Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, V? Jumin and I are going out for lunch later – we were wondering if you’d like to come?”

“Oh…” he pauses, traces of remorse detectable in his tone. “…I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I can’t. I have work to do – and I also made previous arrangements for today...”

You almost feel bad that you’ve asked so many times recently, but is it so bad for best friends to want to catch up every once in a while? It would be lucky if you managed to catch him for five minutes in passing – having him accept one of your invitations would be another story completely; almost something of a small miracle, at this point.

“You’ve been going out with us a lot less recently, V. Is something up?”

He goes silent for a moment or two – presumably as he thinks of what to say, what could possibly make you feel better. “No, there’s nothing. I’ve just been really busy recently. And what with the upcoming wedding, I’ve got even less time on my hands.”

“Ah, you’re right. I should get going now, then – I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your precious time!” You smile, your tone light to assure him that you don’t mean it unkindly.  “Take care, okay? Hopefully we can see you soon.”

“Yes, I hope so too. Sorry, again.”

“It’s fine, V. Just… don’t forget about us, alright?”

He laughs, but the sound is tinged with sadness – his voice trembles slightly; you wonder why. “I could never forget about you.”

The words bring you a small sense of comfort, though it’s not enough to completely console you – it’s like using a candle to heat a room. “Thanks, V. I’ll hold you to that.” There's a brief pause, before you decide that you should probably bid him farewell right about now. “Alright, see you, then. Give my regards to Rika – it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, too.”

“Thank you, I will. Be safe, okay? Until the next time I see you, whenever that may be.”

“I’ll try my best,” you grin, despite your upset, before ending the call.

You drum your fingers against the arm of your apartment’s sofa as you sit there, deep in thought. You’d admit only to yourself that you were a degree suspicious of Rika – something about her felt off, somehow – something that the men were seemingly unable to detect.

It takes a woman to know a woman, you suppose.

However, you’re willing to put your personal reservations about her to one side – V deserves to be happy, and if he finds his happiness with her, then who are you to try to intervene? It was clear to see that he loved her deeply. And as much as it hurts (as cliché as it is, it hurts like hell to see him so content in the arms of a girl that isn’t you) – you kill all of your negative thoughts and try to focus on the positives (though admittedly, there weren’t many).

Beyond the bad vibes you get from her, Rika is beautiful – more so than you are, you admit – and has a kind heart – though you worry that a woman as seemingly perfect as her could be hiding something from you all.

No one's that perfect, after all.

A month passes.

The slight chill of the August air breezes in through the open windows of the coffee shop – though it isn’t cold indoors at all. In fact, the place is warm in many different senses – the red, brown and cream colours of the interior are warm and pleasant to the eyes, the background chatter of other customers provides a warm atmosphere, and the coffee mug you’re currently nursing is definitely warming your hands.

Beside you, Jumin checks his watch, before sipping at his own mug of strong, black coffee.

“How can you drink that stuff? It’s so bitter!” You try (and fail) not to cringe as you see him swallow the drink – before he leans back in his chair and turns to you. “It’s an acquired taste. You should try it again sometime. Besides, sugar does nothing for me.”

He slides the mug over to you, which you promptly reject with a grimace, pushing it right back to him. “No thanks, I’m afraid sugar is quite a necessary part of my diet.” The corner of Jumin’s mouth twitches, perhaps in disguised amusement, before he sighs and shakes his head.

“Ah, but you don’t really need sugar. You’re sweet enough already.”

A gentle, smooth voice from behind you causes both you and Jumin to suddenly sit up straight. It’d been such a long time since you’d last heard it in person, that you’d almost forgotten how nice it was to listen to. You can’t help but grin – it widens further when you register what he’s just said.

The both of you stand, greeting him in turn – Jumin first, then you.

“I haven't seen you for so long, I almost forgot what your face looked like!" You hug him gently, though loosen your arms from around him when you notice him tense beneath you, in what seems to be something like a flinch.

That’s strange. He never used to have an aversion to physical contact before, especially from you.

“I know, and I'm sorry. I really, honestly am." He pulls out a chair and sits opposite you, while you and Jumin return to your own seats.

From beside you, Jumin nods. "I know it can't be easy, having to balance your career and your love life - though it seems even I have more free time than you, nowadays. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it."

"Sorry, Jumin. I've neglected you both, I know, but..." he trails off, expression guarded. He seems more quiet than when you'd last seen him; definitely more apologetic, too. Just how much - and what - had happened since you had last seen each other?

As he lifts his cup – he must have bought his drink before coming to the table – the sleeves of his turtleneck ride up an inch or two, and you're sitting close enough that you can just about notice bruises - purplish-brown patches of various sizes, scattered over his forearms. There aren't many, but there are too many for it to have been just an 'accident'.

(He's a photographer. He shouldn't have so many bruises on his arms - his profession is hardly the kind that could result in such frequent injury.)

...Whose doing was it, then?

The thought nauseates you - thus you push it far, far back, deep into the recesses of your mind, as you hope upon hope that they were, indeed, somehow the result of no more than a strange mishap... Or six.

"Well, we have a lot to catch up on, don't we?" you smile; it's forced, distracted. (Both men can tell, neither can understand why.)

Or so you think, until you see V follow your line of sight, before visibly swallowing and tugging his sleeves back down.

(You're also sure you see almost imperceptible marks imprinted around his throat; evenly-spaced claret ovals pressed into the delicate, pale skin of his neck - that is, before he quickly adjusts the neck of his top, pulling it up with fingers you're almost sure are trembling.)

Chapter Text

"Rika... You can't save everyone." The sentiment is spoken weakly, and yet with conviction, from a man who’s been reduced to no more than a hunched-over form on the floor of their shared apartment. The tiles are cool, at least – some form of soothing for his aching muscles.

"Don't say that!" The woman in question throws a glass across the room at V, who uses what little strength he has left to move to avoid the majority of the blow. The object just nicks his shoulder, before it continues past him and shatters upon contact with the wall. “What do you know, huh? I can save this rotten world from corruption. I can save them all.” Her voice is a hysterical crescendo – all fury and spite. (Gone is the Rika he once knew, the Rika who didn’t have it in her to hurt a fly.)

He can’t help but feel that it’s all his fault. He can’t save her.

He’s… pathetic.

"How can you save others...” he pulls himself up onto his knees with a groan, “if you cannot save yourself?"

"Shut up! God, just shut up!" She grabs fistfuls of soft turquoise hair and pulls. She pulls and pulls, until he feels lightheaded. She scratches with blunt nails (small mercies, he supposes) at his face, his neck, his eyes.

"You deserve this. You, who do not support happiness, will never be happy. You don't deserve to be happy." Her voice is a sneer, dripping with venom.

"Rika, please understand. This isn't you. Please, Rika."

He cries out, voice hoarse, before deciding it better to remain silent (his pleas fall on deaf ears, after all), while she continues to hit and cry and claw.

"You don't know me! You never knew me!"

The last thing he registers is that it's getting increasingly

hard

to

s e e.

 Jumin never calls.

He texts, yes. Sometimes e-mails.

But he hardly ever calls, unless the matter is of urgent importance.

That's why, when he does call you - and at a time you know full well he should be working at - you immediately know something is desperately, terribly wrong.

You fumble with your phone with clammy palms, heat prickling over your forehead in a cold sweat, before speaking immediately and without hesitation.

"Jumin? What's wrong?"

"It's V." You feel bile rising in your throat - you suddenly dread what his next words will be. (You knew you should've mentioned the wounds to him before – and yet you doubt he'd have revealed anything about them. The way he'd adjusted his shirt, and the look on his face as he did - you knew it was something he didn't want to concern you with; he’d only have fabricated some half-hearted lie to try to get you off his case. You’d valued his comfort over concerns of his safety - your friendship over your involvement.

And what would the consequences of that decision be, now?)

"Oh God, what’s happened?"

"Rika, she..." He groans, and you can hear the frustration in his tone, in the way he speaks through gritted teeth. "He's in intensive care, at the local hospital. Come quickly… please. I've sent a driver for you - he should be there soon." His voice is businesslike as always, yet with a touch of panicked urgency you've hardly ever heard from Jumin.

Given the situation, you can't find yourself to be even the least bit surprised.

"Jumin," you feel tears welling to your eyes (you had always been the more emotional of the three of you, ever since you were young). "How bad is it?"

"He's... alive. Stable. That's the only comfort I can offer to you at the moment. As for his condition... she really hurt him. I can't believe I - can't believe we all - let this happen." He growls, then, momentarily letting the cool, calm and collected businessman façade slip to reveal the hints of a much more emotional man beneath. "I'm angry at myself. And... I can't believe she would do such a thing. Never could I have imagined that someone like her..." There's a pause, where he sighs and coughs, presumably in an attempt to regain some of his lost composure. "I suppose what they say is true - there are often more to people than meets the eye."

"Don't blame yourself, Jumin. You couldn't have known - none of us could."

"But I'm his closest friend!"

"Yes, and so am I - and if neither of us predicted this would happen, then who would be able to?"

He sighs again, his voice having returned to it's normal, relatively monotonous tone. "Hmm, I suppose you have a point. Anyway, I'll explain further once you get in the car. Call me back when the driver arrives, okay?"

"Okay. Tell Jihyun that... I'll be right there." You hear a muffled exchange of words in the background - presumably Jumin doing as you'd asked. "Thanks, Jumin. I'll talk to you again in a few minutes."

You cut off the call, slumping onto the sofa with your head buried into your hands, and start to cry - tears of sadness, annoyance, rage. Sadness that someone could do this to him - least of all his fiancée. Annoyance at how this could have been prevented if you'd all just been honest with each other from the start. And rage. At yourself for your failure to prioritise, at V for his failure to tell you anything sooner, at Rika for her failure to treat him right.

You cry, and cry, and cry - until your voice is hoarse, your vision blurry through red-rimmed eyes. You almost have no energy left by the time the doorbell rings - you’ve run out of tears, you're drained and dehydrated, though you hastily wipe your eyes and pull on some shoes, trying not to cry again.

(You hope you'll wake up to find this is all nothing but a horrible dream, but the pain in your head and your heart serves as a cruel reminder that no, it's all very real.)

You arrive to find a horribly weak-looking V in a hospital gown, an IV drip attached to his hand and a bandage wound tightly around his head, covering his eyes.

Though Jumin had explained all he knew of the incident whilst you were driving to the hospital, including the numerous injuries that the photographer had sustained, the sight still didn't fail to shock you - it was one thing hearing about your best friend being hospitalised due to their fiancée's abuse, but it was another thing entirely actually seeing the damage in front of you.

You’d always known there was something off about that woman – and yet the confirmation that you were right doesn’t console you. You realise, then, that as much as you may have disliked her, you’d always hoped that she would be the one for him – that your reasons for suspicion were just baseless figments of your imagination, born out of your subconscious jealousy.

Chance would be a fine thing, you think bitterly as you eye the bandages. The extent of the damage would have to be assessed after the wounds had healed – in the meantime, you can only hope he hasn’t been completely blinded.

The room is well-lit and bright – perhaps too bright, you muse, as the light burns itself onto the backs of your sensitive eyes. It’s sparsely decorated – there’s a single bed, a blue curtain beside it to the left, and a round bedside table to the right. Upon the table is a vase with a single sunflower inside – you wonder whether it was the hospital staff or Jumin himself who’d put it there.

Speaking of Jumin, he’s currently slumped down in a chair beside the room’s window, head in his hands - though he looks up at you as you enter, before speaking in a voice that lacks even a hint of the commanding presence that it usually does when he talks.

"You're here." He turns to look at the clock on the wall, one of his brows arching slightly. "Quite fast, actually."

"Your driver's to thank for that - he drove as quickly as he could."

Try as you might, you can't help the choked sob that escapes your throat then, prompting a small noise of discontent from the injured man. You perch yourself upon the side of the bed, one hand wiping your tears, the other taking his own hand and holding it as if you'll never let go again.

"Oh, don't cry. I'm not worth your tears." V squeezes your hand before smiling self-deprecatingly, and it only makes you sadder.

Your voice is no more than a whisper, thick with emotion, when you speak next. "Why, Jihyun? Why didn't you tell us? We- we could have helped you."

"No, this was my battle to fight. I couldn't involve you. It wouldn't... be right of me." His shoulders shake almost imperceptibly – with sadness, maybe, or perhaps suppressed frustration.

"Jihyun!" The cry, though weak, rings out, echoing around the room and stunning both men into a tense, shocked silence. (It was silent before, and yet it feels quieter now, somehow - as if you've quieted even the minds of both of your best friends, so that the only thoughts they can hear are yours.) V’s shoulders stop trembling.

"Who cares what's 'right'? You're my best friend - you have been since we were kids - my main concern is that you're safe and have the happiness you deserve. Keeping something like this from us… it’s not fair. On anyone – not just me and Jumin, but you too."

"I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve your concern, either - that goes for the both of you. Rika... She gave me what I deserved."

Jumin grunts, his jaw clenching. He looks as if he’s about to say something – his brows are furrowed, his expression contorted in anger; though he ultimately decides against it, accepting that perhaps his argument could wait until V had recovered enough to be able to understand and accept it.

"What, pain? Suffering? A probably permanent injury just because you told her the truth that she was too ignorant to listen to, too much of a coward to confront?"

"I couldn't save her. I'm a failure. I deserve it all. Everything she gave to me." His voice is thick, choked-up. It hurts – hurts to see your best friend, the voice of reason and support within the group, reduced to this pitiful state. You feel a sickening hatred, bubbling deep within your gut, for the woman that made him this way (the woman that you once (almost) trusted, saw as a friend).

"You deserved none of it! Dragging you along with her sick and twisted ideals, beating you because you confronted her with rationality - that's not love!"

"And how would you know what love is?" He smiles gently as he says it - it's not a malicious comment, just one intended to lighten the strained atmosphere. He knows, after all, that your romantic encounters have been few and far between, especially recently.

You take a shaky breath in, biting your lip to stifle the fresh wave of tears that threaten to spill over.

"Because I love you."

Chapter Text

He's living with you for a while as he recovers, upon your own insistence.

He'd declined your offer repeatedly, out of politeness and 'not wanting to be more of a bother than he already was' - but you were having none of it. There was no way you were letting him live alone during the recovery process, especially after all that had happened. He wasn't fragile, per se - and neither did he absolutely need another person to depend on - you just didn't trust what he'd try to do if left alone with no company but his own thoughts.

It’s been two weeks since the incident, and he seems to be getting a little more comfortable with his temporary living arrangements. He’s still a little timid, though you pin that down to the fact that he’s still getting over everything – well, that, and how he still feels as if he’s invading your personal space.

Despite everything, it’s nice to just spend time together with him again. You’d missed it, really missed it, and you hadn’t realised just how much until now. You smile thoughtfully, before you suddenly hear footsteps coming from the entrance to the kitchen.

He looks much better than he had when you’d first seen him lying in the hospital bed. His hair’s neatly brushed, and he looks comfortably casual in jeans and a grey-blue t-shirt. Come to think of it, he looks a little sleepy – but that likely owes to the fact that it’s beginning to get late. You glance outside, the orange-gold sunset casting a warm glow over the nearby buildings, wispy clouds streaked across the vast evening sky.

"Hey. How's your sight?"

"I can see a bit with my left eye."

"Well, I guess that's something, at least. Cold comfort." He smiles at you, his countenance expressive of a resigned sadness, before turning to the cupboards above your head. He appears to be looking for something, feeling around the handles before he reaches the one he's looking for. You reckon he can find whatever he's looking for without much difficulty, and you don't want to treat him as if he's unable to complete simple tasks, so you return to what you were previously doing – washing fruit.

"Are those strawberries?"

You pause, turning the tap off and drying your hands, before looking up. He withdraws a glass from the cupboard before closing it again – as he does, you catch sight of the healing bruises and marks on his arms and smile to yourself at the progress.

Then you remember that he's asked you a question, and hurry to respond before he enquires about your sudden silence.

"Yeah. Want one?"

"Okay, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't - they were for you, anyway."

"Oh, thank you." He looks down at you, expression softening.

"Open your mouth," your lips curl into a mischievous smirk as you pick up a strawberry.

He pauses for a moment, one brow arched as he contemplates what you're planning – but still does as asked, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape.

You promptly place half of the fruit between his lips, laughing as his cheeks pinken slightly. He takes hold of the end of the fruit before biting down on it, pink tongue darting out to lick the juice off his lips. You avert your eyes, suddenly feeling more embarrassed than you think you’d made him.

"You didn't have to feed it to me. I'm a perfectly capable adult." His tone is light as he tries to bite back his laughter - you're suddenly glad that you're able to joke around like this with him again, after all that’s happened.

"I know, but..." You grin and transfer the rest of the strawberries into a bowl as he goes to dispose of the stem of the one he’d just eaten, before he then picks up the glass from earlier and fills it with water. Perhaps it's just your imagination, but when he returns, it feels like he's standing a little closer to you than he had been before.

Ah well – if so, it was probably unintentional.

He's gone silent, however, so you look up from the counter at him - where you’re surprised to catch him looking at you thoughtfully as he sips at his drink.

"What's wrong?"

"Sometimes..." He sighs, placing down the glass - and you know from this that the next words will be heavy; there's something on his mind, weighing it down. "...I feel hopeless. I couldn't save Rika, and with you... I'm not the same person I used to be. You don't deserve to have to deal with my constant problems - and I don't deserve your love."

"V, Rika was beyond saving – and as for that last part, you’ve got it all wrong. You deserve all the love there is." You look down at your feet, wringing your hands together. "Anyway, I'll always be here for you, no matter what. There’s no rush, you can take as long as you want."

"Does it not bother you that I never properly responded, when you said you loved me?" His brows furrow, in an expression showing something akin to remorse.

You recall the conversation from two weeks prior that had followed the statement in question – you’d confessed not expecting a response, but simply out of a desire to get your feelings off your chest, once and for all. With all that had happened, you’d realised that you couldn’t afford to let him go through anything like that again – he meant far too much to you.

And what better way to ensure that he was happy and loved, than to take personal responsibility for it?

(After all, as the saying went: ‘if you want something done right, do it yourself’.)

If Jumin was surprised at the revelation, he didn’t show it – but you wouldn’t put it past him to have figured it out already – he was quite perceptive when he wasn’t busy trying to plead ignorance to certain other matters.

However, V’s reaction had been quite the opposite – despite how part of his face had been covered, you had clearly seen an expression of disbelief cross the features you could see. (This prompted your own surprise – had you really managed to hide it so well that he was completely unable to anticipate your admission?)

“I do trust you. I care for you too, and I can't say I'd be against it, but… It could be a while. I hope you understand, and I’m sorry.”

It was not quite a confirmation, and yet not a denial – a fact which you were undeniably happy with.

This thought in mind, you return to the conversation at hand.

"Jihyun," you breathe, placing a hand on his shoulder and clasping it lightly. "My main concern is your comfort and happiness. Even if you’d rejected me completely, of course I would initially be a little upset - but at the end of the day, I wouldn't really mind. I guess this is what people call... unconditional love."

And it's as you say this that you come to a realisation: you love him in many different ways. You love him as someone who admires him - as an inspirational person, someone you've always looked up to since young, and strived to be as great as. You love him as a best friend. You love him… romantically.

The fact - the bottom line - is that you love him - far, far more than anyone else ever could.

As you continue to ponder over this matter for a little longer, you're suddenly interrupted by the feeling of soft lips against your cheek.

"What... was that for?" You look up at him, feeling your skin begin to tingle with heat where he'd kissed you, as you try (with significant difficulty) to stifle your smile.

"Thank you. For everything. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

"You're welcome..." Resistance is futile - you can no longer help the beam that threatens to overcome your features. Upon his lips is a similar expression of happiness - albeit slightly more subdued; just the soft curving of his lips upwards in a charming half-smile.

"Well, that’s all I came to say. Good night." And with that, he heads towards the guest bedroom, leaving you dazed in the kitchen with your fingers lifted to your cheek.

Chapter Text

He’d moved back in to his own apartment after the next two weeks had passed, like the stubborn man he was. “It’s been a month,” he’d said, “I can’t take advantage of your kindness any longer.”

Seeing that he wouldn’t let up so easily this time, you’d relented – on the condition that you’d at least see each other a little more often that you had the few months prior. (A condition that he’d thankfully agreed to wholeheartedly.)

Hence, a month after you’d made this agreement, here he was – knocking at the door of your apartment once again.

“Can’t get enough of this place, can you, V?” You tease, as soon as you’ve opened the door to let him in.

“I can’t get away from it, you mean,” he says with a playful smile as he steps inside.

“Mind if I turn the volume down?”

“Hm? Oh no, go ahead. I’m not really listening to it anyway.”

Thus, you mute the TV. Now the only sounds in the room are those of the rain pattering against the windows, the tapping of your fingers against your phone screen, and occasional shuffling sounds as V attempts to get comfortable on the sofa you’re both sitting on.

He finally eases himself into a good enough position: reclining with his back leaning against the armrest, legs crossed as he faces you – presumably to give you some space, since he’s tall enough that if he outstretched his legs, they’d have to be placed over your lap. He picks up his own phone – thankfully having had it for long enough that using it is hardly a chore, since he’s apparently memorised all of the buttons and app placements.

A few minutes later, Jumin having disappeared from the messenger in order to get back to his work, you lock your phone and make to get up, having deemed it an appropriate time to start making lunch for the both of you.

That is, before you turn to him to ask what he'd like to eat, and notice that he’s observing you quite intently.

“Something wrong?”

“No, sorry.” He smiles at you, reassuring, and you smile back. You’re about to turn away again, before you notice how his gaze flickers, for just one moment, to your lips.

Or was that just a figment of your imagination?

Nonetheless, you can't help but lean in ever so slowly, to give him time to question your movements if he so wished. He doesn’t; in fact, he moves closer to you too – as if you’re suddenly attracted to each other by some strange magnetic force.

Just as you’re about half a metre away from him, he speaks, in a low, hesitant voice.

“I’ve been thinking…” There’s a short pause. He sighs, moving to sit up straighter, before continuing. “I want to try. With you. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be the same person I was for a long time, but… Will you be patient with me?”

You gasp, while he leans closer still - and if his words didn’t render you speechless, the proximity definitely did. After a few moments of thought, you regain your ability to form sentences.

“Of course, Jihyun. We’ll take our time. One step at a time. And even if we both got to 90 and all we’d done together was hold hands, I wouldn’t mind too much. Because we would have loved each other anyway.”

He chuckles at your words, but looks close to tears. You don’t think you’ve seen him cry more than a handful of times – and you’ve never been the reason for it. (There’s a first time for everything, though – and you suppose that if they’re happy tears, you could let yourself off from feeling guilty.)

“Thank you. So much.” You can feel the gratitude radiating from his words, even as they’re spoken at a volume no greater than that of a whisper. And even if you’d been unable to detect it from his words, you’d definitely be able to see it from his expression alone.

Every movement you make is gentle, so gentle – you don’t want to scare him away now, especially at the possibility of something actually happening after all these years of wishing and waiting.

He places trembling hands on your waist, before extending his legs so you’re able to sit yourself comfortably upon his thighs. The position allows you to get up close (and very personal) to him – so close that you can see the flecks of a slightly darker blue in his irises, can smell the subtle, woody scent of his cologne (the same one he’s used since his teenage years, you muse with amusement), can feel the way his chest moves under your splayed-out palms as he breathes.

You lean down, careful to lower your weight slowly, your arms still supporting you from their place upon his chest. Being in such close proximity to him is intoxicating – though you’re broken out of your reverie when your nose bumps gently against his. You giggle breathily for a moment or two, and he joins in – before the both of you return to the task at hand.

You try again, and this time you’re more successful, as you feel your lips meet. They touch so, so softly, no more than a soft brush against each other. It’s nice, though – warm and pleasant – and your heart feels fit to burst with the joy you suddenly feel bubbling up from within your chest.

You part as quickly as you'd met, moving an inch or two back and assessing his reaction carefully. If his smile was anything to go by, it would definitely be okay to repeat the action.

And so you do – feeling his smile against your lips as you press yours against his a little more confidently this time. His fingertips push a bit more firmly into your waist, and you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he sighs beneath you.

You break apart from him again a second later, before breaking the silence with a whispered sentiment.

“You know, I've wanted to do that since we were kids.”

“Oh, that long?” He raises a brow in surprise and intrigue. “Why didn't you ever tell me?”

“Because you were... well, you.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks, despite the fact that there wasn't much of a reason to be embarrassed, particularly after the events that had just transpired. “You were Jihyun Kim, a star - girls wanted to date you, boys wanted to be you. And I was just... me. No more than your best friend.”

He laughs, a rich, warm sound. “If I was a star, then you were the sun.”

You smile with amusement, shaking your head, before leaning in to kiss him again.