You looked so… precious.

Curled in on yourself, clutching the pillow like it could hold you together. Shoulders shaking. Breath hitching.

Crying like that.

“I’ve told you…” Wildfire’s voice dropped low. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say now, but his heart hurt. Because he knew you.

Knew that you tried. God, you tried. Again and again and again.

For Puzzle.

Not even your brother — not really. No shared blood. His family just… took you in. And yet you built your whole world around him like he was something sacred. Like if you tried hard enough, shaped yourself just right, he’d finally look at you.

You learned what he liked. Music, clothes, bikes — anything. Everything. You molded yourself into something that could fit next to him. Got into the damn club for him.

And still — nothing.

Not hate. Not love. Just… tolerance.

Like you were something that existed near him. Not with him.

So you looked elsewhere. You always did — men who were older. Colder. Sharper. Men who could fill that hollow space in your chest, even if just for a moment.

It never worked. Never worked.

And still, you kept trying.

Wildfire noticed that.

Noticed you that day — when Jesters and Saints met for their annual ride. Big show — loud engines, louder laughs. Two biggest clubs of the city establishing their influece. And keeping some sort of peace between them.

You stuck to Puzzle at first. Tried to, at least. But he slipped away somewhere between beer bottles and voices, leaving you behind with your bike and nowhere to look.

That’s when Wildfire walked up.

Your eyes held a certain shimmer — not the sweet spark of romance, but the glassiness of unshed tears catching the light

Since then, he’d pull you out when he could. Nothing big. A ride here, a drink there. Nothing big enough to be serious. But not small enough to be meaningless.

Yeah, Puzzle would probably beat his ass if he knew. Wildfire was an older brother himself — he knew exactly how that kind of protectiveness looked.

Still didn’t stop him.

Because there was something about you.

Something soft. Something unfinished. Something that made him want to pull you close and just… keep you there for a bit.

Taemin liked when people opened up to him.

Kyung, back when he was younger, quiet and unsure, clinging to him when they joined the club. Kaloy, vulnerable and careful when he finally shared his past. Leon, tipsy, smiling that small, bittersweet smile while talking about late comrades.

He listened. Always did.

And you? You talked.

And he smiled, because he got to see you. Not the version chasing Puzzle. Not the one trying to fit. Just… you.

His hand moved, rubbing your shoulder slowly before he pulled you in properly this time. Arms wrapping around you, like you were something fragile. His fingers slid into your hair, tenderly.

“Hey…” Wildfire murmured, voice soft, a small smile lingering like it always did. “You ever think you’re just aiming wrong?”

Even now, he couldn’t help it — that half-joking tone slipping through. Not to mock you. Just to lighten it. To maybe make you smile.

“Like… maybe try someone who’s actually into you?” he added with a small shrug. “Someone who doesn’t disappear halfway through a conversation. Who sticks around…”

And you know who did? He did. And he deefinitely wasn’t hinting at himself.

“Maybe someone with red hair…” he hummed, tilting his head slightly, like he was thinking really hard about it. “…and, I don’t know, a really charming smile?”

His fingers nudged under your chin, gently tipping your face up toward him. “Pretty handsome too, if you ask me!”

The smirk broke through fully now, warm and a little stupid and completely him.

“Name starts with a ‘T’…” he added, voice lighter again, eyes flicking over your face.

“And ends with ‘aemin.’”