was that, his presence, blanketing you in sweet embrace.

—

The studio was bathed in soft golden light, diffused through silk screens to eliminate harsh shadows.

You sat on a peach colored sofa that was firmer than it looked, the microphone clipped to your collar weighing heavier than it should.

Across from you, Claire Mercer—legendary music journalist with a reputation for extracting truths artists didn’t know they were ready to share—crossed her legs and balanced a leather-bound notebook on her knee. A steaming cup of black tea sat untouched on the glass coffee table between you, its scent mingling with the studio’s faint ozone smell from all the equipment.

Claire smile strategically, hoping to lure you into honesty.

"Let’s start with something light. Your fourth album just went triple platinum—an almost impossible feat in today’s streaming landscape. When you were eighteen, busking in Washington Square Park with a secondhand guitar, could you have imagined this?"

You chuckled, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against your knee. "Of course not! Let’s be real. Back then, a good day meant making enough for a slice of dollar pizza and a MetroCard swipe.”

Memories flood your head as you remember making time to hang out on the Square, preparing hurriedly as Jay made sure to tune your acoustic friend finely before he left you for his morning classes.

“You didn’t touch the donuts I got you?” Jay asked as he held your guitar in his lap, all in the middle of tuning it to perfection.

“Donuts?” You popped a brow. “You mean the one’s from Monettan’s?”

Jay chuckled. “What else did look like donuts to you, genius?” He then pinched your ears right after.

“But that’s half my rent??” You crunched up your face.

The memory quickly passed by, all with a light unnoticeable chuckle. It was one of those days that Jay always looked out for you.

But even then, other memories flooded your mind, too. Everything was different back then.

“I remember this one afternoon—it was pouring rain, and I was playing under this sad little awning. Some guy tossed a five-dollar bill into my case and said, ‘Kid, you’re gonna be huge.’ I thought he was just being nice."

A quiet laugh rippled through the small crew behind the cameras.

Claire scribbled something in her notebook, the pen scratching audibly.

"You’ve spoken before about the loneliness of fame—how the higher you climb, the fewer people you can trust. Do you ever miss those early days? The rawness of playing for strangers who didn’t know your name?"

You hesitated, your thumb brushing the faint scar on your wrist—the one from the pancake incident with Jay. The studio lights suddenly felt too hot.

"Yeah," you admitted, quieter now. "There was something... honest about it. No expectations. No algorithms telling you what to play. Just me, my guitar, and people who either stopped to listen or walked right past. Sometimes, I’ll be onstage in front of thousands of people and... I’ll still miss that."

Claire nodded slowly, her sharp blue eyes catching yours. "That’s interesting. Because last week, photos surfaced of you at a diner with a man the internet’s been obsessing over. And in those photos..." She paused deliberately. "You looked happier than you have in years."

The air in the room shifted. Off-camera, Mira tensed, her manicured nails tightening around her tablet.

“Oh for fucking— that woman!” She muttered under her hot breath.

Claire leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Who is he?"

For a second, you considered lying. You should lie.

“What if she slips in a naughty question?” You asked as you tried another outfits from the closet.

“How naughty?” Mira smirked.

“Ugh, I meant like … sneaky ones.” You sighed as you sat on one of the ottomans present beside you. “Like about me and Jay.”

Mira looked at you, exhaling deeply before getting her say.

“Just trust your gut. Talk, maybe.” You looked at her with a concerned glance.

“Just… like that?”

“Yeah.” Mira smiled. “You’d do it anyway. I can’t stop you.”

You chuckled as she guessed you right to that. You are one heck of a defiant guy.

“Also wear this, we’ve got a deal to keep it all Dior ‘til April right?”

“Ugh, fine~”

The more you thought about it, the more you’ll keep hurting yourself.

Then you exhaled, looking directly into the camera.

"His name is Jay."

Claire’s pen froze mid-scribble.

"We met in college," you continued, your voice steadier than you felt. "He was—is—the reason I believed I could do this in the first place.”

Silence. The room was nothing but a sea of silence.

“And I left him to chase this dream." A wet laugh escaped you. "Funny how that works, huh?"

Claire’s eyes flickered—surprise, then something like respect. "So this isn’t just a reunion?"

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

—

Mr. M’s office was a monument to power—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, a desk polished to a mirror shine, a vintage whiskey decanter that cost more than most people’s rent.

Right now, it was also a crime scene.

The flat-screen on his wall replayed your Rolling Stone interview on mute—your face, your words, your defiance—looping endlessly. Mr. M stood motionless in front of it, his reflection superimposed over your image like a ghost.

His assistant, Ethan, hovered in the doorway, clutching an iPad like a shield. "Sir, the board—they’ve called an emergency meeting. They want you in the conference room. Now."

Mr. M didn’t turn. "Tell them I’m busy."

Ethan swallowed. "They said... they said it’s not optional."

Silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Mr. M’s crystal tumbler exploded against the wall, ice skittering across the floor. "Get out."

Ethan fled.

Alone, Mr. M stalked to the window, where your face—twenty feet tall—smoldered on a Dior advertisement at Times Square. Your eyes stared back at him, mocking.

"After everything I gave you," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

His phone buzzed—a text from the board chairman:

"Conference room. NOW."

Mr. M straightened his tie, smoothed his suit, and walked out like a man heading to the gallows.

—

Breathing in the conditioned air and holding yourself inside the elevator, Mira was already moving, her clipboard clutched like a battering ram against the inevitable circus outside.

It was already past 3PM when your interview ended, and as soon as it concluded— the headlines, the fuzz, the frenzy, and the notifications started to flood your phone.

“I’m seeing a lot of articles already.” You mumbled. “They work fast.”

“Well,” Mira sighed, “they are the devil.”

You both snickered a good laugh together.

Suddenly, the elevator slowed down gracefully and notified you with a calm voice.

“Ground Floor.” A silent hum then followed after.

"Don’t engage," she hissed, stepping in front of you with the precision of a bodyguard. "Head down, sunglasses on, and for fuck’s sake—just keep moving—"

The elevator doors slid open and Mira was already moving, her sharp elbow clearing a path. "No comments, no photos—"

Too late.

The second your shoe hit the lobby floor, the flashbulbs and shutters erupted. A wall of shouting bodies surged forward, iPhones thrust like weapons.

"OVER HERE! LOOK HERE!"

"IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’RE CURRENTLY IN A RELATIONSHIP?"

"WHO’S JAY! WHO’S JAY!"

Mira blocked a camera with her clipboard. "Move," she snapped at security, yanking your wrist so hard your shoulder jerked. You ducked low, sunglasses slipping as some asshole lunged closer—

"SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE BREAKUP, C’MON MAN!"

—and then your ribs connected with a stray elbow. The air punched out of you.

“Ow!” You couldn’t help but wince.

Mira saw it and boiled her blood to a hundred degrees, shoving the rookie paparazzi out of the way.

"Christ," Mira snarled, shoving a reporter back. "Call fucking backup—"

A hand clamped onto your bicep. Not Mira’s.

You whipped your head up, ready to swing—

Security. A rookie you didn’t recognize, wide-eyed and sweating. "This way sir—" he panted, hauling you toward a side exit.

Mira’s voice sliced through the noise. "NOT THAT WAY—"

But the crowd was already pivoting, a pack of hyenas scenting blood. You stumbled as someone grabbed the back of your jacket—

Then you saw him.

Jay.

Leaning against a concrete pillar near the exit like he’d been carved there, arms crossed, one ankle hooked lazily over the other.

The late afternoon sun cut through the glass lobby doors, gilding the edges of him—bleached hair mussed from running his hands through it, that stupidly perfect leather jacket clinging to his shoulders. He wasn’t even looking at the chaos brewing outside. Just waiting. For you.

Your breath locked in your throat.

The paparazzi spotted him half a second later.

"OH MY GOD, IT’S HIM!" A shutter exploded like gunfire. "JAY—IS THAT THE MYSTERY MAN?"

Mira’s grip on your elbow turned vice-tight. "Company van," she barked into her headset. "NOW."

Jay didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the pillar and closed the distance in three strides, falling into step beside you like no time had passed at all. His shoulder bumped yours—warm, solid, an anchor in the screaming storm of flashes and questions. "Eyes forward," he murmured, so low only you could hear.

Mira wrenched the SUV door open, shoving you both inside. The second the door slammed, the noise cut off like someone had hit mute.

Silence.

You turned to Jay, pulse hammering. "W-What are you doing here?"

No answer. Just his hand sliding over yours, calloused fingers lacing tight between your knuckles. A single squeeze.

I’m here. Whatever happens.

Mira exhaled sharply from the front seat, her phone already lighting up with a dozen notifications. "This," she said, voice clipped, "is a PR nightmare."

Jay’s thumb traced the ridge of your wrist.

At that point, all you ever needed was him—nothing else.

—

The Atlas Records boardroom was a tomb of glass and steel, the kind of cold that gnawed through suit jackets and settled in the marrow. Twelve executives sat around the onyx table, their faces carved from the same indifferent stone.

At the head, Eleanor Whitmore—61, razor-straight posture, a single pearl necklace against a charcoal blazer—rested her palms on the table. Her manicure was flawless, pale pink. It made the silence worse.

"Michael."

Her voice sliced the air.

Mr. M — Michael Aker — stood frozen halfway to his seat, his custom Tom Ford suit suddenly too tight across the shoulders. His smile was a brittle thing, cracking at the edges.

"Eleanor," he laughed, nervous, too loud, "whatever this is about, I assure you—"

"Sit. Down."

It was a command, not a request. The kind of tone that stops hearts.

He sat.

Eleanor tapped her iPad. The floor-to-ceiling screen behind her woke up in a blaze of light—emails, bank transfers, contracts, all stamped with his initials. A digital autopsy of his crimes.

Mr. M's throat tightened in an instant. His cufflinks caught the light as his hands trembled—just once.

"W-what is th—"

"For the past four years," Eleanor said, calm as a guillotine's descent, "you have been laundering money through our artists' royalties." A click. Offshore accounts, layered like Russian dolls.

Another click. "You manipulated streaming numbers to defraud investors and undermine the competition." A spreadsheet bloomed, numbers artificially inflated in red.

Then—the kill shot.

A contract. Your name. Page 37, Section 9b: a clause so predatory it made the room inhale.

"And worst of all," Eleanor murmured, "you enslaved our biggest star in a deal so fraudulent, it’s a miracle they haven’t sued us into oblivion."

Mr. M's laugh was a dry cough. "Eleanor, these accusations are—"

"Not accusations."

Daniel Cho, the CFO, slid a black folder across the table. It screeched against the glass. Inside of it was printed server logs, his personal encryption keys, a paper trail even his lawyers couldn’t burn.

"From your own servers," Daniel said. "We copied everything before you could ever think of wiping it."

Mr. M's pulse throbbed in his temple. His Rolex rattled against the table. "You don’t understand—I built this label!" His voice splintered. "And that … I made that ungrateful brat a star! I gave him everything!"

Eleanor sighed, the way one might at a child’s tantrum. "You're fired. Effective immediately."

In a heartbeat, the air turned viscous.

Mr. M stood so fast his chair slammed backward, crashing into the glass panels of the room. Outside, your face loomed on a billboard—standing tall, smirking down at him like fate itself.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Spittle flecked his lips.

Eleanor pressed a button under the table. The doors hissed open.

Two armed guards stepped in, hands already reaching.

"Watch me," she said.

They grabbed him by the elbows, dragging him toward the elevator. His Ferragamos scraped grooves into the hardwood.

"ELEANOR! ELEANOR, YOU BITCH—"

The doors closed. His voice muffled, then vanished.

Silence.

—

The townhouse was eerily quiet when you stepped inside, the click of the door too loud in the hush. Jay flicked on the lights, but the silence pressed in anyway—heavy, like the air before a storm.

Mira lingered in the foyer, her fingers worrying her car keys. "You sure you’re okay? I can stay—"

You waved her off. "We’re good. Thanks, Mira."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Call me if anything happens."

The door shut behind her, leaving you and Jay alone.

Quiet. Only the peaceful sounds of the city streets rushed through your ears and outside the window.

There, you stood by the entrance. And with you? Jay, smiling at you like there was no tomorrow.

“You’re gonna tear off your face if you keep smiling like that.” You spoke.

Jay then hugged you from behind, breathing onto your next with a sigh of relief.

You kicked off your shoes, laughing weakly. "Remember when we thought my dorm was haunted?"

Jay smirked, toeing the edge of the rug. "You screamed because a moth flew into your hair."

"It was huge!" You shoved him, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed.

Then—

BANG.

The sound was deafening.

The vase beside your head exploded, glass shards raining onto the hardwood. Your body moved to shove Jay out of the way before your brain could process—gunshot—and then Jay was moving, lunging toward the shadow in the doorway.

Mr. M.

Pistol raised, his face twisted in fury.

"You ruined me!" he snarled.

“H-how did you-”

“I know everything about you!” He raised his voice. “I built you! MADE YOU!”

Suddenly, Jay crashed into him, knocking him back.

“JAY!!”

A whittling commotion can be heard as Mira pried your door open.

“What’s the-”

“IT’S MR. M!” You shrieked. “He’s fighting Jay!”

“F-FIGHTING?!?” Mira shouted like her lungs depended on it.

“Should I-”

“YES!” You didn’t let fear scramble you as you took Mira to the side. “NOW!”

Mira didn’t hesitate and brought her dial to her ear, waiting for the other side to pick up.

The second gunshot tore through the air like a crack of thunder, and suddenly—BANG.

White-hot, searing through your side.

You gasped, the sound more of a wet choke than breath, your back slamming against the wall as your legs gave out. Your hand flew to the wound, fingers coming away slick and red.

“What the fuck—” You coughed, and agony lanced through your ribs—each spasm cost you air, cost you thought, cost you everything.

Mira was on you before you hit the ground, her hands clawing at your shirt, her voice a frenzied mantra.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”

She dragged you backward, your heels scuffing bloody trails across the floor, her grip bone-crushing as she hauled you behind a toppled conference table.

“Stay with me—stay with me—!”

“Fuck it hurts…” You winced as you felt the hot bullet still searing your muscle.

Your vision spotted black at the edges, but you forced your head up—because Jay was still out there.

“HAH!!” Jay had Mr. M pinned against the shattered window, the quaint city street a fractured backdrop behind them. The gun lay kicked aside, but Mr. M was far from done.

“You ruined me!” Mr. M spat, his face a rictus of sweat and fury, shooting a glance towards you.

“I made you! Everything you are—everything you have—it’s because of ME!”

Jay’s grip on his collar tightened, his voice low, lethal.

“You stole from him. You lied to him. You used him”

Mr. M laughed, the sound hysterical, unhinged. “And you let me!”

The words stung silently, your eyes never taking off Jay’s fazed look. ****

“Where were you, Jay? Huh? Off playing hero while HE bled for my profit?”

“Jay, don’t listen to him!” You shouted, the wound still throbbing hot in your flesh.

Yet Jay flinched—just once—but it was enough.

Mr. M twisted, driving a knee into Jay’s ribs, and broke free. He lunged for the gun—

“JAY!” Your voice ripped raw from your throat.

Jay tackled him, their bodies crashing into a desk, sending your books, papers, glass flying—

BANG.

A third gunshot.

Jay staggered back, his hand pressing to his side, blood welling between his fingers.

“N-No!” Mira caught your hand as you sobbed, clutching you tighter.

Mr. M scrambled to his feet, panting, wild-eyed—

But Jay was faster.

He slammed Mr. M’s head into the floor, once, twice, until the man went limp.

Then—silence.

Jay’s breath was ragged, his shirt stained crimson, but his gaze found yours across the wreckage.

“Still… here?” he managed, voice threadbare.

You choked out a laugh, even as Mira shook you, screaming for help.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Still here.”

Mr. M wrenched free, panting—then bolted, the front door slamming behind him.

Jay dropped to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You crawled toward him, vision swimming.

"Please … stay with me," you begged, pressing your hands to his wound.

Jay smiled, his eyelids fluttering. "Worth it."

Mira was already on the phone, her voice frantic. "Ambulance! NOW!"

Your tears fell onto Jay’s face, mixing with his sweat.

"Don’t you dare leave me again." You cried. ‘’Don’t you DARE!!”

His fingers found yours.

And there was only a smile on his face, before he let out one gust of precious air from the pain.

“Jay? Jay …. JAAAYYY!!!”

Outside, sirens wailed.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — okay i gotta admit this is too fast for an update and i was supposed to publish a ni-ki fic but THIS IS MY MAN'S DAY SO WE GOTTA CELEBRATE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED POOKIE ROCKSTAR RAAAAAAAAA LYLYLYLYLYL MAWMAWMAMWA

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — tagging @kaiyunsim @firstclassjaylee @ryes-brownies08

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

legacy masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

babygirl aha 😏🫰

ENHYPEN JAKE Behind Photo Sketch 📸

sobbing ... can i squishie the cheekie 😭💙

⋆｡°✩ [ch.1] for when you miss me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.5k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love: the full masterlist [COMING SOON]

The stage lights are too bright.

They always are—blinding, artificial suns that bleach the room into a watercolor blur. You squint against them, fingers absently strumming your guitar as the crowd murmurs beneath the clink of champagne glasses.

The venue is all exposed brick and twinkling fairy lights, the kind of place you’d have mocked two years ago. Now, you’re just background noise to someone else’s love story.

"You’re up next." Leah’s voice cuts through the hum, her manicured fingers digging into your shoulder—nervous energy. The sequins on her dress catch the light like shattered glass.

"Play something romantic. But, like… not too romantic. Sarah’s grandma thinks love songs are ‘sinful.’"

You snort, plucking a sour note on purpose. "So, no ‘Careless Whisper’?"

"God, no." She grins, but it fades fast.

Her eyes dart toward the crowd, then back to you. "Hey… you okay? You’ve been a little bit pale lately—"

"I’m fine." The lie tastes stale. You twist a tuning peg too hard; the string protests with a sharp twang.

“Oop?”

“There it goes~”

“Psh.” Leah exhales through her nose.

"Heads up, but Jay’s here."

Your fingers freeze mid-strum. You think the discordant echo hangs in the air—a fitting soundtrack.

"Shit," you mutter.

"She was Sarah’s tutor, so she had to invite him," she adds, her voice low.

"Just… brace yourself."

Your stomach knots. "… anyone with him?’"

"Tall brunette girl. Clean fit with a high pony. Around our age. Pretty. A lawyer too, I heard?" Leah grimaces. "She’s got that whole ‘I do hot yoga and would destroy you in court’ vibe."

"Fantastic." You reach for your water bottle, but your hands betray you—trembling just enough to make the plastic crinkle. The condensation drips onto your jeans, cold and clammy.

You don’t look. Not at first.

Instead, you bury yourself in the set—some anemic Ed Sheeran cover, then a neutered Beatles rendition.

Safe. Soulless. Distracting.

The crowd barely reacts. A few aunties tap their heels; a groomsman drunkenly mouths "play ‘Wonderwall’" at you. You ignore him.

But then Sarah, Leah’s new wife, commandeers the mic. Her grin is all mischief.

"Okay, time for a special request!" she announces like she’s not about to detonate a grenade in your chest.

"This one’s for all the hopeless romantics."

She looks at you with a grinning smile, almost teasing.

"Play Way Back Into Love!"

Of fucking course.

You haven’t touched this song since the breakup. Since … him.

Not because it’s hard—it’s easy, four chords and a melody so saccharine it should come with a dental warning—but because it was yours. The song you and Jay butchered in the car, harmonizing off-key until your lungs ached. The one he’d hum against your collarbone at 3 AM, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Now, here it is. Taunting you.

You take a breath—shaky, unsteady—and start playing.

"I’ve been living with a shadow overhead…"

Your voice cracks. You clear your throat and try again.

"I’ve been sleeping with a cloud above my bed…"

And then—because the universe is a sadistic bastard—you look towards the audience.

There he is.

Jay.

Sitting at a table near the back, wearing something so elegant you know the gods made it for him and only him to wear. His hair is bleached now, swept to the side in a way that suggests actual effort, and his fingers are wrapped tight around his champagne flute, knuckles blanching white.

And at that moment? He’s staring at you.

Not the polite, detached gaze of an ex. No—this is raw, hungry like he’s trying to memorize the way your lips shape the words he once whispered against your skin.

Your brain short-circuits.

"I’ve been—uh—" You fumble the lyric. "Solitary… something."

A few guests chuckle, mistaking it for charm.

Jay doesn’t laugh. His lips part, just slightly, like he’s about to sing along—but then she leans in.

The girlfriend.

Tall, brunette, with the posture of someone who’s never slouched a day in her life. She murmurs something in Jay’s ear, her manicured hand settling on his forearm—possessive.

Jay flinches. Just once. Then he looks away.

And just like that, the spell breaks.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

You flee the stage the second the song ends, beelining for the bar like it’s salvation.

"Whiskey. Neat please," you tell the bartender. "Actually, make it a double."

As you sit there all alone, the first glass burns; the second barely registers. You’re halfway through your third when that voice cuts through the haze.

"You still forget the lyrics."

You turn.

Jay’s standing there, smirking, but his grip on his drink is white-knuckled.

"Yeah, well," you shrug, "some things never change."

A beat of silence. And then:

"You still sound good," Jay says softly.

"You look good," you blurt.

Shit.

His cheeks flush pink, but he doesn’t call you out. "Thanks.”

Just then, you notice an unfamiliar motion near you, a person almost to your side.

“Uh… and this is Naomi." He gestures to the woman beside him.

"Hi, Naomi Natten." She says, extending a hand. Her grip is firm, her smile polished. "Jay’s told me a lot about you."

You force a grin. "All lies, I’m sure."

Jay chokes on his drink.

Naomi, oblivious, laughs. "He said you’re a great musician. And, uh…" She glances at Jay. "That you burn toast like it’s your job. Is that true?"

"Wow," you deadpan. "That’s what stuck?"

Jay’s expression flickers—guilt? regret?—before he forces a chuckle. "Among other things."

Another silence.

You then stare into your whiskey, searching for words that don’t exist.

"So," you finally say, "how’d you two meet?"

"Law school," Naomi says brightly. "He was assisting one of our professors in one of my course subjects. I then had the guts to torture him into asking me out."

Jay rolls his eyes, but there’s affection in it. "She’s joking. Mostly."

"Mhm." You swallow the rest of your drink.

"Congratulations." God, it’s burning hot.

Silence stayed for a minute and let a smooth breeze in before a loud soundtrack played in the middle of the venue.

“Wait, let’s dance!” Distracted, Naomi pulled Jay’s arm, talking as if you weren’t even there.

"W-We should go," Jay says abruptly. "But… it was good seeing you." His voice was faltering as the music drowned his cadence.

He hesitates like he wants to say more, but Naomi’s already steering him toward the dance floor.

You watch them go, whiskey burning your throat.

"Yeah," you mutter. "Good seeing you too."

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

It was quiet when you got home, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring. The wedding's music still echoed in your head, as if remnants of melodies that wouldn't leave you alone.

As heat crept up your body, you took off almost everything that wrapped you until you got to your room - your suit jacket first, then the tie that felt like it had been choking you all night, and finally those fancy shoes that never quite felt right.

Feeling the bits of tiredness and exhaustion from the event you played in, your eyes landed on a simple cardboard box in the corner. It sat there like a time capsule, gathering dust in the shadows of your bedroom.

As simple as it was, it wasn't ever just one. It was tons of stacked boxes, old and new, each one holding pieces of your past. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else, but every box with it was tucked into the side after you moved in almost eight months ago, like you were trying to hide them even from yourself.

Walking groggily, fighting against the whiskey still warming your blood, you manage to carry one of them and land it on top of your soft mattress. The cardboard felt rough under your fingers, worn at the edges from too many moves.

Scrounging through your messy stuff - old receipts, notes from physics, forgotten birthday cards, ticket stubs from concerts you barely remember - you notice a gleaming antique at the bottom of it all. An old CD case with a scratched plastic cover, the kind nobody uses anymore.

With one gust of air, you wiped down every dust on its surface, watching the particles dance in the dim light of your bedroom lamp.

Opening the case with shaking hands, you see a vintage disk that almost shone brightly with its rainbow colors, like an oil slick caught in sunlight.

The sharpie on the label has faded, but the words still gut you:

FOR WHEN YOU MISS ME — JAY

You pop it into your ancient CD player, just an arm’s length from the box you’ve got it from.

Right there, the first and only track plays. Silence plays in the back as dread looms over what could play from this relic of your past.

"I’ve been living with a shadow overhead…"

You close your eyes, lingering in the presence of his silky voice.

And for the first time in four years, you let yourself remember.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — YOOOOOi never thought this day would come BUT does this qualify for angst? i'm not too sure cuz i've never really dove into the trope in terms of writing and also just had this asone of those dream fics i really wanted to write basedon tropes from the 2000s movies I oh so loved to watch RAHHHHH BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY ITTTTT also enha in la WOOO GO TEAM

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — get in here and request down below!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist [COMING SOON]

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

⋆｡°✩ foamin' at the mouth

rushing to meet your ends and accumulating bills on top of other bills, your bestfriend sunghoon recommends you to his sister's cafe for a job that pays pretty well. between slinging lattes and bantering over burnt pastries, life feels somewhat manageable — until he walks in — a sharply dressed handsome stranger with such a tailored charm built for disarming smiles. your veins ignite like its struck with a triple espresso shot, heart drumming faster than the café’s indie playlist. suddenly, your tending apron feels like a straitjacket, and every customer except him blurs into static. how do you explain this dizzying pull?

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, smau / texting, strangers to lovers, cafe worker!reader, love at first sight, mostly fluff, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, innuendos, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ got me shakin' : the full masterlist

You sighed as you pushed open the door, the hinges creaking faintly in protest. "Ugh, they really left it open," you muttered under your breath, stepping inside. The air was still, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. Morning light streamed through the large windows, casting long golden streaks across the wooden floors.

Cupid’s Lil’ Cup was a small, charming place—bohemian tapestries draped over cozy armchairs, potted plants lining the shelves, and the rich scent of coffee beans lingering in the air. It was the kind of café people visited to escape, to lose themselves in a book or a quiet conversation.

You tightened the strings of your brown apron, rolling your shoulders back. "Let's do this," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

The boxes of supplies near the entrance weren’t heavy, but they were awkward, and you grunted as you hauled them behind the counter. Setting them down with a thud, you took a moment to admire the café’s interior—the way the sunlight hit the polished counter, the way the rustic wooden beams contrasted with the delicate fairy lights strung overhead.

It was peaceful here.

Too peaceful, sometimes.

You pulled out your sketchbook from your bag, flipping to a half-finished drawing—a rough sketch of a cityscape, buildings stretching toward the sky. The pencil felt familiar in your fingers, the scratch of graphite against paper a comforting rhythm.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the soft drag of lead.

Then, the first customers arrived.

The morning rush was steady but manageable—a few regulars nodding at you in greeting, tourists squinting at the menu, the occasional student burying their nose in a laptop. You worked on autopilot, smiling politely, taking orders, making change.

Routine. Predictable. Safe.

Until the chime above the door rang again.

And the world stopped.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

You didn’t look up at first, too busy wiping down the espresso machine.

Then you felt it—the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to hold its breath.

Your head lifted slowly.

And there he was.

Tall, unfairly handsome, dressed in all black—a sleek turtleneck hugging broad shoulders, tailored trousers, boots that looked like they cost more than your rent. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

But his eyes.

Deep, dark, intense. They flickered over the menu, then landed on you.

Your fingers twitched around the cloth in your hand.

"Hi," he said.

Oh.

His voice was smooth, deep, with a warmth that curled around you like smoke.

You swallowed. Hard.

"Uh—" Your brain short-circuited. "W-what will you take?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

"Hmm." He tilted his head slightly, scanning the menu behind you. "One Matcha Cream Blend Frappuccino, no caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream. Large."

You nodded quickly, punching it into the register before your hands could betray you further. "Sure thing." You forced yourself to sound professional, though your voice came out a little breathless. "Anything else, sir?"

He turned as if to leave, then paused, glancing back.

"Actually… some pastry will do too."

"Of course!" You gestured to the display case. "We have croissants, danishes, muffins—"

"Surprise me."

Your mouth went dry.

He was smiling now—a slow, devastating thing that made your stomach flip. "I’ll trust you on this one."

Then, before you could react, he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something rich and woodsy, with a hint of spice. His gaze dropped to your name tag.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you hear him pronounce your name.

He straightened, eyes locking onto yours again. "Hopefully, I finally get something real nice."

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

You moved on autopilot, hands shaking just enough to make the whipped cream dispenser wobble. Get it together, you scolded yourself. He’s just a customer.

But then—

The sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped idly against the counter, even the faint mark he was sporting on his neck.

Recognition hit you like a freight train.

Park Jongseong. Jay himself.

The actor. That one memorable lead from 'Television Chronicles', and the new drama 'The Legacy' already has half the country obsessed even before it comes out. The one whose face was plastered on billboards and magazine covers all over town right now.

And he was here.

In your tiny café.

Talking to you.

You nearly dropped the cup.

Somehow, you managed to finish his order without setting anything on fire, arranging the pastry carefully on a plate with a dusting of powdered sugar. When you slid it toward him, his eyes lit up.

"Wow." He picked up his phone, snapping a quick photo. "This looks amazing."

Your face burned. "It’s—uh—just a regular blueberry croissant."

"It’s art," he corrected, tilting the screen toward you. "Look at the presentation. You’ve got an eye for this."

You barely registered his words, too distracted by the way the sunlight caught his features—the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the faint dimple when he smiled.

He was even more breathtaking in person.

Jay tapped at his phone again. "Mind if I tag you? This deserves credit."

Your heart lurched. "No!"

The word came out too loud, too sharp.

Jay blinked, startled.

Before you could do anything, your hand had already shot out, fingers brushing his wrist.

Time froze.

His skin was warm under your touch, his pulse steady against your fingertips. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The air between you crackled with something electric, something alive.

Then reality crashed back in.

You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned. "S-sorry. I just—I don’t… do social media."

Jay studied you for a long second, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into that same devastating smile.

"Alright. No tag." He pocketed his phone, picking up his drink. "Guess I’ll just have to come back from time to time to enjoy just how good your stuff is right here, hmm?"

Your breath caught.

He winked—winked—before turning and walking away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

The rest of your shift passed in a blur. Jake and Sunghoon really had something important to do that they never even bothered to show up in person even in your own group chat. Every time the door chimed, your head snapped up, half-expecting—half-hoping—to see him again.

But he didn’t return.

It wasn’t until you were locking up that you noticed it—an almost neatly sneaked receipt still on the counter's edges, bearing a familiar name scribbled in neat handwriting at the bottom.

And a phone number, plus a single word beneath it:

"Call me."

Your knees nearly gave out.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — HOW ARE WE DOING GANGGGG hopefully this suffices my almost month of being dumped and stuck in uni workkkkk!! happy to just give you guys a story so let me know if you're excited for the next drop!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — @kaiyunsim @parkalex21 @nootnootpinguuu @gnusihcom @acidangel-fromasia

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the taglist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ got me shakin' : the full masterlist

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

AFJWFHAJKFHSJFHAJCWAK!?!?!?!

Jay ‘A Tale of Together’ for Pomellato

he looks so good being SO good wtf i love him... 😭💘

⋆｡°✩ celebrating valentine's day

title:pending | nishimura riki x male!reader + sim jaehyun x male!reader + park jongseong x male!reader

pairings: niki x male!reader | jake x male!reader | jay x male!reader

genre: fluff (something suggestive but its just ... a suggestion)

words: 3.6k

notes: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO EVERYONE!! i wrote some feel good stories for my three boyos right here, and hopefully they can fill your heart this lovely dayyy~

As you leaned back in your chair, you wondered how much longer this work could drag on. One hour? Two? Four? The thought alone made you feel drained.

Things like this wear you out the most. Having an online meeting is one thing, but dealing with foreign guests and board members—on top of a hectic schedule and the constant pressure—was something else entirely.

Suddenly, you felt a blistering, frozen kiss against your cheek.

"Ah!" You jolted, turning slowly to see your handsome lover holding out a drink for you. You wiped the sweat from your forehead as he brought the cup close.

"Bored?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

"You know it," you replied, rolling your eyes.

Ni-ki walked closer and set a drink down on your desk, landing it safely atop a small wooden coaster.

"Ohh! Matcha!" you cheered, spotting the familiar green hue. Of course, he ordered your favorite.

Ni-ki smiled at you, then playfully pinched your cheek. "Don’t get sleepy. It’s important, right?" he teased. And it WAS important.

"Ugh... they’re just talking." You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again.

"And?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, noticing how deflated you looked in your chair. "You gotta work. Unless you want me to drink that milk tea of yours?"

"Waa, no!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide.

Ni-ki laughed, doubling over as soft cackles escaped him.

"Leave it!" you pleaded.

"Alright, alright, I’ll let it be." Ni-ki turned to head back to the living room. "I’ll just be here."

"No work?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No work," Ni-ki replied casually, strolling out. "So you’ve got me for the day."

You barely noticed his last words as the volume of your meeting suddenly surged in your ear.

"Thank you for the drink, hon!" you called out, trying to shout over the noise.

Ni-ki smiled as he settled onto the couch, making himself comfortable while he waited for you to finish.

Sure, it was Valentine’s Day, but neither you nor Ni-ki needed a special occasion to express your love. Through ups and downs, you always found ways to mend mistakes and be there for each other. Ni-ki cherished your resilience and determination as you pursued your dreams while building a life together. He felt a sense of fulfillment, knowing he had a meaningful purpose beyond just being someone’s idol.

He was yours. And you were his. He was fulfilled.

"Oh lordie," you muttered under your breath, stifling a yawn. You slowly swiveled your chair and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Oh my god!" you gasped. "I’ve been here for that long?!"

Rushing to get out of your office, you quickly slipped on your inside slippers and sprinted to the door.

As you opened it, a gentle breeze greeted you, and you saw the television screen playing what seemed to be a Nat Geo documentary.

"Pfft…" you snickered. "Of course he’s watching ducks."

You walked slowly into the living room, taking in the comfortable couch and the equally comfortable man sprawled out on his side.

"Why is he hugging the couch again?" you mumbled, remembering how chaotic Ni-ki could be when he slept.

As you approached, you gently lifted one of his hanging legs to place it down on the couch again.

He let out a deep groan and turned onto his back, still lost in slumber.

You couldn’t help but admire his features; his lips looked irresistibly seductive at that moment.

With three cautious steps, you knelt beside him and laid your legs on the floor, inching closer to his face. Your fingers brushed against his soft cheeks.

"And you say you’re not cute anymore," you grinned, swiping a bit of hair from his beautiful face.

"Aren’t you something..." you pondered aloud.

"I want something," Ni-ki mumbled, eyes still shut, startling you for a moment.

"Goodn—What do you want?" you teased, holding his sleepy hand in yours.

"Isn’t it obvious?" he pouted, his lips teasingly close to a smile. With his eyes closed, it seemed he was pretending to be asleep, maybe just waiting for a kiss.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down, you loved this playful side of him.

Then, you leaned in and placed a perfect kiss on his lips, the warmth so fine and sprinkled with just the right amount of love. The moment felt surreal; who in their right mind would waste such a beautiful experience?

None. No one at all. Certainly not you.

"Mmh," Ni-ki hummed, "you taste so good."

You laughed, resting your hand against his chest as you felt yourself getting lost in the moment.

"You!" you sniffed playfully, inhaling a fresh breath of air. "You’re so annoying!"

Ni-ki smiled at you, his eyes slowly opening.

"I know," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And I know you can’t say anything else that works as well as that."

He cupped your face gently. "Thank you, hon."

"Mhm."

"For being here with me. Every day. Every second. Every passing moment."

You smiled back. "Heh… that’s so not like you to talk like that."

"So just listen to me," Ni-ki said softly. You nodded, unable to resist his earnest gaze.

"I will forever thank you," he continued, his heart full of gratitude. "Even if it’s Valentine’s Day or not."

You shot him a surprised look. "It was?!"

"Pff," Ni-ki snickered.

"Hey! Hon!"

"It was," he confirmed. "But it doesn’t matter; I had a good rest."

"But—" you gasped, realizing a thought. "Did you take the day off for us to go out?!"

Ni-ki burst into laughter, propping himself up from where he was lying. "I knew you’d say that! C'mon, hon!"

You looked at him with tears of joy in your eyes. "But!"

"There’s always tomorrow, and the day after that, and every hour we have together in this life," Ni-ki assured you, his hand gently cupping your chin.

"We’re always going to celebrate our love, one way or another."

"Hehehe..." You giggled as the wind blew, sending a shiver under your skin.

It was only natural; you weren’t used to this much cold, but it was okay. You were used to something else.

Someone else.

"Baby!" Jake called out, walking a few paces ahead as he tried to find something on his map. "Taking your time?"

"Yup!" you replied, diligently following the trail while rubbing your hands together. It was February, but the wind still felt frigid. You had packed the warmest coat you could find, yet it seemed you were still unprepared.

What you didn’t notice was Jake, glancing back at you with a long, hopeful look. He was concerned you weren’t tired, bored, or anything else negative about this trip. After all, it was his idea to push through. He felt guilty, knowing you still weren’t quite used to such weather.

"Aish!" Jake exclaimed, hurriedly tucking his phone away in his pocket.

Suddenly, your lover knelt in front of you—but not directly in front, rather with his back facing you.

"What are you—"

"I told you, use my back!" Jake insisted, offering his back for you to ride on. It sounded slightly dirty, but you got the point.

"Ugh, no way." You declined, playfully pinching his ear to tip him off balance.

"Hey!" Jake flinched, then chased after you.

After what felt like your two-hundredth step, a tight warmth enveloped you. It felt good, but not because it was necessarily warm. It was Jake.

"Baby..." he cooed, sounding a little dejected.

"I told you..."

"And I told you back!" He pouted. "Use my back!"

You sighed, a puff of steam escaping your lips. Jake walked to your side and held your hand.

"I didn’t work so hard to get rejected after proving my strength, baby." He looked at you, confidence radiating from him. You couldn’t help but laugh.

"Ugh, is this the part where you let me touch your muscles or something to prove you’re 'built right'?"

"I would!" Jake raised his hands dramatically. "But it’s freezing… we can skip that part. What’s important is that you get on my back."

Jake insisted, turning around again to offer his back.

"You’re hopeless." You sighed with a cheerful laugh.

"I am!" Jake replied, grinning. "In love with you~"

You playfully swatted his neck as he carefully hoisted you onto his back for a piggyback ride. With every step toward the top, Jake took his time to keep you safe.

"Why is it called a piggyback?" he suddenly asked.

"You're asking me that question?" you shot back.

"What? I’m curious!" he said, genuinely invested.

"Uhh..." you stalled, trying to think.

"Come on!" Jake continued walking, keeping the conversation going. "Between us, there are at least two brain cells. And they all belong to you."

You laughed. "Jake, if humans only had that much, I don’t think they’d be alive."

Jake gasped in mock horror. "Just answer me, babe! Why is it called piggyback?"

You sighed, burying your face in his nape.

"Etymology says that the word may have been corrupted or altered through time… they say the original word must’ve been 'pickaback,' then before that 'pickapack,' then 'pickpack.'" You groaned, regretting how useless that knowledge felt.

"See?" Jake cheered. "You’re the smartest, most handsome, and most adorable boyfriend one could love. I’m just so proud."

It always warmed your heart when Jake spoke like that. He was genuine, and you knew he meant every word.

"Were you thinking it was some kind of person carrying a pig?" you asked, holding onto his shoulder tightly.

"N-no...?" Jake glanced away, clearly having thought that.

You sighed. "No, Jake, you can’t tame a pig with carrots. And you can’t bait them with a carrot on a stick either."

"C’mon, that’s childish!" Jake defended himself. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Yet you still think Minecraft's based on real life," you snickered. "Fine, fine."

Jake laughed, knowing he might have looked a tad silly. But real or not, he knew his feelings for you were genuine.

You were real, and so was he. This relationship? It was real. This love? It was real.

"Hah!" Jake paused in his tracks after a few more steps, seemingly out of breath.

Once you both checked around to see if you were at the right spot, you quickly jumped off his back.

"You’re not bad," you jested, causing Jake to give you an incredulous look.

"Not bad?" he feigned offense, raising his voice playfully.

"Fineeee." You walked toward him and gave him a sweet kiss. "Five stars. Would ride again."

Jake blushed, pouting his bottom lip out with raised eyebrows.

"Oh come on!" You swatted his side as he reacted dramatically—predictably, yet still endearingly.

As you continued walking to where Jake had led you, he suddenly pointed excitedly.

"Baby, look!" Jake exclaimed, gesturing toward a field. "Here!"

Curious, you followed his finger and soon saw what he was excited about.

"AAAAAAAA!!" You swore you could’ve pushed Jake over the fence as you screamed in delight.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Jake cheered, obviously thrilled to see you so happy.

"LLAMAS!!" you shouted confidently, pointing toward the large herd gathering nearby.

"Close enough!" Jake chuckled, planting a kiss on your head. It was actually a herd of alpacas.

Walking slowly and finding your place in line, you couldn’t help but gaze at the adorable herd. And Jake? Well, he couldn’t help but gaze at you. You and only you.

"Happy Valentine’s," he whispered softly by your ear.

You rested your head against his padded chest, sneaking your hands inside his coat to feel that authentic Jake warmth.

"Thank you, my Valentine," you replied, your tone making Jake’s heart swell.

"Mhm…" he hummed back, caressing your side and hugging you like a koala. "Gonna hug you like this forever. Deal?"

"Never let go then." You looked up at him with a smile that could melt the thickest layers of ice.

Jake nodded. There were no other words but "Never." Or four. "Letting," "You," and "Go."

Or five. "Ever."

He showered you with kisses right then and there, each one tickling your cold skin. You flinched and cackled like a wacky, flailing inflatable tube man out of air. Hopefully, no one batted an eye at how loud you two were.

"Isn't this the set I gave you for your birthday?" Jay asked as he stumbled through your shared kitchen cabinets, clearly searching for something—a pot or two.

"Oh my god, yeah!" You shot a quick glance in his direction, setting down the groceries you had just brought from your car.

It had been a wild day, but maybe not that wild. You' and Jay had only gone to the grocery store for several essentials and missing ingredients, but there were huge lines everywhere. You could only guess everyone had the same idea as you and Jay 0 a nice Valentine's dinner at home.

"Oh!" Jay moved to the side as you quickly darted past him to grab the pots yourself. "What's the rush?"

"Ugh..." You sighed, taking a moment to catch your breath. "I just feel... awful."

"Huh?" Jay drew closer to you.

"I mean," you looked away, wiping the sweat from your brow, "you gave me this special set, and I STILL haven't used it..."

Jay looked at you, his expression softening as he understood.

"Jagi."

"Hmm?"

"Are you embarrassed because I brought you something like this?"

"I— No!" You looked away, flustered. "Listen, it's a good set! I'm just—"

Jay placed both his hands on your shoulders, reassuring you with a warm smile. "Jagi, don't feel bad." He moved a bit closer. "You must be keeping them for a reason, right?"

"Yeah." You looked away, fidgeting with your fingers. "I didn't want to touch them because they're a gift from you... you know me..."

Jay laughed lightly, looking at you once more. "Don't worry. We can have all the pots and pans in the world. If you treasure these pieces that much, we can—"

"We can!" You spoke loudly, catching your lover off guard.

"I—I mean... we can use it!" You smiled back at him. "It's time."

Jay couldn't help but beam with joy, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead as a 'thank you' before grabbing the pots himself.

"H-hey!" You tried to stand up as you took in that gentle moment for a bit. "I told you, jagi. I'm helping!"

He nodded as he prepared the pots and pans, wiping them down with a kitchen towel nearby. "Mhm."

"Mhm? I can?"

"You can." He pointed at the grocery bags behind him. "Have a start by taking out and preparing the ingredients."

Snapping back to reality, you immediately got to work. You knew how much Jay loved cooking, so you had to do your best, too.

In Jay's eyes, you seemed excited and engaged. It had been a while since you two had done a homemade dinner date. Usually, it was a quick pot of ramyeon or takeout from various restaurants.

But today was special—he was cooking with you.

Jay smiled wide as he watched you passionately prepare the food you brought home.

He took a moment to walk over to you, admiring how your hands expertly grazed the vegetables and meat with a sharp knife and precision.

"You do that so well," Jay said softly near your ear, making a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"Uh... I try..." You stammered, feeling shy under his gaze.

"You're an expert," he assured you, holding your hands together and guiding you as you cut the leeks. "But you always seem to be distracted every once in a while."

You knew what he was doing at that moment. All it took was Jay's fatal lower register and his breath close to you, his signature smirk playing on his lips.

"You're despicable..." You muttered, unable to hide your smile.

"Sure." Jay continued to gaze at you, admiring how your handsome face contrasted with his own. "And you're so undeniably delectable in every angle I see you." He traced your jaw with his own finger, slowly coming down towards your chest.

Without thinking, you turned around and kissed him right there. You set the knife aside, and Jay's fingers slipped inside your sleeves, pulling you closer.

With a gentle lift, you continued to kiss him, your back pressed against the kitchen column as all of his weight fall upon you. Jay's sorted collection of fine liquor on the column shook slightly with the movement.

"Be careful..." Jay whispered, but you couldn’t help yourself, kissing him again, indulging in the sweetness of his lips and letting yourself melt onto him.

In that moment, Jay could only confirm one thing: he couldn't control himself with you right beside him. And neither can you.

And that he loves you. He really loves you. So much. Okay, maybe that’s two things.

"This is so good!" you exclaimed, savoring the dish Jay had made, relishing the flavors that danced on your tongue.

Jay chuckled lightly, sipping a full glass of cabernet sauvignon. He loved having you as his drinking buddy; it made enjoying his wine so much more worthwhile. And the aftermath of the evening? That was definitely his favorite part.

You noticed Jay’s dazed look, almost seductive yet still curious.

"We just made out for 30 minutes," you said as you took a bite of the juicy sirloin steak on your other plate, not letting the moment go to waste. Jay did pay a hefty sum for it, no matter how much you insisted against it.

"Oh?" Jay replied, his tone inquisitive. "Pray tell, why are you aware of the time we spent doing so?"

You sighed in bashful embarrassment. "You and your urges..."

"Hmm?" Jay leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You don’t like it when I’m like this?"

"I don’t... know," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "It's so unfamiliar to me that I feel like I'm cheating... o-on you... with you..." You buried your face in your hands, while your lover laughed at your 'misery.'

"Hehe." You sighed again, hearing him laugh it off.

"What?"

"You're adorable, jagi," Jay smiled earnestly. "I just wanted to be something different for Valentine's."

"I roll my eyes as my ridiculous boyfriend tries to seduce me," you muttered under your breath. "It's just—"

"I love you." Jay's hand inched towards yours, his eyes sincere.

You locked eyes with him, seeing the genuine affection and care reflected there. That was Jay.

"I love you," you replied. "But don’t be too forward again! Or atleast warn me? My heart can’t take it."

Jay burst into laughter, almost throwing his glass aside.

"Don’t laugh!"

"What?" Jay asked, adjusting his chair. "I always want you. I just seem so nonchalant about it, but today, I've crossed my own line, and I gotta admit... that was fun."

You sighed one last time. "Is this your Valentine's Day gift?"

You caught Jay off-guard yet again, who could only lay back in his chair and surrender. "You got me."

"Pfft." You laughed, clearly amused. "Thank you."

After dinner, Jay’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "How about we make dessert together? I was thinking leche flan."

You grinned, remembering how your family made it during special occasions. "That sounds perfect! I haven't made it in ages."

As you gathered the ingredients insise your drawers and so, you felt a rush of nostalgia. You come from a family that had always been so loving and family-oriented, and making leche flan was a tradition that brought everyone together. You shared stories with Jay about your parents and how they had taught you the significance growing, staying, living, and being in-love together.

"I've always admired your bond with your family..." Jay said, breaking your reverie. "It makes me cherish our time together even more."

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through your heart. "They taught me all about what they knew about love. It's not just about how one person seems attractive, or impressive ... it’s about nurturing those bonds. I have that with you."

Jay nodded, his eyes sparkling. "I feel the same way. It’s like every moment we share is part of a bigger picture."

As you began preparing the leche flan, you took turns mixing the ingredients, laughing at the splashes of sweetened condensed milk that ended up on Jay’s cheek. "Look at you! You look like a mess," you teased.

He grinned, playfully wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "Well, I think it adds character." You then kissed the splash just right off his cheek and you swore he got beet red for a while.

You both poured the mixture into a mold, Jay holding it steady while you carefully added the caramelized sugar. "See how it blends? Gosh I'm pumped!" you exclaimed, picturing how it would taste once it was chilled.

"I can already sense this flan is going to be a masterpiece," Jay said, leaning in with a playful glint in his eyes. "Just like us—full of flavor, a bit unpredictable, but ultimately beautiful."

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, feeling the warmth radiate between you. "Mmh... just like the flan, every moment we share makes it all worthwhile."

Once the flan was safely nestled in the fridge to chill, you turned to Jay and wrapped your arms around him, feeling the comfort of his presence. "Thank you for ... loving me."

He pulled you closer. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be." He then pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Loving you, that is."

You chuckled, lightly tapping him. "We're so sappy..."

"Is that SAP-possed to be funny?" Jay shot a joke at you. All you can do is burst into tears. lounging on the floor like a loon.

You we're definitely his best audience for his stand-up comedy.

Happy Valentine's to everyone who celebrates it! If you're feeling lonely, your heart will mend in due time. Just believe and you'll see it through! ALSO might start making these unspecified series drabbles once in a while~

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

i gasped 😀☝️

250222

⋆｡°✩ [ch.2] for when you see me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

The whiskey still burned in your chest when you woke up. You hated the feeling of alcohol within your system, but god does it soothe your tangled mess of a head.

Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, unforgiving. You groaned, rolling onto your side, half-expecting the bed to dip under someone else’s weight. But the sheets were cold. Empty.

Just like always.

The CD player had long since shut off, but the song still looped in your skull.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes until colors burst behind your lids.

Pathetic.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Leah’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a string of texts:

Leah: u alive?

Leah: also sarah says sorry abt last night. she didn’t know it was ‘that song’

Leah: …u gonna answer or am i sending mira over?

You typed back with one thumb.

You: i’m fine. don’t worry.

A lie. But what else was new?

The boxes in the corner taunted you. You’d only opened one last night, and already it felt like picking at a scab. The rest were a minefield of old playlists, ticket stubs, and the kind of photos that made your ribs ache.

You kicked the nearest one under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

The day was bright and bold. You set yourself up on your feet and got ready. Today is work day.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

“Going to Floor 26.” The pristine elevator voice echoed around you as you got in it.

The studio was your sanctuary. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Atlas Records had given you the space after your first album surprisingly went platinum immediately after it was released (only days before it went double.) It was a token, a ‘reward,’ they’d called it. As if the pristine soundboards, the premium tech setup and gears, and some Grade-A acoustic paneling could make up for the fact that they owned you.

You slumped into the chair, scrolling through the latest track list your producer had shoved at you: that and a mere bunch of memos from the people upstairs.

Upbeat. Radio-friendly. More of what’s working, just like last cycle.

You crumpled the stupid paper into a ball and threw it straight into the can.

"Rough night?" You almost flinched as you heard a booming voice behind you.

Mira, your manager, leaned against the doorframe, sipping a matcha latte with extra foam. Walking just enough meters beside you, she offered another cup with the same taste — your favorite.

"Something like that," you muttered, taking the cup and popping the lid off instantly. You smelled the fresh aroma, before sipping soundly.

She arched a brow. "Leah’s wedding, right? Tell me about it."

You strummed a dissonant chord on the nearby guitar. "Played ‘Wonderwall.’ The crowd loved it."

Mira didn’t laugh, sitting with her back against one of your designer chairs. "Liar liar, pants on fire."

You shrugged. "It’s in my contract. Must lie convincingly to press."

“Press!? We lived in the same roof for a year and that’s all I am to you?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m famous.”

She groaned, taking it lightly. But then her eyes flicked to your hands—the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly against the strings.

"Who was it?" she asked, softer.

You didn’t answer. You could feel her eyes burning through your thick skull as if almost reading the contents of your brain.

She exhaled. "Take the day, hmm? Sleep it off. We can push the schedule to—"

"I’m fine." You grabbed the nearest lyric sheet, jaw tight. You sat across her in your leather chair, focusing on sorting out the busy contents of your workspace before speaking yet again. "Let’s just work. We’ve got three hours before we go, yeah?"

Mira studied you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah.”

After taking a long winding breath, she slowly went to the door to take her leave.

“If you start crying into the microphone later, I’m charging you for ruined equipment." She retorted one last second.

“Blah blah, go do your manager things!” You smiled as you tried to throw a crumpled sheet to her.

“Alright, alright!” She shut the door gently, leaving you alone on your vices.

Right ... you were going to sing today. A lot.

When you least expected it, the skill you had fun as a hobby had already become a chore.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

The neon sign outside flickered—YE OLD TAVERN—in all its peeling, ironic glory.

You hadn't set foot in this place since your university years. Back when sticky tables and cheap beer felt like an adventure, not exhaustion. Back when he was still beside you, laughing into his drink as you butchered a karaoke song.

Now, the bar was packed—word had spread about the "intimate, unplugged" tour Atlas had forced you into. Authenticity sells, they'd said. Fans eat this shit up.

You just wanted nothing but sleep.

"Five minutes," Mira muttered, nudging you toward the old stage—a vintage relic of this bar’s storied past, all with a single mic stand waiting.

The crowd was a blur of your fans; young adults like you, some adults that you remind of their youth, and a lot of younger people that definitely fit the criteria of modern fans, holding up LED signs and phone screens. You adjusted the guitar strap digging into your shoulder and forced a smile.

Your signature voice flowed through the space like a gentle autumn breeze, carrying warmth and nostalgia with every note. The raw emotion in your delivery resonated deeply with your supporters, who hung on every word and inflection.

You can definitely see it in their eyes. They were enamored by you.

Your voice filled the room with a simple kind of magic. The crowd melted into the music as you sang, each word honest and raw. This wasn't just another show - it was real, and everyone could feel it.

Then you saw him.

Blond hair, roughly swept back to the side like he'd run a hand through it one too many times. Broad shoulders under a fitted black shirt. That face—sharp, unfairly handsome, watching you with an intensity that made your fingers twitch against the strings.

Jay.

Right there. On the side of the bar area, sat on a comfy wooden stool.

Your breath caught. And his too.

He hadn't meant to come.

But then he'd seen the posters outside the tavern—your name in bold letters—and suddenly he was nineteen again, sneaking in with his new ID just to see you play again and not miss his shot.

Now, he‘s frozen as he sees you perform so whole heartedly under the might of a single incandescent light.

You looked beautiful. Real.

Not the polished version from magazines or Leah's wedding—where you'd stiffened the second Sarah requested that song. Where your voice had cracked on the chorus, raw in a way no studio could autotune.

Where he’s just able to see you again.

And now here you were, strumming the opening chords of something new—voice low, rougher than he remembered. The crowd swayed, but Jay didn't move.

Couldn't.

Not when you glanced up mid-verse, gaze snagging on his like a caught breath.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

You finished the set in a daze.

No one noticed the way your hands shook. No one except him.

Backstage—if you could call a storage room with a large old leather loveseat a ‘backstage’—Mira shoved a bottle of branded distilled water into your hands. "Good crowd. Atlas'll be happy."

You didn't answer.

Mira sighed, looking at you with that same concern yet again. She knows your situation, and she feels bad being so helpless and useless to ease your pain the way you want.

She taps your shoulder and presents a light grin back at you. "Van’s out back. Avoid the fans, yeah?"

You nodded, seeing her leave the room shortly.

Until when can you stomach this feeling? This sensation? Being trapped in world you dreamed of was never in your plans, yet here you are, sitting inside your gilded cage.

As you took a deep breath, you fixed your hair and showered yourself in your favorite perfume yet again. You took a faithful step and approached the exit.

When your senses met the stench of New York’s streets opposite the alley door, Jay was already there. Leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, like he'd been waiting for years.

"Hey," he said.

The streetlight caught the gold in his hair. God, he looked good.

"Hi." Your voice came out hoarse. You walked slowly, approaching him with some needy caution. Just for yourself.

A beat of silence passed. Then Jay pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "You killed it in there."

You scoffed. "It was a dive bar, Jay."

"Yeah. Our dive bar."

The words hung between you. Quiet, and more of that still silence.

“The dim lights suit your features.”

You shot up a glance towards Jay, hearing him say such a ridiculous thing in the middle of your self-inflicted turmoil.

You could say the same for him.

Right then, you forced yourself to look away. "Shouldn't you be with … Naomi, right?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his hands flexing against his sharp jaw. "I … wanted to see you."

Why?

You didn't ask. Couldn't possibly.

Instead, you watched as he pulled something from his pocket—a crisp white card.

PARK JONGSEONG, with some unreadable fine print at the side you couldn’t see much under the street lights. His name is embossed in sleek black and accents of regal purple.

"If you ever want to grab matcha," he said, holding it out. "No pressure."

You stared at it. Four years ago, you'd have taken it without hesitation.

Now?

"Jay," you said softly, "what about … her?"

As he opened his mouth—

Ring.

His phone lit up. As your curious eyes darted over, the name span the screen. Naomi.

Jay cursed under his breath, still not answering as he held out for your advise.

"I should—"

"Yeah." You stepped back. "I don’t mind."

He hesitated, card still extended. "Just please... think about it."

Nervous as you can be, you took the card in hesitation.

“A card, huh?” You flipped the sheet of stiff paper on your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Jay perked up his one-sided smile, genuinely happy at the gesture. You couldn’t help but smile back — it was contagious when you see Jay act that way.

“Park Jongseong … got your whole government name here too, hehe.” Jay couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that comment, and neither could you.

Then he was gone—turning by the corner—swallowed by the city lights.

You stood there, fingers clenched around his card, until Mira honked the car horn.

“Drive or bust, superstar!”

Lost in thought, his voice played like a broken record in your head.

Think about it.

As if you could do anything else.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — HAHAHA THE GODS HAVE GIVEN ME THE SIGN SO ITS UPDATE TIME AND OH WE'RE IN CHAPTER 2!! what is all the juice abouttt, find out next chapter~ also excited for en-chella!! GO TEAM WOOOOOO

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — tagging @kaiyunsim @firstclassjaylee @ryes-brownies08

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

my masterlist! | don't forget to reblog! | made by writhyv 💘