A couple weeks ago I was in a major depressive slump and was feeling really detached from reality. I was trying so hard to fight it but nothing I tried worked until I realized I hadn’t listened to any happy music in almost a week.
I didn’t feel like listening to anything at all but I put on my favorite playlist anyway. Take On Me started and I finger stimmed to the keyboard riff and hummed along and by the end of the song I was smiling. A few more songs and I was fully singing along and feeling more present than I had in days.
Even if it seems small and trivial, like putting on your favorite socks or looking up pictures of kittens, it might be something you need. Of course the music didn’t solve any of the problems I was upset about, but it did help me feel like I was a person again.
since I know for a fact survival theft will be going up this month, do not steal from Target, they have some of if not The highest end security measures in place, even if they don't call you out on your first theft, they know you did it, and they're waiting until you've stolen enough to get the law involved.
I am dead serious. Do not fucking steal from Target, you Will be caught.
Phantom does not like Bruce Wayne, he tells Batman with a completely serious face.
Phantom is hanging out in the Watchtower, shooting the shit with Green Arrow.
Well, Phantom is talking shit about rich people.
"Sounds like a personal grudge," Batman comments idly. Lots of people don't like rich people, so he isn't actually offended.
"Oh, I just hate a select few. Oliver Queen? He's fine." Green Arrow visibly preens.
Batman feels a lip twitch, but fights the smile.
"What about Bruce Wayne?" Superman asks, very deliberately not looking at Batman.
Phantom snorts.
"Bruce Wayne? I hope he wrecks one of those fancy cars and needs both his feet amputated."
The room goes completely silent.
"Holy crap, kid; what'd he do?"
"He backed Vlad Masters is what he did. The Wayne Tech he provided was used to get one-up on me; took me literally two months to escape." The kid cracks his neck, and the high neckline moves enough to show off a shiny new red scar.
Bruce feels the world drop from under his feet.
"He what?" The question is ripped from Batman's throat before he even finishes thinking it.
"Oh yeah, he also financially backed the supporting senators behind the anti-ecto acts. Bruce Wayne is a literal useless sack of shit."
"...I'm sorry, the anti-ecto what?" Superman's voice is strained as he asks, and his eyes are already starting to glow.
Bruce, after getting back to the cave, pulls Tim aside and together they rip into every single transaction the board did both over the table and under it.
And there it is.
Multiple board members had been using Bruce Wayne's name as they donated to shady politicians, essentially sold off his developmental tech that was supposed to be disposed of, and had been embezzling funds.
On all official papers, Bruce Wayne was the biggest backer for a law that was in clear violation of Meta Rights.
Oh the press conference he pulls together is gonna be HISTORIC. He might actually make himself puke on stage. There will be visible tears as he leans like that podium is the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees in rage and grief filled disgust.
He might give himself a black eye first. Just so he can say Batman rightfully punched him.
This is gonna be like somebody using Dolly Partons name to back genocide and SHE FOUND OUT ABOUT IT. No only is SHE going to destroy you? But everyone ELSE is going to go for your throat for UPSETING her. For tarnishing her name.
How DARE you use Himbo Brucie Wayne's name for this!? You took advantage of a trusting dumbass with a heart of gold! Who's just trying to make GOTHAM, literal hell on earth, a better place?! And not even that! You didn't just steal from him!
You tied "I'm genuinely get upset because I can't adopt ALL the orphans" Wayne to fucking GENOCIDE!?
They better RUN.
People outside Gotham may believe what lies they want, but INSIDE Gotham? Two face and Harley just wanna talk.
Jason gave Bruce a black eye- it was the highlight of his week month year! (Bruce knew that 1- a genuine black eye was better than any makeup job in the world and 2- he had it coming for not keeping a closer eye on the crooks board.)
Not only was Bruce distraught at the thought that some rat fucker attached his name to a genocide, the laws passed make it open season to hunt his JayJay and Damian and just… no. You hunt his babies and you’ll never know which of Gotham’s gargoyles is going to be a Bat in disguise ready to hospitalize your cockamamie ass.
And tbh? When Bat ran into Phantom on the Watchtower, Phantom thanked him for knocking a little sense into the himbo billionaire.
Batman pulls Phantom aside to talk the next time they run into each other. Because Phantom deserves to know, unambiguously and with certainty, the truth.
Danny: Hey Bats. Thanks for knocking some sense into that himbo for me.
Bruce: Hn. There wasn't much knocking needed. I wanted to assure you, personally, that Bruce Wayne genuinely had no idea what was being done in his name. He will be taking measures going forward to ensure things like this do not happen again.
Danny: Oh. That's cool. Not that I doubt you or anything, but, uh, how are you so certain. Like, I know about the press conference, but that could have been an act, right? Rich dudes have gone through a lot more hoops to get out of consequences.
Bruce: I'm Bruce Wayne.
Danny: What?
Bruce: *pulls off cowl, still has black eye* I'm Bruce Wayne.
Danny: . . . I see. Excuse me while I- *sticks head intangibly through an exterior wall to scream into the vacuum of space*
Pairing: Xu Minghao x 14th member reader (Platonic)
Summary: How is your relationship with the sarcastic fashionista of the group, Xu Minghao.
This man oh so badly wanted to get you into meditation so it could become a shared hobby (and because he thinks you desperately need it). But after you fell asleep multiple times, he begrudgingly settled for you reading beside him while he’s meditating.
Anytime this man shows up with painted nails, just know it is your nail polish that he used. He will complain you don’t have a certain color and then refuse to buy it himself. He could probably do a better job at it than you, but he likes chatting with you with a cup of tea during it.
He made you his designated photographer for all his Insta-pictures, claiming only you know the right angles and lighting. You take your role very seriously, going as far as directing his poses and how to position himself in the sun.
While you always join the chaos, sometimes it goes to far EVEN FOR YOU, like during the Going svt special: ECT: tease your heart out. And that's when you are seen beside The8 with such a disgusted face it could rival his. Your faces are legit copy-past, probably since you got it from him.
You are the first person who gets to see his finished art pieces, even the ones he won't post online. Sometimes you spend hours looking at all his pieces and discussing the multiple meanings they could have.
You make him laugh harder than anyone — it just takes effort. You’ve made it your mission to hear his cute giggles as much as possible. After a lot of trial and error, you have cracked the code in what makes this man laugh. Your favorite is doing funny skits of famous chinese memes or celebrities, no one will understand but it's worth it when he folds over in laughter.
He'll let you get away with more than most other members. You’ll mock him to his face — imitate his scolding voice, steal his skincare, claim you "found it" — and he’ll just raise an eyebrow like he’s annoyed. You are also the only one that gets to mock his "deep" and "inspirational" quotes.
hii if requests are open (and you’re comfortable with it ofc) cab i pretty pls request an angsty fic about maybe a sasaeng breaking into readers house/hotel room and idk just the members beung protective haha
i love your work 🫶🫶
hello!! thank you for your compliment hehe 🫶 much love~
[DISCLAIMER: i've read a prompt like this a while back, however i forgot the exact details and user of the original writer who wrote about it. if any of you remember please let me know i'll be sure to tag the original ><]
this scene is written entirely by me (with inspiration by the orig. creator) thank youu—
Warnings: s*saeng (booo tomatox3), breaking and entering, small injury, read with caution!
-- જ⁀➴°⋆
The hallway was quiet when everyone stepped out of the elevator. A small wave and mutters of goodbyes echoed as the members left for their own rooms.
Your hoodie was still damp at the collar from post-concert sweat, and your legs ached after hours of dancing. Tugging your keycard out the lanyard, you rubbed at your tired eyes as you reached the door.
Room 1714.
The familiar green beep clicked, and you pushed the door open.
The room was dark, only the faint amber glow of the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains. You didn’t bother turning on the lights - it seemed too tiring. But when you took the first step in, the back of your neck prickled.
Something was wrong.
The room looked, at first glance, exactly as you'd left it that morning. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn, the complimentary water bottles untouched on the bedside table. It wasn't just the air conditioning; it was a deeper, unsettling sensation. The kind that made a chill sneak its way up your spine.
You walked toward the bed, senses on high alert. The duvet was perfectly smooth, but was the pillow fluffed just a little too much? You remembered leaving it slightly dented while getting up from your morning stretch.
Your purse - left hanging on the armchair when you left this morning - was now on the floor, contents half-spilled out. Did you knock it over when you rushed out?
A sweater, once folded on the bed, was crumpled in the corner of the room floor.
It was such a minor detail, easily dismissed as your own forgetfulness, but the unease persisted. There was a feeling. Like the air had been disturbed, the molecules rearranged by an unwelcome presence.
Your forced yourself to swallow whatever doubts you had as your hand hovered near the switch, finally flicking on the lights.
It was tiny. Insignificant. But combined with the other small changes, it formed a terrifying mosaic in your mind.
Someone had been in the room.
Someone who definitely shouldn't have been.
And they had tried to make it look like they hadn't.
The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. Your breath caught in your throat, blood running cold. You hadn't been alone.
Or rather, you were not alone.
You took a shaky step backwards, toward the door.
That was, when a hand wrapped around your wrist - all your senses jumping to life.
Appearing from a blindspot behind the wall of the bathroom, a man's force yanked your arm back, hard. You tumbled to the floor with a loud thud, head spinning as you landed on your back. A scream tore through your throat - only to be quickly smothered by a gloved hand pressing against your mouth, rough and smelling faintly of disinfectant, muffling any sound.
Before you could react, he was climbing over your torso, his weight pressing you down, stealing whatever breath you had left. Your wrists were seized in an iron grip, pinned above your head, held so tightly you could already feel the angry beginnings of bruises forming.
His eyes were scary - sinister. Hiding just enough for your body to start shaking uncontrollably. Your eyes closed on instinct when he leaned down, his face a dark, indistinct blur above you, breath warm and tickling your ear.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered against your ear, the wind tickling your skin. “You have no idea how long.”
You shook your head, eyes darting around frantically for an escape as tears welled up, fear surging like fire through your veins. But there was only the oppressive weight of his body and the terrifying, terrifying, intimacy of his voice.
“Don't be so cold. I know you get off work at this time every day. I've been following you for a few days now.” His voice suddenly lowered, “You looked so good in your blue sweater yesterday.”
You writhed, thrashing beneath him, screams muffled as your heart beat so violently you could hear it in your ears.
“We're a match made in heaven. Don’t you know that?”
Move. Move. Think.
A flicker of raw, desperate anger ignited within you. You weren't going to let this be your end. Not here. Not like this. The adrenaline surged, sharp and hot.
With a sudden, violent twist, you yanked one wrist free from his loosening grasp, the bruising pain a dull ache against the urgency to survive.
You fumbled the floor around you, feeling the rough carpet that scratched your skin, blindly searching – reaching out, your fingers wrapped around the cool, smooth shape of a glass cup, one that must've rolled off when you crashed against the table before.
Without thinking, you swung.
The smash echoed as the cup shattered against his temple, shards cutting skin. The grip on your wrist finally gave way as he recoiled, clutching his head, a dark stain rapidly spreading on his gloves.
Your hands weren't spared either – drops of blood rolling to your elbow while pain seared your fingertips. But you couldn't feel any of it, not right now.
You kicked hard, enough for him to roll off with a yelp.
Scrambling out from under him, you crawled toward the door with your palms scraped and bleeding. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.
You yanked the door open with trembling hands - and ran like never before.
.
The crash had startled most of the floor. Staff were poking their heads out, some murmuring about the noise, but some retreated quickly, not wanting to intrude.
A few doors down, the members had already stirred, stepping out their own rooms.
“Did something fall?” Jun muttered, wandering out in a white tee and sweats.
“I heard glass,” Seungcheol said, appearing from the room beside him. “Wait–”
That’s when they saw you.
Barreling down the hallway barefoot, eyes wide, hair a mess, breath ragged as if you couldn’t get air into your lungs.
You turned back occasionally, a quick, fearful glance over the shoulder, convinced the man was right behind you, his chilling whispers still echoing in your ears.
Your legs only stopped moving when you slammed into someone - arms, chest - someone solid. The impact knocked the wind out of you.
“What's going–” It was Wonwoo.
He was cut off by your scream as you pushed away. "Get away from me!" Your voice was raw and hoarse, instinctively pushing and flailing, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to fend off whoever had stood in your way.
Wonwoo fought your fists, grabbing your arms as his own ones caged you in, forcing your thrashing to come to a halt.
“It’s me, Wonwoo. It’s just me.”
A voice, familiar and deep, began to murmur, slowly, gently, cutting through the fog of panic.
“Can you look at me?”
You paused as your vision cleared, his familiar face grounding your sanity. You collapsed into him immediately, sobbing, clutching his shirt with trembling fingers. You cried into his shoulder, pointing a trembling hand back down the hallway toward your room, stuttering out broken words between gasps.
“He– he was in– he grabbed– he was in my room-”
Wonwoo caught you again, wrapping both arms around you protectively as your knees gave out. “What? Who?!”
The words sent a shockwave through the group for a second – but the members moved instantly.
Jun knelt beside you, holding your uninjured hand as he gently stroked your back, whispering: “You’re okay now. We’ve got you. Whoever it is, he’s not getting near you again.”
Mingyu and Dokyeom quickly formed a physical barrier around you and Wonwoo, their large frames blocking any view down the hallway towards your room.
“Minghao and Seokmin went down to the lobby!” Chan called from the elevator lobby, rushing back after hearing the panic.
Joshua was already on the hotel phone, voice urgent but eerily calm. “Yes, a break-in. She’s hurt. We need security and the police.”
The hallway was chaos, but around you, it was shielded - every member blocking the world from getting any closer to you.
And just minutes later, hotel security arrived, followed closely by staff and local authorities. The masked man was found still inside your room, disoriented and bleeding from his temple.
Still, your head rang when his voice boomed throughout the floor. “We belong together! Wait for me my love!”
.
You sat on Seungcheol's bed, now changed into a clean sweatshirt that belonged to Joshua, wrapped in a blanket and cradling a heat pack in your lap.
Your hands still trembled.
But you weren’t alone.
Wonwoo hadn’t left your side once. Hoshi sat on the floor by your feet, rubbing slow circles into your ankle. Mingyu had your hand in his, carefully cleaning the small cuts and scrapes on your hands – the remnants of your desperate struggle. His touch was gentle as he dabbed away the last traces of blood and shards that had embedded themselves. It hurt, of course, but exhaustion overtook every bone in your body.
Across the room, Seungcheol and Jihoon were already deep in hushed conversation, strategizing. They were setting up surveillance shifts, ensuring someone would be by your side through the night. No one had to say it aloud; the unspoken fear of the stalker's words still hung heavy.
They didn’t say much after.
None of them needed to.
Because every quiet glance, every hand on your shoulder, every member sitting in the room long after midnight without saying a word - it all said the same thing:
You were safe, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.
--
every situation has its repercussions [coming soon]
Hello, can I request a Dino prince who is madly in love and does everything for his princess, and she is sweet and kind.
Sorry for my bad English, I think your stories are very cute.
HIRAYA
(Lee Jung Chan x FemReader)
*Romantic Fantasy Fairytale, Romance, Drama, Coming-of-Age; slice of life*
A soft fairytale filled with courage, cuddles, and crown-worthy love.
Once upon a time, in the sunlit kingdom of Caelion, there lived a young prince named Lee Chan known to those close to him by his childhood nickname, Dino.
He wasn’t just the heir to the throne. Chan was the heartbeat of the palace: loud when he laughed, gentle when he hugged, wild on the training grounds but quiet during sunset walks. With messy brown hair that never obeyed royal standards and a smile that could melt the fiercest knights, Prince Chan was beloved but also… misunderstood.
His parents, King Lee Dae‑hee and Queen Seirene, were noble, wise, and strong rulers. But they worried for Chan.
“You wear your heart too easily,” the King would sigh, watching Chan sneak food to stable boys and leave love notes in villagers’ windows.
“You dream too much, darling,” the Queen would say with a kiss to his forehead. “A prince must think, not feel.”
But Chan believed love was strength. And he proved it every single day through the way he loved you, Princess Y/N.
The two of you met on the seventh day of spring, at the Festival of Blossoms.
You had arrived from your kingdom Elaflora in a carriage made of rosewood and silk, with cherry blossoms in your hair and a shy smile that made the entire royal garden bloom a little brighter.
Chan had been running late, having overslept after staying up composing music. He burst onto the ballroom floor half-dressed, barefoot, laughing and froze.
There you were.
Your eyes met across the crowd. The music faded. His breath caught.
You curtsied.
He panicked and bowed way too deep.
He ran into a column on the way to introduce himself. You helped him up. He laughed you laughed harder.
And just like that, the world flipped upside down for the both of you.
From that day on, Chan was... completely, absolutely, pathetically in love with you.
He sent letters with pressed flowers and doodles of ducks wearing crowns. He asked his chefs to learn your favorite desserts. He memorized every little thing you liked from your favorite shade of blue to the way you bit your lip when thinking.
At royal dinners, he sat next to you, whispering jokes that made you choke on your drink. When you visited the stables, he followed you around like a puppy, pretending he was “just making sure the horses were well-trained.”
You weren’t fooled.
You knew he adored you. And you adored him, too.
But palace life wasn’t always so sweet.
One night, Chan’s parents called him to the throne room. The flickering candlelight made their expressions look even heavier.
“She’s lovely,” Queen Seirene said gently. “But not strong. Not... queenly.”
“You are the future king,” King Roark added. “You need a partner who can handle war, politics, pressure.”
Chan stood, trembling but determined.
“Y/N is strong,” he said firmly. “She’s strong in kindness. In patience. She doesn’t fight with swords she heals with words. That’s the kind of strength this kingdom needs.”
They didn’t understand at first. They thought it was puppy love.
But Chan was patient. He kept showing them.
He brought you to charity visits, where you calmed crying children and made shy villagers laugh. You spoke softly, but with purpose, defending farmers’ needs and standing up for the stablehand’s son to attend the royal academy. Every time you left, people loved you more.
Slowly… his parents began to see it.
Late at night, when the palace was asleep, Chan would sneak to the royal garden where you waited with a blanket and two cups of cocoa.
You’d lie beneath the stars, whispering secrets.
One night, he held your hand and whispered, “If I weren’t a prince… would you still love me?”
You blinked at him.
“Chan,” you said softly, “I loved you before I even knew you were a prince. I loved you the moment you fell face-first into a rose bush trying to impress me.”
He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his cocoa.
That night, he kissed you for the first time gently, reverently, like you were made of stars.
But every love story has its storm.
A rebellion broke out in the far north. The palace was under pressure. Nobles whispered that a marriage between Chan and “a gentle girl” would weaken their rule.
You offered to step back. “I don’t want to be the reason your crown falls,” you said through tears.
Chan stared at you like you had ripped his heart out.
“You are not the reason. You’re the reason I fight. You’re my peace in this chaos.”
Against everyone’s wishes, he chose you.
Even if it meant war.
Even if it meant walking away from the throne.
But then… something changed.
You stood before the court not with rage, but with poise. You gave a speech from your heart, full of honesty and courage.
“I may not be made for crowns,” you said, “but I am made for love. For the people. For him.”
There was silence.
Then slow applause.
And then the Queen stood. Eyes teary. Proud.
“You are made for the crown,” she said. “You just wore it differently.”
The King placed his hand on Chan’s shoulder and smiled. “Looks like we underestimated the both of you.”
Your wedding was the most magical event the kingdom had ever seen.
You walked down the aisle with wildflowers in your braid and soft light in your eyes. Chan was already crying before the music started. He kissed your hands, your cheeks, your forehead your crown.
And that night, when the stars danced in the sky, you danced in the garden where your love had first bloomed.
“I would give up my crown for you,” he whispered in your ear.
“But now you don’t have to,” you whispered back.
And together, you ruled. With strength and softness. With sword and story. With roars and lullabies.
Chan never stopped being wildly in love with you.
He still doodled ducks on your love notes. Still kissed you before every council meeting. Still held your hand under the royal table.
And you?
You loved him even more than the day he fell into that rose bush.
svt + when you don't wake them up after you've had a nightmare
S.Coups ❧ He’s all over you as soon as he sees how exhausted you look. When you tell him you’ve had a nightmare and just couldn’t go back to sleep because you were too scared, his heart would break because one - you’re now tired and had to suffer the entire night, and two - you didn’t trust him enough to wake him up. Even if you explain that’s not the case at all, he’d feel quite upset because of it - about as much as he’d feel loved by your caring gesture. He’d then in turn patiently but sternly tell you to wake him up next time, that you always come first for him and he doesn’t mind losing sleep for you. His protective side would come out and he’d hover around you during the day, most likely helping with whatever he could and especially if it was something you could get hurt doing, like cutting fruits or whatever, because he wants to show you that he can and he will protect you. Also no coffee for you before you at least nap for a bit, because he can’t stand seeing you so sluggish and tired. He’d honestly do anything you asked for in exchange for you going to sleep for at least an hour or two, even if he would prefer you ask him to spoon you or play with your hair until you fall asleep. He just really wants to prove himself as someone you can rely on and ask to be protected by.
Jeonghan ❧ He gets worried when he doesn’t find you in bed with him in the morning, and his concern skyrockets when he finds you groggy and barely awake on the couch. He’s a little upset seeing your state and hearing that you had a nightmare and he didn’t know. When you explain what happened and that you were too scared to stay still and in darkness after the nightmare and you didn’t want to wake him up, him being a light sleeper and all, his eyes soften and he’s feeling very warm inside. He’d be more careful around you throughout the whole day, even when he’s playing around with you or teasing you, he’d make sure not to do anything that might scare you. If you’re willing to tell him about the nightmare and there’s anything relating to what you’re going through at the moment, he’d like to talk about it and address it to try and help to both ease your fears and prevent another nightmare from happening. He’d encourage you to nap with him, holding you tight against his body even if it makes it hard for him to actually fall asleep. When he thinks you’re sleeping, he’d quietly thank you for being so considerate of him. He’d think about possible ways to deal with the situation should it ever happen again because just imagining you being scared and alone breaks his heart.
Joshua ❧ He worries about you, seeing the state you’re in. He cups your cheek and asks what’s wrong. Thanks you softly when you explain and smiles, pulling you closer to him. He’d tell you you were brave getting through the night, but adds that as much as he appreciates you caring about him, he wants you to wake him up next time. He’s supposed to be your knight in shining armor, no way he’s losing to some nightmare. He’d listen to you talk about the nightmare and hold your hand the whole time, thanking you for trusting him enough to share with him after you’re done. He’d tell you it’s alright if you’d like to try to nap now, it’d give him time to prepare some food. You’re not doing anything that day, he’d insist on you resting since you didn’t get any sleep. Any compliment you give him, he’d respond to by saying it’s only because you take such good care of him. He’d help you brush your hair, braid it if you’d like too, even assist as you go through your morning and night time routine. He’d be completely smitten with you, and taking care of you would be the only thing on his mind. You might catch him staring at you dreamily, but if you call him out on it, he’ll just smile and give you a soft kiss. Bubble bath would wait for you at the end of the day and a cup of chamomile tea to help you sleep better.
Jun ❧ Seeing you, he apologizes with a small frown on his face, thinking he was moving around too much during the night, or maybe he was snoring. When you tell him the truth and that he has nothing to apologize for, he does anyway. He should’ve known, somehow, he should’ve felt even unconscious that something was wrong, he feels. He’d think about it for quite a while, silently, to the point that you promise him to wake him next time - but only if he doesn’t have to get up early the next day. He’d argue that since he wouldn’t get much sleep anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’d wake him up earlier. If you felt comfortable, he’d want to hear about the nightmare, and he’d try to make you smile and relax by thinking of funny scenarios that could happen at some points in the nightmare instead. But he’d make sure you know he’s not making fun of you or your feelings. If you fell asleep at any point in the day, he’d make sure you’re comfortable and check on you frequently. He’d feel the happiest if you fell asleep on him, like he’s making up for his “failure”. He’d probably at some point mention the thought he had, whether it’s possible to feel something’s wrong with one’s partner and you’d daydream together about the possibility. Many soulmates references would come up, and he’d get pouty if you joked you must not be soulmates then. He’d light up a scented candle and let it burn for a bit before going to sleep so that you’d drift off more easily.
Hoshi ❧ It takes him a while to notice, as he’s too busy cuddling you before he even opens his eyes. But once he does, his excitement and mood drop, and he’d get worried. Worse, it’d break his heart that you didn’t wake him up. He wouldn’t know whether to scream about how cute and sweet you are to him or cry because he couldn’t comfort you when you needed him. He’d absolutely refuse to let you out of bed before you get at least some sleep. He’d be glued to you more than he usually is throughout the day and everything you’d do he’d find just a little cuter. He’d be very whipped, but also occasionally slip into pouting episodes when he’d sulk about how you should’ve woken him up and that he’s a bad boyfriend now. Don’t refuse any help he offers, or he’ll sulk harder and his feelings would get hurt even more. He’d need some reassurance that you will wake him up next time and that you love him and do trust him. He’d secretly brag about you in the group chat with the boys, even if he doesn’t share many details. Prepare for random bursts of excitement when he can’t handle his feelings and he’s squeezing you in his arms. He’d thank you again in the evening, for being with him and caring about him, but would insist you can’t put him before yourself. He’d want to sleep wrapped around you. To chase the nightmares away, he’d playfully growl saying nothing can hurt you in your sleep while lying next to a tiger.
Wonwoo ❧ It takes a whole five seconds for him to finally understand why you worry so much when you see him wake up with dark circles under his eyes, barely able to keep his eyes open. Suddenly it’s not nothing when you’re the one in that state instead of him. He’d softly stroke your cheek and ask what’s going on, so you explain. He doesn’t even try to hide that he feels disappointed you haven’t woken him up, even if your intentions were to just let him get a proper rest. As grateful as he is, he’s also feeling unreliable since he wasn’t there for you when you were scared. He’d pull you closer and tell you he still feels sleepy so you should just try to rest with him. Maybe he’d even softly sing to you to help you fall asleep. He might cling to you a little more for the day because he somehow feels guilty. Definitely would tell you to just wake him up next time or to cuddle closer to him. He’d also go out of his way to make it seem like you’d be doing him a favor by waking him up if you ever had such a scary nightmare again - he’d tell you that he could read to you so he’d progress in his book, or that you could watch him play games until you fall asleep so he’d have more time to play, or maybe your nightmare would inspire him to write some lyrics.
Woozi ❧ It was a rare day when he allowed himself to sleep in, so naturally he was excited to wake up, expecting to see you smile at him and kiss him good morning. Which you did as soon as he opened his eyes and turned towards you, but his good mood didn’t last. How could it when you looked like you didn’t get a wink of sleep? Noticing his concern, you told him about the nightmare that kept you awake for most of the night, and that you didn’t want to wake him up when he finally got to rest. His heart would both flutter at your caring nature and break that he couldn't help when you needed him. He’d be more touched than he’d show, but also feel bad. It’d especially sting since when it happens while he's in the studio and not home, you’d text him and talk to him until you felt better and fell asleep again. He’d feel a little lost. Not knowing what to do, he'd tell you he appreciates it and he’d pull you closer and tell you to rest now when he can protect you. He’d make you coffee later, and often check whether you’re doing alright - both physically and mentally. He’d rub your back whenever you’re close and remind you it’s alright if you want to nap and that he’d be right beside you. It’d be a rare day when he’d be more affectionate with you than he usually is. He’d remember all the feelings he’s had - feeling cared for and loved, feeling useless and not worthy, and use it as fuel for his next song.
DK ❧ He’s blinding, he shines like the sun ever since he wakes up. So he reminds you of a sudden downpour when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. He frets, checking you all over. You reassure him it was just a nightmare that didn’t let you sleep. He’d smile gently and hug you. His voice is soft as he asks why you didn’t wake him up, and it softens even more when he fondly tells you’re silly for caring more about his rest than yourself. Of course you should wake him up, at least you’d be scared together. But he’s also so giddy you can almost feel him vibrate. He feels so loved he realizes you have him wrapped around your finger and he doesn’t mind. He’d pat your back as he tells you it’s alright, nightmares happen and it’s alright you got upset and would you like to nap for a bit? He makes sure you rest plenty and showers you with affection and silly jokes throughout the day. He must make you smile or he’ll fall apart. He’d play with your hair and twirl it around his fingers as he asks you to tell him about the nice and weird dreams you’ve had. To return balance to the world. He’d make sure you really know you can rely on him and that he’s there to help. No issue is too small or stupid in his eyes - you’re his, and that means he gets to cherish you and care for you. He’d only talk to you about nice things as you slowly fall asleep that night.
Mingyu ❧ He hates waking up alone, more so when he’s home. He calls out for you, searching the house with a pout on his lips. When he sees you, his heart drops and it’s a struggle to explain what happened over his concerned questions. He looks even more heartbroken when he realizes you haven’t woken him up. He whines when you tell him you just wanted him to sleep. He doesn’t deserve you, he protests. The hug he gives you is almost crushing. He’d plead with you to wake him up if there’s a next time. He’d make you pinky promise. Solitude is rare for you that day. He’d always be by your side, as if afraid the nightmare will come back. Really he just needs to show you he’s there and to maybe make you ask him for help with anything you might be doing. It’s a question of both pride and his need to protect you. He wants you to see him as a safe place, and needs reassurance that you already do, you just wanted him to get some rest while he can. He wants that for you too, so he always tries to pull you into his lap, his chest, makes you rest your head on him. If you do and it lulls you to sleep, he’d feel so proud and warm inside. He’d softly sing you to sleep that night and hold you close, to keep you warm and safe. It scares him that he can’t help you more than that.
The8 / Minghao ❧ He feels something is wrong immediately upon waking up, and when he sees your half of the bed is empty and cold he gets worried. When he finds you reading on the couch, dark circles under your eyes and a tired smile on your lips, he knows something must’ve happened. So you explain you had a nightmare and didn’t want to wake him, knowing he’s a light sleeper and needs rest. He’d feel hurt but would try not to show it. What’s very clear, though, is how distressed he is by the idea of you not feeling safe. The bed is almost a sacred place, a safe space, and he hates that you’d feel so terrified there you’d leave to sleep, or try to, somewhere else. He’d make both of you some tea to drink as you talk about your respective feelings and what could’ve caused the nightmare. It would turn into a pretty philosophical discussion about dreams and psyche. During the day he’d try to make you fall asleep on him, whether it’s with your head on his shoulder, his lap, or cuddled up to him because he lowkey needs to show you he’s capable of protecting you. He’d also show you some meditation techniques to calm your mind that you could do if it ever happens again, and maybe (in a very roundabout way) hint that you can (and should) wake him up rather than leaving him in the bed alone.
Seungkwan ❧ He can never wait to see your face in the morning, but today it's not his favorite view that greets him. You're beyond tired, obviously you haven't slept much which makes him frown in worry and ask what happened. You answer that it was just a nightmare, but you were too scared to sleep and he chuckles softly, asking why you would be afraid of a silly dream. He realizes how his answer must have sounded, even if he meant to cheer you up and immediately apologizes. Seeing as you're tired anyway and he feels guilty, he makes you breakfast in bed. Over the food, he'd ask about the dream and scold you, telling you to just wake him up next time. He's ready to fight the night terrors for you. He wonders if there's a reason why you didn't wake him up other than letting him rest, but doesn't ask. His priority would be cheering you up and helping you forget, probably get some rest too, and with just a little bit of his singing you'd be resting in no time. If the nightmare concerned any insecurity or your relationship, he'd do his best to reassure you. He'd often come up to you and hug you from behind, kissing your temple. Knowing how uncomfortable it is to go through the day without a good night's sleep, he'd be very gentle with you and the day would be spent at home, relaxing and loving each other. He'd ask if there's anything that would help you sleep better that night since he worries about the nightmare returning.
Vernon ❧ He’d be confused. Confused because he didn’t find you in bed with him, and confused when he saw how utterly exhausted you were. He’d be concerned and very gentle with you, worried that you might be feeling sick. When you tell him that’s not the case and that you just barely slept because of a nightmare, he’d sit you both know and take your hands into his. First of all, he’d make sure you know you don’t need to get embarrassed to be so shaken up by a nightmare. Feelings can’t be controlled, after all. If you felt comfortable enough, he’d like to talk to you about what happened in your nightmare. Then later that day, if it’s possible at all, he might try to find something you both could do together that is related to what scared you so much so that you create a better association with it. He’d understand that you just wanted him to sleep peacefully without disturbing him, and he appreciates it. He will try to find a compromise, such as offering you to hold his hand next time or spoon him if he’s facing away, promising you won’t wake him up by that. Once alone, he’d probably also think about what he can do to return the gesture, or whether there’s anything he could do to show the same amount of consideration to you. He’d probably hold you closer that night, whispering reassuring words into your ear until you fall asleep.
Dino ❧ He leans into your touch as he slowly escapes sleep. He turns his head to kiss your palm before smiling at you, but the smile freezes on his face when he sees you. He’s sitting up immediately, asking whether you’re alright. His face falls further when you explain you had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep for most of the night. He looks so hurt and dejected you have to ask him what’s wrong. He’d feel so rejected and like you think that he’d be upset if you woke him up that he’d be seriously hurt, even if he appreciates that you were trying to put him first. You’d be instantly pulled into his chest and he’d just curl around you. He’d be whiny and complain, he might not express directly that he’s hurt, but it’d be obvious anyway. He’ll reassure you that it’s alright, you should tell him when you’re scared so he can comfort you, whether that includes waking him up or not, and remind you that he’s there for you always. You might need to comfort him just as much as he wants to comfort you. He’d cling to you more, maybe be a little annoying with constant praises and support sent your way no matter what little thing you do, but he just needs to know that you know you can always lean on him. He’ll tell you again before you go to sleep to wake him up, even if you just couldn’t fall asleep and got lonely.
[Kindergarten Teachers AU] Fearing that their two favourite teachers might break up, the kids decide to take your romance into their own tiny hands.
Big thank you to my beloved @haoboutyou for giving me the idea and helping me defeat writer's block (even if just for a day)! idk what I'd do without you, girl
“You know what? Fine! Have it your way!”
The car door was slammed closed with far too much force. A dog froze in the middle of passing by, eyeing you two with caution before continuing on his morning walk with his elderly owner mumbling words of concern under her breath.
“Well, have a good day.” Seokmin sighed and held the gate open for you, ever the gentleman even when he was annoyed and upset. “Please don’t skip lunch today.”
Eyes narrowed into slits, you turned on your heel to glare at him. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
The sound he let out was something of a groan mixed into a wail of despair. “I didn’t mean it like that, baby.”
You rolled your eyes and strolled past him with purpose. There was not a single glance spared his way until you were both well inside the building, surrounded by curious little children who looked like they had heard your argument just fine. One of them looked positively ready to start crying at the sight of you.
Sitting at your desk, you sighed. “What is it, kids?”
“Are you and Mister Minnie breaking up?” a wavering little voice dared to ask. Various noises of protest filled the room before you could even take a breath to prepare to answer the question.
Sparing a quick look at your boyfriend, who was organising the toy shelves and deep in a conversation with one of the more shy kids, you shook your head. “No, we’re not.”
The children let out a collective breath of relief. Some high-fived and cheered in joy. A bitter part of you thought they might just be more invested in your relationship than your boyfriend was. You tried to wave the thought away as fast as it came.
“Because they’re already broken up!” a little boy suddenly declared, standing up and pointing fingers as if he’d been personally betrayed. He was all accusations and none of the ability to listen. You suspected he’d make a great – or at least popular – politician one day.
“We are not,” you argued with all the patience only a kindergarten teacher could possibly muster. “We’re just… having a bad day.”
To your surprise and joy, no more questions were asked. Only curious glances remained. Still you thought it was the end of it. Another crisis averted, another day saved.
Behind your back, the kids exchanged looks of mischief and worry – they had a plan brewing.
Little Misoo toiled away at her desk, hands covered in charcoal smudges and ink. She had tried a big girl pen for the first time, having wanted to emphasise the seriousness of the situation, but quickly realised it was harder to wield than it looked, and so she had resorted back to her trusty coloured pencils to write the invitations. She had just ten more to go.
“I don’t understand why we’re doing this,” Jaemin finally voiced his concerns between clumsily peeling and sticking heart-shaped stickers on every piece of paper. “Everybody already knows. Why do they need invitations?”
Misoo gave him a scathing look. “You can’t have a wedding without invitations! Everybody knows that!”
Jaemin pouted. “Then should we make invitations for Mister Minnie and Miss (Y/n) as well?”
“No.” She looked at him like he’d just suggested unicorns and dragons could be best friends (they obviously couldn’t because all unicorns are vegans and dragons famously hate vegans). “They’re the bride and the groom! They don’t need invitations!”
“But do they even know they’re getting married?”
“They will.” Misoo suspected she had the most patience any woman had ever possessed. She glanced towards the ceiling as if to challenge god for putting her in this situation and then gave Jaemin another glare. “Stop asking stupid questions and get back to work.”
A mysterious chocolate bar had found its way onto your desk. Even more mysteriously it was your favourite brand and flavour. Your boyfriend sat in a circle with the kids, reading their pre-nap fairytale, and snuck glances at you as if he was expecting something.
You fought back a smile and grabbed a sticky note.
When he returned to his seat after getting the kids to sleep, he found the pink piece of paper stuck on his laptop. On it, a little heart and two words: ‘You’re forgiven.’ He almost screamed of joy before remembering that he had to be quiet. He wore a dumb lovestruck smile for the rest of the hour.
Mingyu knew something was wrong the moment the kids stepped into the art room. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it but he just knew. And if the wide-eyed look Minghao gave him was anything to go by, he felt it too.
It was only about 10 minutes in that he realised the problem: the kids were moving like they had a purpose. This was rare. This never happened on free art Fridays – usually the kids would spend the first twenty minutes trying to come up with an idea to execute. Today it took them less than twenty seconds.
Cautiously, he approached tiny Sohyun and Yunho – the first sharpening pencils at a furious pace and the other sorting through the unsharpened ones under her command. It was abundantly clear that Sohyun was working the boy like it was the military. One had to admire her leadership abilities, even if they were a little rough and loud around the edges.
“So what’s today’s project?” he asked, trying his best not to wince when the pencil’s tip snapped in the sharpener.
Sohyun sighed in frustration before skillfully removing the graphite from between the blades and restarting the sharpening process. “Pencil confetti.”
Mingyu blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Pencil. Confetti.” She repeated it slowly as if fearing he was dumb and wouldn’t get it otherwise.
He tried not to take offense. “For…?”
“For the wedding,” she explained like it was obvious before gasping and turning to Misoo. “You need to give him an invitation!”
The other girl facepalmed theatrically before rushing over to him with a surprisingly neatly folded paper card. Before he could ask her about it, she was rushing to the other side of the classroom to hand an identical one to Minghao.
‘INVITAISION’ it read in big bold multicolour letters, a large pink heart-shaped sticker sitting right under the word.
Mingyu opened the card and his jaw just about dropped (granted, it took him about two minutes to decipher the writing and make sense of it; he couldn’t complain because he hadn’t expected any kindergarten kids to know how to write anything at all).
“Seokmin and (Y/n) are getting married?!” He made eye contact with Minghao who gave him an equally shocked look.
“We’re throwing them a marriage!” Hyesoo declared happily and held out a little string tied into a circle. “I’m making rings!”
Mingyu fought a smile. “So, pencil confetti and string rings?”
“We wanted to make flower rings but it’s too early to go outside yet,” Jaemin informed him with a pout.
“And flower confetti,” Sohyun sighed and continued working the pencil sharpener like it was her day job and she was getting paid per shaving.
“... Want me to get you guys some real flowers?” Mingyu asked after a moment of thought. It wasn’t every day that the kids planned a wedding, after all.
The kids’ faces lit up with joy like little Christmas trees. If he hadn’t wanted to do this, he would’ve felt compelled now.
“And we could make them paper rings,” Minghao suggested with a little smile. “They would last longer than flowers.”
The kids screamed in excitement.
You leaned closer to your boyfriend, eyeing the kids suspiciously as you did so. “They’re being weird.”
Too busy to even look up —Seokmin was neck-deep in his emails—, he hummed. “Weird how?”
“Like … quiet weird.”
His attention was fully on you now. “Oh, that’s no good.”
“Look at them!” you whispered and nodded towards where the kids were supposed to be playing on the carpet.
Instead of messing around with little trucks and dolls and teddy bears, they were braiding ribbons into each others’ hair and handing out cards and whispering secrets. You felt like you’d entered an alternate dimension.
Seokmin raised a single brow and nodded. “Okay, this is scary.”
“Should we—” you hesitated, “—do something?”
He shrugged. “But what if we do something and they get noisy and crazy again?”
“Good point.”
The big hour was growing nearer. The kids were buzzing with excitement, ready to see their plan in action. In half an hour, it would be time to go outside to play games and throw the biggest party of their lives.
“Okay, do we have everything?” Minsoo asked, standing in the middle of the circle on the carpet. She glanced towards the teachers’ desks – the married-couple-to-be were still unaware of their plans and working on something on their computer. She was happy with the sight, for now, and turned back to her co-conspirators. “Invitations?”
“All given out,” Jaemin replied.
“Confetti?”
“Pencil or rose petal?” Sohyun wondered. She received no answer. “Well, I have both.”
“Perfect,” Minsoo approved and continued checking her mental wedding list. “Rings?”
Bomin – universally recognised as the resident expert in paper crafts – held two rings out on his palm. The other kids made noises of approval.
“Music?”
Eunji nodded and hummed in confirmation. She was the only kid in the group to have a phone, even if it did only let her call her mom, listen to about fifteen songs and play Candy Crush. By all accounts, she was the coolest kid in town.
“Priest?”
Silence. The kids turned to look at Yunho who let out a whine and slumped backwards until he was lying on the ground. “Why do I have to be the priest?”
“Because it’s a boring people job,” Sohyun told him with utter seriousness and all he could do was sigh in defeat.
Mina held up her hand and asked, “Shouldn’t we get Miss (Y/n) a wedding dress?”
“No, because she’s already pretty,” was the general consensus.
Minsoo looked at her friends, her companions, her co-conspirators, her little minions. She nodded in approval. “People, we have a wedding to do.”
“Kids, don’t wander too far off,” you reminded them gently as they rushed outside in a single file. Somehow it felt like they were even more enthusiastic about playing outside than usual.
Odd, you thought and pushed the thought out of your head. It had, after all, been an overall strange day. Then again, the weather was lovely and you suspected you would’ve been similarly excited if you were in their shoes.
Still, it was weird that they were all heading in the same direction as if led by an invisible tour guide.
Seokmin nudged your side. “You’re right. They are being weird today.”
“Right?” Your brows furrowed. “What is up with them?”
“You know, I think they might have heard our fight this morning.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Honey, they asked me if we were breaking up as soon as I got to the room. I am sure they heard us.”
“Maybe that’s why they’re so weird,” he concluded with a click of his tongue before turning to you. “I’m glad you forgave me though. I’m sorry for being so dumb.”
A sigh forced its way out of your body. “You’re not dumb. You’re just … less hesitant than me.” Your fingers brushed against yours. “You know I want a future with you, I just— It hasn’t been all that long.”
“It’s been two years and eight months,” he supplied with a quiet chuckle but there was no malice behind those words. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “But who’s counting? Not me.”
“Right,” you deadpanned and jabbed him in the ribs with all the force of a bumblebee crashing into a human body. Your fingers wrapped around his and gave them a squeeze. “Just give me some time, okay? Soon, but not yet.”
“Soon, but not yet,” he parroted with a smile that said he was more than willing to wait.
The padding of feet pulled you out of the moment. In front of you stood Jaemin, hands politely behind his back, cheeks flushed red from the spring chill. He cleared his throat.
“You need to come with me,” he declared and didn’t bother to wait for an answer before heading right back where he came from.
You shared a look with your boyfriend. “Did he mean the both of us?”
“I think so,” he said and shrugged before following after the boy. You sighed and did the same.
The world came to a standstill for just a moment when you reached the old tree in the middle of the yard. It seemed that all of the kids had gathered exactly there, forming two neat groups with a little path between them leading to Yunho wearing glasses that were certainly not his own and a top hat. Mingyu and Minghao stood on either side of him with wide mischievous grins, in on a scheme that had clearly been created under your nose without you ever suspecting a thing.
“What is this?” you asked no one in particular.
“Your wedding!” Minsoo declared as Jaemin all but dragged your boyfriend to the other end of the makeshift path.
Seokmin wore a puzzled smile as Mingyu started dusting his jacket and fixing his hair like a fuzzy mother. “Our what?”
“Wedding,” the kids repeated in unison like it was the most obvious thing. When you still stared at them with nothing but confusion in your eyes, they let out a collection of little sighs.
Sohyun called out, “You’re getting married!”
“We are?”
“Yes!”
“Why?” Seokmin wondered while dodging Mingyu’s attempts to straighten his collar. “How come?”
“Because you had a fight and then Miss (Y/n) said you two were having a bad day,” Minsoo explained to you like you two were the five-year-old ones and they were the much more experienced adults. “And my mom always says she was the happiest on her wedding day, so now you are getting married so your day can be happy too.”
No one could argue with logic. You admitted defeat and let the girls adjust your clothes and put a little flower into your hair.
When they were done, like the woman on a mission that she was, Minsoo handed you a single red rose – a real one, you noted in astonishment – and held out her hand for you to take. Hesitantly, you did as expected.
The moment your fingers touched hers, you almost burst out laughing when you heard the beginning notes of ‘Love Is an Open Door’.
With a proud grin on her face, she led you down the aisle towards the old tree – towards your boyfriend. You really did start laughing when the kids began throwing flower petals onto your path.
“You guys put a lot of thought into this, huh?” you asked.
She only smiled and led you to the make-shift altar made of an old tree log. You stood next to Seokmin who offered you a matching amused smile and took your hand from hers, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
“We’re getting married,” he whispered as if he couldn’t believe it.
Frankly, you couldn’t either. Especially when just this morning you had been arguing over this very thing. Funny how the universe works, you thought and stepped closer to his side. “We’re getting married.”
“Ladies and gentlemans,” Yunho began in a faux-official tone as soon as the song ended, holding a notebook up like he could read, “we are here to marry Miss (Y/n) and Mister Minnie. Does anybody object?”
Silence filled the yard. You glanced back to find the kids giving each other glares as if to dare the other to make even a squeak. One could rest assured violence would erupt if the smallest sound was heard.
Yunho seemed to breathe out in relief before continuing, “Do you, Mister Minnie, take Miss (Y/n) as your wife?”
“I do,” Seokmin told him, not even bothering to fight his giggles.
“Stop laughing! This is a serious matter!” Sohyun scolded him from the first row.
Seokmin schooled his expression and cleared his throat, standing up straighter as if he was a mere soldier that had just received an order from his commanding officer. With all the seriousness he could muster, he repeated, “I do.”
“Good,” Yunho approved and turned to you. “Do you, Miss (Y/n), take Mister Minnie as your husband?”
You nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Perfect! Then I announce you–”
“The vows! Don’t forget the vows!” Bomin called out from the crowd.
Jaemin gasped. “And the rings!”
Yunho seemed a little overwhelmed by the demands of the many but quickly gathered himself. “Right. Mister Minnie, do you have any vows?”
Seokmin’s lips twitched. “Sure.”
“You do?” you gasped and turned to him. “Well, come on then.”
“Do you not have vows for me then?” He pressed his free hand to his chest, feigning a wound.
You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t realise I would be getting married today, so…”
“Then you’d better think quick because these kids are ruthless,” Mingyu leaned over to tell you.
Seokmin chuckled and cleared his throat once more. He took your other hand in his as well. “My (Y/n), my beloved, my moon, my stars, my sunshine–”
“This was a mistake,” you heard one of the kids mumble in the crowd, clearly disgusted by the amount of honorifics your boyfriend had decided to bestow upon you. Maybe she wasn’t the romantic type.
“–I love you and I adore you. I didn’t expect to marry you today but, well, here we are, getting married, today, right here. They say that if you find the one you love, you feel like you can live forever. I am glad you’ve chosen me to spend your forever with.”
The kids cooed and awwed and squealed in delight. You would’ve joined them if you didn’t feel so suspiciously close to crying.
“It’s your turn,” Yunho whispered to you after a moment of silence.
You blinked back to reality and squeezed Seokmin’s hands. “Alright, well, I didn’t have anything prepared but… I can’t imagine a life without you in it, Seokmin. I can’t imagine waking up to anything other than your attempts at coffee. I can’t imagine coming to work to the sound of anything other than your singing. You mean everything to me. This wedding came as a surprise but I am so glad it did because it means I can marry the man of my dreams.”
The children erupted into cheers as Minghao held out two rings for you to take. Seokmin slipped one around your ring finger with gentle, nervous grace. You did the same for him and smiled wide when he leaned forward to kiss your lips.
Boys fought grimaces of disgust while girls giggled and squealed in delight. ‘Love Is an Open Door’ commenced playing once again as Yunho ushered you back down the aisle to be showered in flower confetti.
“Not at all what I thought they were planning,” Seokmin leaned towards you to whisper. “I did not expect this.”
“Is it weird that I’m not mad about it?” you asked and rested your head against his shoulder. “I know I said I wasn’t ready for marriage this morning but–”
“As far as I care, this marriage is all that counts,” he told you with a giddy smile and pressed another kiss to your lips. He held his left hand out for you to see, wriggling his fingers to show off his new paper jewellery. “I have a ring to prove it now.”
how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine
the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)
you can follow me on x, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻
You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.
You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.
You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.
Then you see him.
He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod.
You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.
“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”
His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.
You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.
“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”
You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol, doesn’t move his arm.
His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”
“But babe—”
He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”
Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.
You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.
“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.
He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”
And god help you, you say yes.
Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.
“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.
He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.
“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.
The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”
“You were done talking when she walked away.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.
The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.
Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.
“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?
You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”
He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”
There’s a beat of silence, then—
“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”
It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.
You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.
You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really.
She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.
But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.
“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”
It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.
You blink. My girl?
Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.
The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.
“I help you,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”
Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.
You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.
Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.
“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”
Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.
The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.
“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”
You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”
His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”
You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.
But you don’t.
Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:
The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.
Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.
“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.
They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.
“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks
Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”
The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”
You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.
“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”
“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.
Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.
A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest. Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.
You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.
You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”
Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”
You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”
“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”
You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”
He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”
You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.
You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.
Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.
“Want me to walk you out?”
You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”
His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”
You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”
“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”
You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.
“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.
You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”
And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.
“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”
He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”
You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.
“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”
You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”
He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now
“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”
You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”
“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”
He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.
“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”
And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.
And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.
“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”
He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.
“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”
You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.
“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”
He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”
“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”
He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.
“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”
You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.
“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”
“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”
He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”
“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”
“And I was.”
You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”
He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.
“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”
You tilt your head. “No?”
“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”
You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.
So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”
He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.
“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”
And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.
=
The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.
He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.
“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”
Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.
Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.
“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”
“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”
“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”
Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.
“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”
Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”
Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”
Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.
“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”
Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.
Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”
Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.
A message from you.
You: So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?
He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.
Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.
Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.
He hits send before he can think better of it.
Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.
He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.
A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.
Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.
You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.
The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.
Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”
He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. “Told you. Bribes.”
You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”
“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”
You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”
He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”
You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”
He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”
You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”
He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.
You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.
“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”
“That’s vague as hell.”
“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”
You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”
“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”
You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”
You blink. “Why?”
He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.
“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”
Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.
You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”
He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.
You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.
“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”
That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.
“This a date now?” he throws back.
You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”
He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”
And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.
Again.
The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.
You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.
He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.
“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”
He nods, bowing slightly in greeting.
You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”
He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”
She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.
He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.
“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”
“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”
“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”
“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”
You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”
He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”
You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“Too late.”
There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.
He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.
“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.
You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.
And the look in his eyes?
Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.
You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.
She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”
You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”
Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?
The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”
You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.
“Ah, he’s exaggerating,” you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”
“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”
The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”
You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”
“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”
Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.
The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.
You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”
He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”
You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.
The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.
You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”
You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”
His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”
You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:
“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”
He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”
You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.
By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.
He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.
You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.
He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.
Jeonghan.
The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.
“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”
“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.
Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”
Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”
“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”
Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”
The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.
It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.
His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.
Seungcheol: You free for dinner?
You:Yes. Come rescue me.
He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.
On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.
“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”
You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”
“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”
You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”
They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”
Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.
Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?
You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.
“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.
“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”
You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”
They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.
You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up.
The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.
“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.
He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”
You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”
“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”
You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”
He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”
“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”
“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.
For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.
“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.
He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”
You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”
“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”
Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.
The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.
You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”
“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”
You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”
“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away
You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.
“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.
“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”
You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.
It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.
The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.
“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”
Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”
She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.
You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”
“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”
You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.
“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”
He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”
“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.
His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.
“I do.”
And the way he says it?
It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.
And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.
He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.
You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”
He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”
You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”
He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”
And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.
Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.
“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.
“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”
You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”
“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”
You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.
The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.
And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.
As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.
You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”
“What, you think I’m boring?”
You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”
“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.
You blink. “Wait. What was that?”
“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”
“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”
He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”
You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.
“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”
“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”
Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.
“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”
He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”
“That’s it? Just a drive?”
He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”
You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”
The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.
"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.
He glances over, curious. “Like what?”
“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”
His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”
You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”
“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”
"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"
“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”
You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.
He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”
“Another hidden spot?”
“You doubting my taste now?”
“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”
He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”
You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”
“I could say the same about you.”
That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.
By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.
He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.
“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”
You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”
And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”
He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”
He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.
“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”
You blink. “Wow. A full set.”
He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”
You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”
“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”
You freeze just for a second.
“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”
His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Guess I’ll need more data.”
He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.
You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”
His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”
“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper.
“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.
Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.
You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.
“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.
He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.
“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”
You blink, pulse stuttering.
“Then why?”
He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.
“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”
You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.
So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.
“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”
He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
“And you’re trouble.”
You smile.
“So what now?”
He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.
“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”
And you don’t argue.
But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.
It’s just the prelude.
=
The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.
Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.
He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.
“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”
Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.
And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.
Actually, smiling.
Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”
“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.
“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”
They both watch him a beat longer.
Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”
Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”
Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.
“Y’all are dramatic.”
“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”
“There’s no she.”
“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”
Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”
Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.
Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”
Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”
Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”
“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.
The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.
It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m.
A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:
Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC
Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.
You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?
He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming.
It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.
You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.
Hence: the smile.
The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.
“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.
Joshua frowns. “For what?”
He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”
There’s a pause.
“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”
Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”
“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”
Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”
That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”
He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.
“She liked them.”
And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.
You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.
You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.
But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.
Flowers again?
You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.
And your heart absolutely stutters.
Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.
It’s him.
Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.
“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”
You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”
He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”
“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”
“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.
He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”
You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.
“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.
Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.
“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”
You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”
“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”
You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”
He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”
“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”
He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.
You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.
“How was your morning?”
He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.
“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”
You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”
He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”
“Because you were texting me?”
His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.
“Maybe.”
You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.
You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”
“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”
You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”
His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”
Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”
“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”
You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”
“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.
You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.
“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”
And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.
You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.
“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”
His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”
You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”
He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”
You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.
“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”
You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.
“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”
Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.
“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”
You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”
“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”
“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”
He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”
You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.
“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”
He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”
You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”
The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.
“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.
He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.
“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”
“Worse than I thought, apparently.”
He grins. “Good.”
And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.
Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.
It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two.
A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.
But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.
The bar.
He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”
You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”
He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.
“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”
“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.
You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”
“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”
You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”
“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.
You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.
“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”
His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”
You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”
Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.
“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”
You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”
He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”
You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”
“That was strategic,” he deadpans.
“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.
From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.
Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.
Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying.
One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.
And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.
Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.
He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast. And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.
One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”
He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.
“No,” he says. “Just you.”
And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.
“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”
He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look
“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”
You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”
He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”
You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”
He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”
For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.
You feel it, the shift. Again.
And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.
“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”
You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.
“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”
Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.
He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”
You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”
“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”
Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”
“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”
“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim.
“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”
And you believe him. God help you, you really do.
“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”
Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.
He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”
“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”
“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”
Your brows lift. “My reaction?”
“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.
“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance.
“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.
He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—
“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”
Your breath catches. “Why not?”
His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”
And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.
The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.
You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.
He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.
When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.
No questions.
No where to?
He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.
And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.
You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”
“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”
He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.
And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.
=
Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.
Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.
“You’re thinking very loudly.”
Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”
Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.
“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.
Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”
Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”
“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”
“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.
Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”
“And nothing.”
Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”
Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”
Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”
“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.
And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.
He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”
There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”
Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.
Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”
=
The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.
You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.
Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.
You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.
“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”
He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”
You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way.
You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days.
“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”
You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.
“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”
“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.
You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”
He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”
You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”
The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.
“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”
Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”
You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”
His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”
And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.
When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.
As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”
You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”
It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.
You’re not waiting long.
His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress.
Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.
And then he steps out.
He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”
You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”
He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.
“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.
You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”
He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”
You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”
When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.
You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.
Because of him.
Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.
Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt.
He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.
It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.
“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”
You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”
He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”
He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”
And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.
You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.
“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.
Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”
You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”
He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”
That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.
“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”
“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.
“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”
You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”
“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”
“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.
“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”
You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”
“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.
That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.
You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.
“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.
Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.
“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”
“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.
He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”
You smile. “What is it, then?”
His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.
“Mine.” he says.
Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.
He kisses you.
It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.
You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T
When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.
“Finally,” you whisper.
Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”
You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”
He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”
“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.
You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.
Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.
When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.
You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.
Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”
Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.
She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.
“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”
You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”
“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”
You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.
He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”
Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”
“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.
“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”
You gape at him.
Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”
“If she’ll let me.”
Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”
You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”
Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”
Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”
“Mom!”
She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.
You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”
But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”
Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.
He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear.
That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.
“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”
Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”
Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”
Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”
Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”
Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”
“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.
Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.
“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”
Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”
“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.
Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”
“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”
“Did she finally kiss you?”
“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”
Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”
“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”
There’s a beat of quiet.
Joshua softens. “You like her.”
Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”
Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”
“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”
Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.
“You what?”
Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”
Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”
“She liked me.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”
“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”
“I’m not love-struck.”
“You’re literally glowing.”
Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”
But he’s still smiling.
Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.
“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.
You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”
“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”
Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.
“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”
His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.
“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”
He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”
“Seven okay?”
“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.
“I’ll see you tonight then.”
“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”
The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.
Then he turns around.
Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”
Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”
“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”
“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”
“Shut up,”
You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”
You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.
When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.
And in his hands?
Two bouquets.
You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”
He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”
You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”
“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”
You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”
“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”
You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.
“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”
Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”
Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.
Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.
He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”
You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”
He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”
You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.
You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.
“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”
He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”
And somehow, you believe him.
The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.
Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.
“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”
You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”
“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”
“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.
But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.
“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”
Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”
Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.
“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.
Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”
Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”
You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”
“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”
The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.
“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”
“No?”
You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”
He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”
“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”
Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”
You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”
“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.
Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”
Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.
He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”
You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”
He grins. “Only for you.”
When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”
He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”
You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.
You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.
Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.
“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”
“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.
But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.
“You love the guy.”
“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”
She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.
“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”
You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”
“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge.
“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”
You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”
She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”
The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.
And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.
You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”
She raises a brow.
“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”
Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”
=
The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.
“Hey, baby.”
You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now.
“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”
There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”
You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late.”
You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”
He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.
“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.
You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”
“Depends. Can I taste-test?”
You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”
“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”
You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”
“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”
The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.
The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.
Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.
“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.
“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet
“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”
“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”
You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.
Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.
“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.
“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.
“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.
“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”
“You’re clingy.”
“You love it.”
You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”
That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft.
You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.
And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.
“I could get used to this,” he says softly.
You smile, eyes locked with his.
He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.
You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.
Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.
Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”
“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”
He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”
“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”
“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.
“Mhm. It suits you.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”
“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”
=
It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.
The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.
This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.
Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.
Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”
You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.
It’s comfortable—normal, now.
You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”
You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”
“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”
“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”
“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.
You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.
He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”
You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”
“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”
“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”
His smile widens. “Still do.”
The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.
He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.
“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”
He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”
You lift a brow. “Maybe?”
He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it.
Like there never was.
His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.
“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”
You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”
He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.
dont get me wrong this is #mood but just try eating a piece of bread with salt. please, seriously. ok? at least a tiny bit. salt helps with nausea, bread calms the stomach acid. if you really can’t face eating anything, just lick some salt like a damn elk, then wait and see if you can manage the bread. make some broth if you’re into that kind of thing. no spices, yes salt. if you’re feeling too weak and shaky to do much, just have a cup of tea with sugar (energy) and lemon (again, good against nausea). nibble on the lemon first, it will feel good, but don’t overdo - citric acid on an empty stomach is a majorly bad idea. take care of yourself, you’re the only you we’ve got
⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ through your my our eyes 🔍(mingyu x reader)
contains: soulmate au, tooth-rotting fluff, soulmates to old married couple to friends to lovers, slight swearing, etc.
a/n: happy birthday, mingyu <3
".....he is able to see one of Ae-sun’s poem’s published. It’s dedicated to Gwan-sik, telling him she will be OK after he dies. The poem ends with an expression of immense gratitude that uses the show’s Korean title: “My precious dearest, here’s to all you’ve been through." The story is all the more precious when you realize Gwan-sik and Ae-sun are not soulmates. Brick by brick they built up their love into a wonderful shelter for their loved ones to rest their wings on. Maybe we, who are used to exchanging our souls with our destined one; we, who know who we are meant to be with, will never ever understand a world where if soulmates do exist, they are not found, they are made (by choice)."
- An Excerpt from the Time Magazine on the ending of 'When Life Gives You Tangerines'
Kim Mingyu did not want a soulmate. He has a great life, amazing friends, a job he loves, and the best family. What would he even do with a soulmate? And yet, when he felt his soul shifting from his body to theirs, he couldn't stop himself from being a bit excited. Who did the universe choose for him? And why?
The din of the house party was muffled to him as Mingyu sat at the corner of the balcony. "It's my birthday today". Why did he text that? It's been two days since their souls were exchanged for a few minutes. Well, one day sixteen hours but who is counting? Just as he had given up hope of getting a reply, a ting from his phone raised his hopes up. "happy birthday lover boy. hope you had some cake". He should scoff at this. How generic. No, it was not him who was grinning like a cat who got the cream. He was a dog. A golden retriever. Not some ally cat.
Most of his friends jumped into the rabbit hole of falling in love as soon as they exchanged their soul with their soulmates. While, on the other hand, Mingyu was fumbling. How do you connect with someone when you don't know what to say? His nickname maybe 'motor mouth' but the motor had an engine failure every time he opened his chat with her. A few minutes of having his soul whooshed into her body isn't enough to get to know her. So, Mingyu started doing what he does best when he doesn't know what to do: he finds a solvable problem. She likes kimchi and is too lazy to make her own? Boom! He makes her homemade because his mother's recipe is obviously superior to whatever readymade kimchi is in the market. She hates putting away her work stuff? Okay, no problem. He can sort them out and make it easier for her to find where she left off. A bit of cleaning, lighting some candles to bring out a cozy vibe, dimming the room, setting up her blanket and pillows exactly how she loves it. He can do all of these. And if it makes him feel a bit giddy inside to imagine her burrowing herself into the blanket and drifting off while watching the latest netflix series, its a secret that that he taking to the grave.
Look, Mingyu doesn't need to be protected. He is a big seix foot guy with biceps bigger than most people's head. And he is used to being teased by the guys. So, when she possessed his body and fell back first into the pool because of a stray basketball to the face, it was nothing new for him to be the butt of every joke made by the guys. it's was kind of irritating but he can just ignore it. However, the mind-blowing moment was when Jeonghan and Hoshi came by to apologise to him. He tried everything to make them spill what she did for a once in a lifetime thing to happen but they would not budge. Again, Mingyu doesn't need protection or to be coddled. It was nice though. It felt nice to know that someone got his back. Even if he doesn't need it. Especially, when he doesn't need it.
Mingyu knows he can be a lot. He is too loud, too tactless, too demanding. Yet, he never feels that way when he talks to her. His every word were given undivided attention. His texts were never left on seen. He felt valued. he felt that he was a person worth knowing. he felt that being himself was enough. Mingyu had a few ex girlfriends and boyfriends. But they never made him feel that being Mingyu, the human was enough. He was always Mingyu, the loving partner or Mingyu, the popular guy or Mingyu, the hot boyfriend. Love and respect were depended on his value; what he could bring to the table. With her, Mingyu had to think that his worth was conditional. Maybe, just the universe didn't choose soulmates to fix their worse half. Rather, maybe soulmates are people who can help you love yourself.
“.....I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
- An Excerpt from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
dividers from @strangergraphics-archive and @saradika-graphics
The first raindrop lands on your nose, cool against your skin. Then another. And another. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a full shower, the sky opening up above you.
“Ah, we should run for cover,” you say, laughing as you look at Dino. But he doesn’t move.
Instead, he just grins, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Or…” he steps back, extending a hand toward you, “we dance.”
You blink. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head, completely serious—but in the most Dino way possible. “Come on,” he coaxes, his smile impossible to resist. “No music, no stage, just you and me.”
For a second, you hesitate. The rain is already soaking through your clothes, your hair sticking to your skin. But then he twirls himself dramatically, arms outstretched, laughing like a kid. And suddenly, it doesn’t matter.
You take his hand.
The moment your fingers intertwine, he pulls you into a spin, his laughter mixing with yours as the rain falls around you. There’s no rhythm, no choreography—just two people moving freely, completely lost in each other.
Dino watches you, his heart swelling at the way you let go, the way you trust him enough to be this carefree. “You know,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, “I think I want to dance with you forever.”
Your breath catches, not because of the rain, but because of the look in his eyes—pure, certain, full of love.
You smile, pressing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. “Then don’t ever let go.”
His grip on your hand tightens as he grins, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours. “Never.”
And so, under the open sky, with no one else around, you dance—not just for this moment, but for all the moments to come.
pairing yoon jeonghan x fem! reader
about fluff | 2.1k words | best friends to lovers
summary jeonghan wants to make your birthday special.
warnings mention of calling reader "y/n". reader is a producer for hybe but it’s only mentioned in the beginning.
masterlist ౨ৎ likes and reblogs are appreciated!
괜히 말해주기 싫지 어딜 가게 될지 아직은 no way
너를 보면 장난치고 싶은 내 맘 같은곳
- "holiday" by seventeen
Being best friends with all thirteen members of SEVENTEEN was not exactly how you had pictured your life when you first joined HYBE as a producer.
At first, you were just a co-worker, someone who worked behind the scenes, helping with their music. But somehow, over time, you became family. From Seungcheol’s big brother energy to Chan's endless antics, you had a bond with every single one of them.
But if you had to pick someone who felt a little too close, and a little too persistent in making sure he was part of your daily life, it was Yoon Jeonghan.
Unlike the others, he sought you out more than necessary.
Sure, all of your thirteen friends loved teasing you, but Jeonghan made it a full-time job. He was constantly in your space, poking your cheeks, ruffling your hair, texting you late at night about random things just because he knew you’d answer.
And that was the problem.
At some point, you fell for him.
But with Jeonghan, it was impossible to tell if he was serious or just being himself. He flirted like it was second nature, throwing around compliments and sweet gestures so effortlessly that it had to be meaningless.
It wasn’t just with you either, he was naturally charming with everyone.
So, for your sanity, you kept your feelings to yourself. You buried them deep, convinced that if you ignored them long enough they would go away.
No one, not Seungkwan, not Mingyu, not even Jisoo who you confided in about other personal matters, knew about your crush. And you planned to keep it that way.
[9:58 pm]
The private dining room at the restaurant was full of your closest friends. Everyone arrived slowly, so most of them were more drunk than the ones who arrived later. You found entertainment in watching Soonyoung and Seungkwan's red faces already play fighting near you.
“Here, this one’s from me,” Seokmin said, sliding a neatly wrapped box in your direction.
“Mine too!” Junhui grinned, nudging his gift onto the table.
One by one, everyone handed over their presents, teasing you about how they had outdone each other.
“Mine’s the best,” Soonyoung declared.
“Yours is probably a tiger plushie,” Minghao deadpanned.
“…And?”
Everyone laughed as you eagerly opened each gift, thanking them. Throughout the entire night, you noticed how Jeonghan barely left your side.
“You’re just here for the free food, aren’t you?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.
Jeonghan smirked. “Of course. You think I’d show up just for you?”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Jeonghan suddenly excused himself.
“I’ll be back,” he said, standing up. “Bathroom.”
You didn’t think much of it, until Seungkwan and Chan did.
“So,” Chan started, leaning in. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
You sighed. “Nothing. You guys are all busy, remember? That’s why we’re doing this tonight.”
Seungkwan gave Chan a very obvious look before turning back to you. “Right. Totally.”
For some reason, they both looked excited. Suspiciously so.
“Why do you guys look like you know something I don’t?” you narrowed your eyes.
“No reason!” they both said at the same time.
You opened your mouth to demand an answer, but suddenly, the lights in the room went out.
A beat of silence.
Then the glow of candles illuminated the space as Jeonghan walked in, carrying a pretty birthday cake.
Everyone burst into singing, their voices echoing off the walls as you sat there, completely stunned.
Jeonghan was the one holding the cake with the biggest grin, probably proud that he had managed to get the candles across the room without it turning off. His eyes never left yours as he stood in front of you, waiting for you to blow out the candles.
“Make an early wish, birthday girl,” he murmured.
Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you closed your eyes, made your wish, and blew out the candles.
Everyone cheered, and immediately, it was photo time.
“Y/n, hold the cake!” Jihoon instructed from the other end of the table.
You barely had time to pose before you felt something cold and sweet on your nose.
Your eyes widened. “Did you just—”
Jeonghan grinned innocently as he wiped frosting off his finger. “You looked too serious. I fixed it.”
Laughter erupted as Wonwoo and Soonyoung rushed to take photos of your reaction. You mentally noted to ask Wonwoo for his photos as Soonyoung was barely able to turn on his phone.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, reaching for a napkin.
Before you could wipe your nose, Jeonghan snatched the tissue from your hand.
“Here,” he murmured, dabbing at your skin himself.
The entire table fell silent.
You could feel everyone staring.
Jihoon was visibly holding back a smile. Soonyoung had to cover his mouth to stop himself from saying something. Even Hansol, of all people, raised an eyebrow.
You tried to ignore the way your heart was pounding.
[11:59 pm]
After dinner, Jeonghan offered to walk you home, which wasn’t unusual but something felt different.
He kept glancing at his phone every few minutes, looking almost nervous.
“Are you waiting for a text?” you finally asked, glancing at him briefly before staring at the pavement as you walked.
He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Nope.”
You frowned, but before you could press him further, Jeonghan suddenly stopped walking.
You turned to face him, confused. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced at his watch.
And then, right as the clock struck midnight, he smiled.
“Happy real birthday.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“I wanted to be the first to say it,” he added, voice softer now.
Your chest tightened. Why was he like this?
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, looking almost relieved. “And as for your birthday gift…”
You raised a brow. “Oh? Do I finally get to find out what it is?”
He grinned. “Yep. Cancel your plans because you’re spending the day with me.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
“You planned something?”
His smirk softened into something more sincere. “You’ll see. Just be ready in the morning.”
You swallowed. “Okay… goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, birthday girl.”
As you walked into your apartment, your stomach flipped with anticipation.
Tomorrow, it would be just the two of you.
And maybe, just maybe, something would change.
[10:03 am]
The next morning you stood by your window, watching as a familiar car pulled up in front of your building.
Jeonghan.
Your stomach did a nervous flip as you grabbed your bag and rushed downstairs, stepping into the crisp morning air.
Jeonghan was leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Good morning,” he greeted, opening the passenger door for you.
“You’re suspiciously cheerful,” you muttered as you slid into the seat.
He shut the door behind you, walking to the driver’s side. “Why wouldn’t I be? I get to spend the whole day with my favorite person.”
Your heart nearly exploded.
You played it off with a scoff. “You have thirteen favorite people, Jeonghan.”
He smirked as he started the engine. “Yeah, but you’re my actual favorite.”
You turned your face towards the window, trying to hide your smile.
As Jeonghan drove, the city gradually gave way to winding roads and open fields, the countryside stretching before you like a peaceful painting.
"You still haven't told me where we're going," you said, breaking the comfortable silence.
Jeonghan glanced at you with his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
You sighed dramatically. "What if you're kidnapping me?"
He chuckled. "Then, at least you're being kidnapped by the Yoon Jeonghan."
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest wouldn’t go away.
[1:14 pm]
Jeonghan pulled into a quiet coastal town.
Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of an Airbnb tucked near the shore. It looked like something out of a movie—white walls, a small porch, and waves crashing in the distance.
"Jeonghan…" you breathed. "You prepared all this for me?"
He cut the engine and turned to you with a smile. "It was nothing."
You stepped out of the car, taking in the salty air, the golden sand, and the endless stretch of ocean.
“This is insane,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you planned this surprise when you've been busy lately.”
Jeonghan grabbed your bag from the trunk. “I told you, I wanted today to be special.”
[05:27 pm]
The day passed in a blur of shared laughter, stolen glances, and moments that felt heavier than they should have.
Jeonghan had planned everything—from breakfast at a tiny beachside café to a spontaneous shopping trip at a local market. Every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you.
He adjusted your scarf when the wind got too strong.
He held your wrist to guide you through the streets.
He brushed sand off your hair after you sat by the shore.
As the sun began to set, you and Jeonghan walked along the beach shore, your shoes in hand, the waves lapping at your ankles.
The sky was painted orange and pink, the air cool, and the moment too perfect.
And then, Jeonghan reached for your hand. It was so casual that you almost didn’t realize it at first.
But then he tightened his grip, lacing his fingers through yours.
You stopped walking.
He did too.
"Jeonghan?"
He turned to face you, his expression unreadable.
And then, softly he began, "I like making you happy."
Your breath caught.
"I think…" He exhaled, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "I think I've always liked making you happy. And I don’t want to stop."
The ocean roared in the background, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart.
“What are you trying to say?” you carefully asked.
He smiled, his grip on your hand tightening. “I’d really like to be something more,"
A pause.
"I have feelings for you."
The words sent a shiver down your spine.
You swallowed, suddenly unable to think straight. “Jeonghan, are you being serious?”
He let out a breathy laugh. “Y/n. When have I ever been more serious in my life?”
You hesitated, your emotions a tangled mess. “I just… I thought I read all the signs wrong. You flirt with everyone, so I thought…”
Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head with a small smile.
“I don’t flirt with everyone,” he murmured. “I flirt with you.”
Your lips parted slightly in surprise.
“I do all of this,” he gestured between you two “because I love you, Y/n. More than you expect. Not as a best friend.”
A beat of silence.
"But if you don’t feel the same, I get it.” His voice was quieter now, hesitant. “I just couldn’t let today end without finally confessing to you.”
And suddenly, you knew.
You knew because this feeling had been in your heart for so long that you couldn’t even remember when it started.
You love him.
And for the first time, you weren’t afraid to show it.
Without another word, you stepped closer, standing on your tiptoes, and pressed your lips against his.
Jeonghan froze for a second as if caught off guard, but then he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
The waves crashed around you, but all you could focus on was him. The warmth of his lips, the way he held you like you were something fragile yet irreplaceable.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours.
“So…” he murmured, voice tinged with amusement, “does this mean I didn’t ruin things?”
You smiled, your hands still resting on his chest. “No, it means you’re officially my boyfriend now.”
His eyes sparkled, his grin widening. “Say that again?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “I said you’re my—”
Before you could finish, Jeonghan kissed you again, stealing the words right from your lips.
In that moment, you knew this was just the beginning of many more birthdays with him.
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
pixelskylines
romaincrisis
