pairing: anton x fem bodied reader | brother's best friend!anton x reader (reader is sungchan's younger sister) | friends-to-lovers-ish
plot: you come home to find your brother’s best friend staying over, and what starts as something easy to ignore quickly turns into something neither of you can pretend isn’t there.
word count: approx. 5k
warnings: making out, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do it), oral sex (female receiving), sungchan is a protective brother, reader is younger than sungchan and anton
requested - yes | HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII LOVE YOUR WRITING ... CAN WE GET SOMETHING WITH ANTON ......... maybe he's like reader's older brother's friend and all that cliche
a/n: finally an anton ask, this man... he be getting freakier day by day i just know he thrives on knowing he's desired like he's definitely my bias wrecker everyday
masterlist
anton had always just been your brother’s friend — not yours, not really — someone who existed in your life in the same quiet, unremarkable way he existed in sungchan’s. he came over, greeted your parents politely, stayed just a step behind whatever noise your brother brought into the room, and left without ever disturbing the balance of anything. you never had a reason to notice him beyond that. he was simply there, consistent and unobtrusive, like a fixture you never thought to question.
which was exactly why it felt so disorienting the first time you did notice him.
your brother, sungchan, had never needed to set rules when it came to you. he didn’t tell his friends to stay away, didn’t make a show of being overprotective, but it lingered in the way he spoke, in the way he dismissed every guy you mentioned with an ease that felt almost practiced. no one ever seemed to meet whatever quiet standard he held, and over time it became less of a conversation and more of a fact. you stopped bringing people up. he stopped asking. it settled into something unspoken between you.
anton had never been part of that dynamic.
not because sungchan approved of anything, but because anton had never been anything that required approval.
until something shifted, so quietly that you almost convinced yourself it hadn’t.
…..
it started with a car ride that should have meant nothing. sungchan had texted you that he was caught up and couldn’t make it, that anton would pick you up instead, and you hadn’t thought twice about it until you opened the passenger door and realised it was just the two of you. the interior of the car felt smaller than it should have, like the space had narrowed without warning.
anton greeted you the same way he always did, a soft “hey” paired with a brief glance that lingered just slightly longer than you remembered. you returned it automatically, settling into your seat, the door closing with a muted thud that seemed louder than usual in the quiet that followed.
the drive began simply enough, the hum of the engine filling the silence, but it wasn’t the kind of silence you were used to with him. it wasn’t empty. it had texture, something faint but persistent that made you aware of things you had never noticed before — the way his hands rested steady on the steering wheel, the slight flex in his fingers when he slowed at a junction, the way he adjusted the air conditioning without asking, like he had already picked up on the smallest change in your posture. at a red light, his gaze shifted toward you for a moment, not intrusive, not lingering, but deliberate enough that you felt it.
“you don’t have to drop me all the way,” you said eventually, your voice cutting through the quiet more to steady yourself than anything else.
“i know,” he replied, his tone even, almost absent-minded.
that made you turn slightly, catching the side of his profile. there was no hesitation in him, no sense that he was doing you a favour.
“i don’t mind,” he added, softer this time.
the words settled somewhere you couldn’t quite name.
the rest of the ride passed without much else said, but the atmosphere didn’t ease. if anything, it deepened, something unspoken threading through the space between you. when he pulled up outside your place, the car came to a stop a fraction too smoothly, like he had anticipated it before you even noticed you were there.
you reached for the door, pausing just briefly.
“thanks, anton.”
he nodded, his gaze meeting yours again for that same fraction of a second that felt longer than it should have.
“yeah.”
you stepped out first.
and the moment lingered long after the car pulled away.
…..
the second time, sungchan was there, and that should have returned everything to normal. it should have reset whatever had shifted into something familiar, something easy.
instead, it sharpened it.
you had called your brother halfway through a date that had gone exactly as badly as you expected, your patience worn thin enough that you didn’t bother hiding it. he had shown up quickly, as he always did, already irritated in that quiet, controlled way that meant he had been right and intended to let you know it.
you expected him alone.
so when the car pulled up and you saw anton in the passenger seat, it caught you off guard in a way that was hard to explain. you slowed without meaning to.
“come on y/n!” he called out, already impatient. “get in.”
you opened the back door, sliding in, the leather seat cool beneath your palms. “i thought it was just you.”
“it is just me,” he replied dismissively. “he was already with me.”
anton didn’t turn around, but you caught his eyes in the rearview mirror anyway, a quick flicker of acknowledgment before he looked away, like he was aware of the line he wasn’t supposed to cross.
“how bad was it?” sungchan asked, pulling away from the curb.
“i don’t want to talk about it,” you groaned.
“that bad, huh?” he muttered, a quiet scoff following. “i told you not to go.”
“you tell me that about everyone,” you shot back, your tone edged with irritation.
“because everyone you pick is questionable,” he replied, not missing a beat. there was a pause, his voice lowering just slightly. “you don’t have to sit there and entertain guys like that.”
you leaned back into the seat, exhaling slowly. “you’ve decided that about someone you’ve never met.”
“i don’t need to meet him,” sungchan said flatly. “if he’s wasting your time, he’s not worth it.”
the words settled heavily in the space, familiar in their bluntness. from the front seat, anton shifted almost imperceptibly, the movement so slight you might have missed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.
“then who is?” you asked, more quietly this time.
sungchan didn’t answer. the silence that followed stretched just long enough to say what he wouldn’t.
“exactly,” you murmured, turning your gaze to the window.
for a moment, the car filled with nothing but the sound of the road beneath the tires, the tension sitting low and steady.
then anton spoke.
“do you want to stop somewhere?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet in a way that felt deliberate. “get something to eat?”
you blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “what?”
“food,” he clarified, still facing forward. “you could use the recharge.”
the simplicity of it contrasted too sharply with everything else.
before you could respond, sungchan leaned forward slightly, interest immediate. “yeah, actually. drive-thru sounds good.”
a small laugh escaped you despite yourself. “well i guess that’s decided.”
anton chuckled. you watched the side of his face through the mirror for a moment, wondering if he would look back.
he didn’t.
but you had the distinct sense that he knew you were looking anyway.
the rest of the ride softened into something easier, sungchan talking, you responding, but the undercurrent remained. it lingered in the way anton stayed quiet but present, in the way his attention seemed to settle in small, precise ways you couldn’t quite ignore.
when the car stopped outside your place, you paused again before stepping out, the hesitation so brief it might have gone unnoticed.
…..
you only meant to drop your bag and find your brother.
that was it. you had just gotten back from your semester break, the house already warm with the sound of your parents in the kitchen, something cooking, voices moving in and out of each other. you followed the noise toward the back without thinking, pushing the sliding door open—
—and stopping.
because sungchan wasn’t the first thing you saw.
anton was.
he stood at the edge of the pool, turned slightly away, the light catching on him in a way that made everything else feel a little less sharp. you had always known he swam — sungchan talked about it often enough — but knowing had never felt like this.
because seeing him like this was different.
it wasn’t loud. it didn’t try.
it just held your attention.
your eyes moved before you could stop them, tracing over him without permission — the line of his shoulders, broad but easy, the kind that came from repetition, not effort; the way water still clung to him, sliding down slowly, catching along the definition of his abs just enough to make you look longer than you should have.
and you did.
you shouldn’t have, but you did.
then your gaze drifted again, taking in his height — just slightly shorter than sungchan, but not enough to matter, still tall enough that it shifted something in the way you looked at him now. it felt like you had missed something obvious this whole time.
you didn’t realise how long you had been standing there.
not until he moved.
it was small — a shift of weight, a subtle tightening through his shoulders — and then he turned.
not startled. just certain. like he already knew.
his gaze found yours immediately. and just like that, you knew, you hadn’t been subtle at all.
you looked away, quick, almost abrupt, trying to recover before the moment could settle into something worse—
too late.
“my baby!”
sungchan’s voice cut straight through it, loud and bright and completely unaware, snapping everything apart as he hauled himself out of the pool and walked toward you, water dripping everywhere like he had no intention of stopping.
“stop calling me that, oh my god,” you groaned, the heat in your face thankfully easy to blame on him.
“when did you get back?” he asked, ignoring you entirely as he came closer.
“just now,” you said, stepping back automatically. “don’t—seriously, don’t touch me, you’re dripping.”
he grinned, not slowing down at all. “missed me, sis?”
“no, i did not.”
“liar.”
you did miss your big brother, of course you did, but your mind was still stuck somewhere else, still trying to shake off the fact that anton had caught you like that.
you slipped past sungchan before he could reach you, rolling your eyes. “you are exhausting.”
“and yet you love me,” he said easily, turning to follow you inside. “who else is going to deal with the cockroaches for you?”
“unfortunately, you do serve a purpose.”
he laughed, satisfied with that, already moving ahead of you—but you slowed at the doorway, just for a second, the awareness hitting before you even turned.
anton was behind you.
close enough that you could feel it. close enough that the space felt different again.
“oh,” sungchan added casually, like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t about to land at all, “anton’s staying for a few days.”
you stopped without meaning to. just a fraction. then you turned.
anton was already there, already watching, like he had been waiting for you to look at him again.
“hi, y/n.”
he says it like he always does—easy, familiar, like nothing about the last few seconds had been out of place.
“hi,” you answer, a little too quick, like you’re catching up.
…..
you woke earlier than usual the next morning, the house still quiet in that way it only ever was before everyone else got up. the air felt still, untouched, and you moved through it half-awake, more instinct than thought guiding you as you stepped into the bathroom, already reaching for your toothbrush—
and then you stopped.
anton was there.
he stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, head tilted slightly as he rinsed his mouth, like he had been there long enough to settle into it. he looked up at the same time you did, catching your reflection in the mirror before you had the chance to react, and for a moment neither of you moved.
“morning,” he said.
“morning.”
your voice came out softer than you intended, quieter in a space that suddenly felt too contained.
you stepped in anyway, because turning around would have meant something, because leaving would have been noticeable, and acting normal felt easier than acknowledging anything else. the mirror caught both of you at once, side by side but not quite, close enough that it became difficult to ignore how little space there actually was between you.
you focused on your routine instead, on the familiar rhythm of it, on anything that did not require you to look at him directly.
it worked for a few seconds.
then, without meaning to, you glanced up and found him watching you through the mirror. not openly. not enough to call attention to it.
but enough.
“what?” you said, brushing your teeth, trying to sound unaffected.
“nothing.”
“you’re looking.”
“so are you.”
you stilled for half a second before continuing, slower this time, more aware of every movement. “i’m not.”
he didn’t respond.
that silence settled heavier than any answer could have.
because when you looked up again, he was still there, still watching, his gaze steady in a way that made it impossible to pretend it hadn’t been intentional.
and this time, he didn’t look away first.
after that, it became harder to convince yourself it was nothing.
it followed you into the smaller moments, the ones that should have passed without leaving anything behind.
…..
thirst pulls you from the living room, your bare feet padding softly across the cool kitchen tiles. you flick on the dim under-cabinet light, rummaging for a glass in the cupboard, when the soft creak of floorboards makes you pause.
anton steps in, rubbing the back of his neck, still in a gray t-shirt and loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. his hair is tousled from sleep, and he slows when he sees you, something small and familiar curving at the corner of his mouth. “couldn’t sleep either?” he murmurs, his voice low in the quiet.
you nod, turning to the sink as you fill your glass, the rush of water sounding louder than it should. “yeah. too wired.” it’s true, but not entirely.
he moves toward the fridge, reaching past you for a bottle, and his arm brushes yours. the contact is brief, accidental, but it lingers anyway, something that settles under your skin before you can ignore it. when you turn, you’re closer than you expect, the space between you narrowing without either of you stepping in.
his gaze drops for a second, then lifts again, slower this time. “you okay?” he asks, softer now, like he’s testing something he hasn’t said out loud yet.
the question hangs there, quieter than it should be.
you lean back against the counter, taking a slow sip of your water, aware of him beside you without needing to look. he is close enough that it changes the air, close enough that your focus doesn’t stay where you want it to, close enough that the silence starts to feel like something.
“you don’t look like you’re in a hurry to leave,” he says after a moment.
you turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “what does that mean?”
“it means you’ve been avoiding me since you got back.”
you let out a small scoff. “i have not.”
“really?” there’s a hint of something in his tone now, not quite teasing. “because it took this long to catch you alone.”
the words settle between you, and the quiet stretches with them.
you look at him properly then, without anything in between. “and why would you want that?”
he holds your gaze for a beat, like he’s deciding how much to say. “so we can talk.”
“about what?”
there’s a pause, longer this time.
then, steady, “did it ever occur to you that i might’ve missed you too? not just sungchan.”
it lands without resistance.
you don’t answer right away.
the silence shifts, no longer neutral, no longer something you can move through without noticing. it settles into something heavier, something that lingers.
you glance down at your glass, then back at him. “this is weird.”
“i know.”
“then why are you still here?”
he doesn’t answer immediately, and for a moment you think he won’t.
then, quieter, “because you didn’t ask me to leave.”
your breath catches, just slightly.
“that doesn’t mean—”
“i know,” he says, just as soft. “i know.”
and the way he says it makes it clear—
he does.
you should step away then. you should say something that puts distance back where it belongs, something that makes this smaller, easier, nothing.
you don’t.
it gets easier after that.
not better.
just easier.
the tension stops feeling accidental, stops feeling like something you can brush off or ignore. it settles into something steadier, something you carry without naming, showing up in the way you move around each other, in the way conversations linger a fraction too long, in the way silence starts to feel deliberate instead of empty.
sungchan never notices.
of course he doesn’t.
he moves through the house the same way he always does, loud and careless, leaving you alone with anton without thinking, without questioning, like nothing has changed at all.
but it has.
and it is getting harder to pretend it hasn’t.
because now it isn’t just in the glances, or the moments that stretch a little too long.
it is in the way he stays.
anton was the first to cut the tension by stepping forward. his hand brushes your waist—light at first, then firmer, pulling you against the counter. your breath hitched, glass forgotten on the edge, and he leaned in, lips hovering near yours.
“i've wanted to do this for so long,” he confesses in that quiet voice, the words carrying a freaky undercurrent that makes your pulse race. then he kisses you, soft and exploratory, his mouth warm and tentative, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part for him.
it deepens fast, his hands sliding up your sides under your tank top, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. you taste the faint mint from the toothpaste, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and hungry. your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer, and he responds by pressing his body flush against yours, the hard line of his cock already thickening in his sweatpants, grinding subtly into your thigh.
anton breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering, “quiet baby, don't want to wake everyone up now do we,” but his actions contradict the warning; one hand cups your ass, squeezing hard as he lifts you onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. the cool granite bites into your skin, but his heat overrides it, his erection now pressing directly against your core through your shorts, the friction making you whimper.
he captures your mouth again, this time fiercer, tongue fucking into you with deep, possessive strokes, saliva mixing messily as you suck on it in return. his free hand dives under your top, palming your breast, pinching the nipple until it pebbles and you gasp into his kiss. “fuck, these tits,” he breathes, voice still soft but laced with that freaky growl, pulling the fabric up to expose you. he latches onto one nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his hips roll, dry-humping you with increasing urgency.
your hands roam down, pulling him tighter. he's rock-hard, cock throbbing as it nudges your clit through the layers, pre-cum likely smearing his tip. anton straightens, eyes locked on yours with intense hunger, and yanks your shorts aside, fingers finding your soaked pussy. he strokes your slit, parting the folds to circle your clit, then dips two inside, curling them against that spot that makes your vision blur.
“tight and wet already,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers slow and deep, thumb pressing your clit in firm circles. the wet sounds echo softly in the kitchen, obscene against the quiet house, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, but he pulls your hair back gently, exposing your throat. “let me hear you baby,” he demands quietly, biting down on your neck, sucking a mark that blooms red. his fingers speed up, stretching you with a third, scissoring inside as your walls clench, arousal dripping down his hand.
he curled his fingers against that sensitive spot deep within, pumping slowly at first, then faster, his thumb grinding against your clit. your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the building pressure as wetness coats his hand. “god, you're dripping for me,” anton growls, his voice low and rough, eyes dark with lust. he pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean, tasting you with a moan that vibrates through his chest. “i need more of that,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your exposed core before he sinks to his knees between your legs.
anton spreads your thighs wide with his strong hands, gripping your hips to hold you open and exposed. he leans in close, his hot breath teasing your folds, making you shiver in anticipation. then his tongue flattens against your pussy, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, savoring every drop of your arousal. the raw sensation hits you like a spark, and you gasp sharply, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair to urge him on. he devours you hungrily, his tongue lapping at your slick entrance before swirling around your swollen clit with firm, insistent circles that make your toes curl.
he sucks your clit into his hot mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive nub just enough to draw a whimper from your lips, then releases it with a pop before plunging his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with deep, rhythmic thrusts. your body arches off the surface, thighs quivering as the pleasure builds relentlessly in your core. anton's hands knead your ass cheeks, pulling you flush against his face, his nose bumping your clit with every eager lick and suck. he groans deeply into your folds, the vibrations sending fresh waves of heat pulsing through you, your walls clenching around his invading tongue.
“fuck baby, you taste incredible,” he rasps against your skin, his voice muffled but thick with desire, before diving back in with renewed fervor. he alternates between flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit and thrusting it inside you, his fingers digging into your flesh to keep you pinned and writhing under his assault. the intensity coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in ragged pants as you teeter on the edge, but anton senses it and pulls back just enough to deny you release, his lips shiny with your juices and a wicked glint in his eyes.
desperate now, you reach for him as he stands back up, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—thick, veined, the head flushed and leaking pre-cum. your hand wraps around the hot length, stroking firmly from base to tip, thumbing the slit to spread the slickness. anton hisses through his teeth, his hips thrusting into your fist as his fingers return to your pussy, now three digits stretching and fucking you relentlessly, his palm slapping wetly against your clit with each plunge.
he bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting, drawing a sharp gasp from you, then soothes it with his tongue, the kiss turning messy and desperate, chins slick with spit and your combined arousal. tongues tangle fiercely, breaths mingling in hot, urgent pants as the dual sensations—your hand pumping his cock, his fingers pounding into you—drive you both toward the brink.
“need to fuck you now baby,” anton says, his voice husky and commanding, that soft-spoken facade completely shattered. he withdraws his fingers with a wet pop, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. he rubs it along your folds, coating himself in your juices, teasing your entrance before pushing in inch by inch. the stretch burns so deliciously, your pussy yielding to his girth as he bottoms out, balls pressed flush against your ass. “fuck, anton, you're so big,” you moan, nails raking down his back.
he stills for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting in sync. “so fucking good,” he groans, “gripping me like a vice.” then he starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that has your tits bouncing and your cries echoing through the room. his cock hits that spot inside you with every thrust, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin mixing with your gasps. anton's hands pin your wrists behind your back, his mouth claiming yours in a bruising kiss as he fucks you harder, deeper, the earlier oral tease amplifying every sensation until you're both chasing that explosive climax with raw, unfiltered passion.
he shifts, angling to pound your g-spot, the rhythm brutal now—pull out, slam in, over and over, your juices coating his shaft and dripping onto the counter. “cum for me,” he whispers fiercely, dropping his hand to rub your clit fast and rough. pleasure explodes, your orgasm ripping through you, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy make your toes curl and thighs quake.
"where do you want me to cum, baby?"
"fuck, inside me, cum inside me, anton," anton let out a guttural moan at this.
anton follows seconds later, groaning low into your shoulder, thrusting deep as he unloads, hot cum flooding your core in thick pulses. he grinds through it, prolonging the bliss, until you're both trembling, breaths mingling in the dim light. he pulls out slowly, a mix of your releases trickling down your thigh, and kisses you tenderly, the freaky intensity ebbing back to his gentle demeanor.
the room settles into a quiet that feels different now, not tense or uncertain but full in a way that makes it hard to look away from what just happened. you sit there for a moment, close enough to feel the warmth of him in front of you, your breathing still uneven as you try to steady it, like if you focus on something small enough it might make everything else easier to process.
anton shifts slightly, not pulling away, just enough that you’re aware of him again, like the moment is still there between you, not something either of you is trying to undo.
“hey,” he says, his voice low, careful.
you lift your head toward him. “hey.”
it comes out softer than you expect, like the quiet has settled into you too.
there’s a pause that lingers, not awkward, just heavy with everything neither of you has said yet.
“are you okay?” he asks.
you let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “yeah i am.”
you look at him properly then, not through glances or reflections, not in passing, but like this, with nothing in between. “that just happened.”
“yeah.”
“and sungchan is literally in this house.”
“i know.”
“you’re very calm about that.”
“i’m not,” he admits quietly. “i’m just not… showing it.”
that makes something in you ease, just slightly. “right.”
another pause settles in, softer this time, less sharp around the edges. then, after a moment, he says it.
“y/n, i like you.”
there’s no hesitation, no attempt to soften it, no way to pretend it means anything else.
you don’t look away.
“okay,” you reply, just as steady. “i… i like you too, anton.”
that catches him off guard, just enough to show.
“you do?”
you let out a small breath. “yeah.”
something shifts in his expression, the faintest hint of a smile that doesn’t quite stay. “you could’ve said something.”
“so could you.”
“yeah,” he says, quieter now. “i should’ve.”
you study him for a moment, taking in the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s done holding anything back. “how long?”
he exhales slowly, gaze dropping for a second before coming back to you. “long enough.”
“that’s not an answer.”
“it’s the only one i’ve got.”
you nod, accepting it for what it is.
“and you?” he asks, more careful this time.
you don’t answer immediately. you think about the way this has been building, the way you’ve noticed him noticing you, the way neither of you ever said anything out loud.
“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t,” you say finally, your voice quieter now.
that’s enough.
you see it in the way something settles in him, not relief exactly, but something close to it, something steadier.
“so what are we doing?” he asks.
you let out a slow breath, your gaze drifting for a second before finding him again. “i don’t know yet.”
“that’s not very reassuring.”
“it’s honest.”
he nods, taking that in without pushing.
you shift slightly closer without thinking about it, your voice softening. “we’ll figure it out.”
he doesn’t hesitate.
“okay.”
and the way he says it, like he means it, like he’s already decided to stay in this with you, makes something settle in your chest, not resolved, not simple, but real enough that you don’t question it.
for a moment, neither of you moves, and this time the silence doesn’t feel like something waiting to be filled, just something you’re both choosing to stay in, together.
🍼 genre: slice of life au
🍼 pairing: husband!anton x f!reader
🍼 word count: 5.1k
🍼 summary: you’ve been exhausted for days, blaming jet lag and long flights, until small changes begin to stack in ways you can’t ignore.
🍼 warnings: talks of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, drinking while pregnant (unknowingly), slight body dysmorphia/insecurity, let me know if i missed anything else!
✎୭: thank u anonie who sent this in ! luv writing for this universe hehe
you can barely keep your head up.
you’re curled into the corner of the couch in your at-home studio, legs tucked beneath you while your husband sits a few feet away hunched over his laptop with a pair of headphones on. one side of his headphones rests properly over his ear, the other pushed back just enough so he can still hear you if you speak. he’s clicking through sounds choosing to spend his downtime working on producing some new tracks.
the two of you wrapped up lunch not long ago and drifted downstairs to the basement to work on your separate things, not wanting to be separate but also not wanting to insert yourselves into each other’s thing.
you have a book perched on your lap, the third installment of a court of thorns and roses. you’ve been tearing through it embarrassingly fast; staying up too late, sneaking chapters in between flights and meals. normally you can’t put it down, right now you can’t seem to keep your eyes open.
you blink slowly then harder as if that might fix your drowsiness. your gaze drops back to the page and you try to reread the paragraph you’re on but the words blur together. you’re fairly certain this is the fourth time you’ve started the same sentence. your head tips forward before you can stop it. your chin dips toward your chest and the book slips from your hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
the sound startles you awake.
you blink fast, trying to reorient yourself as anton spins around in his chair pulling his headphones off. there’s a small smile on his face as you rub at your eyes in a half-hearted attempt to wake yourself up.
“sorry,” you mumble.
he doesn’t comment on it, just stands and crosses the room, bending to pick your book up off the floor and hands it over. you take it with an embarrassed laugh. “thank you.” you murmur.
anton hums in response. he looks you over carefully and his brow furrows when you yawn again. you shake your head, trying to blink away the lingering fog, thumb slipping between pages as you attempt to find where you left off.
“you okay?” he asks gently. “are you…coming down with something?”
you stare at the page for a second longer before giving up. with a quiet sigh you close the book and rest it against your chest. “i’m fine,” you say, yawning through your words. “just really…really sleepy.”
he doesn’t look convinced. you don’t blame him for being wary though, you’ve been falling asleep everywhere lately; during short car rides, halfway through zoom meetings. you’re pretty sure he caught you nodding off in the bathroom last night, toothbrush still in your mouth.
you offer him a smile, hoping to ease the tension between his brows. “it’s probably just jet lag, we did just get back from seoul.” you reason.
it’s been four days since you touched down, realistically you should be adjusted by now…anton is. still, you tell yourself bodies are strange maybe yours is just taking a little longer to catch up because of how long it's been since you’ve been on the east coast.
anton mulls it over, lips pursed before nodding slowly. “yeah…that makes sense.”
he steps closer anyway and reaches out, his thumb brushing softly along your cheek. “want me to carry you upstairs?”
you shake your head. “no. i like being down here and your music is relaxing.”
his lips curve into a soft smile, cheeks tinting pink as he lets out a quiet laugh. he reaches for the spare blanket you keep folded over the back of the couch and drapes it over you, tucking it around your hips. once he deems you cozy enough, he presses a kiss to your forehead then lets his lips trail down until they meet your lips. he gives you three gentle pecks before pulling away. “get comfy then.”
he heads back to his seat, settling in front of his laptop again. after a few tweaks to his beat, he asks, “can you help me with this new track? just listen?”
he’s met with silence.
he pauses, swiveling his chair around only to find you already fast asleep, head resting on the arm of the chair, blanket pulled up to your chin. anton exhales softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to his screen, lowering the volume even further.
THREE DAYS LATER
you stumble back into your home a little after midnight, cheeks warm and flushed from the wine you definitely drank too much of. even with the east coast wind biting at your face the entire walk from the uber, you still feel warm all over. anton is close behind you, already reaching for your coat before you even think to take it off yourself, fingers brushing your waist as he helps you out of it, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.
you drift toward the stairs without much direction, your body heavy and content from good food and a long day spent walking everywhere. today marks day seven of anton’s break, a full week back in jersey and he’d decided early that morning that you were going to new york whether you felt like it or not.
he hadn’t wanted to drive, said it defeated the point so the two of you took the train in, bundled up side by side his arm slung around your shoulders as the city slowly came back into view. he’d spent the day pulling you from place to place showing you places from his teenage years; the coffee shop where he used to sit for hours, headphones in people watching, the park where he would go and sample random noises for old beats and lastly a record store he frequented for old vinyl.
by the time dinner rolled around, your feet hurt and your stomach was growling and anton looked smug as he led you into a dimly lit italian restaurant. you shared plates of carbonara and a lobster ravioli and split a bottle of wine that turned into more than one glass for you despite your best judgment. he kept reaching for your hand and would lean in to steal kisses between bites like no one else was there.
now, standing at the bottom of the stairs, all of it catches up to you at once, the fatigue that has been trailing you for days and the tiredness from exploring the big apple.
you sink down onto one of the steps with a soft laugh, pressing your back against the railing, suddenly very aware of how full you are and how little you want to move.
anton turns around, already smiling when he sees you. “already giving up?” he asks, stepping closer.
“i just need a second,” you say, words slow and loose.
he laughs, shakes his head and before you can even think to argue, he scoops you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. you yelp, hands flying to his shoulders, laughter spilling out of you as he starts up the stairs.
“anton! put me down!”
“nope.” he says grinning, enunciating the p.
you’re both laughing by the time he reaches the top, breathless and giddy, the sound of it echoing softly through the quiet home.
he sets you down carefully on the bed and then he follows you down, draping himself over you fully, his weight familiar and comforting. you smile at the feel of him there, arms sliding around his shoulders as you tilt your head up and kiss him.
he hums into it and kisses you back slowly and unhurried. when he pulls back just enough to look at you, he smiles softly. “hi.” he says, like he hasn’t seen you all day.
you giggle, the sound light and breathy and let your head fall back against the pillows. your eyes flutter closed for half a second longer than you mean them to, your body already halfway gone. anton immediately notices.
“no,” he whines, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “don’t you dare fall asleep.”
you groan, dragging an arm over your eyes. “five minutes.”
he snorts. “you will not wake back up.”
“i will,” you insist weakly, already losing the argument.
he sighs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before rolling off you and standing up. “bathroom. now.” he gives your hips a few gentle taps. if you weren’t halfway drunk and so exhausted you’re sure it would of had a bigger effect on you
you groan again, louder this time but you obey anyway shuffling toward the bathroom while he laughs quietly behind you.
you shower quickly, more to wake yourself up than anything else, letting the hot water run over you. when you step out wrapped in a towel, anton is just coming back upstairs with a glass of water and a couple of pills he sets on the counter.
“just in case.” he says, kissing your cheek.
you smile at him, take the water and swap places with him as he steps into the shower. you brush your teeth, wipe the last of your makeup away and watch anton’s blurred silhouette move behind the glass, letting your imagination run for a little while.
a few minutes later he steps out with a towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp. you can’t help the way your eyes linger, slow and appreciative as you eye the ridges on his abs and how water runs down his v-line.
he catches you and smirks. “see something you like?”
you don’t even deny it. he just laughs and reaches for his toothbrush, turning to the sink as you focus on your own reflection again. you pull your skincare out from the drawers, lining things up the way you always do, splashing water on your face before reaching instinctively for your rings to drop them into the little jewelry dish you keep by the sink.
you tug at the two rings that sit on your ring finger but neither moves. you pause, blinking at your reflection before trying again however, they still don’t budge.
your brows furrow. you pull a little harder this time and wince when a sharp throb shoots through your finger. you gasp quietly, looking down to see why your rings won’t budge. you’re not prepared for how swollen your fingers are.
“anton,” you say, voice pitching slightly.
he’s already turned to face you, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, brows pulling together the second he sees your face. you try one last time to tug the ring free and suck in a breath when it hurts.
he spits his toothpaste out immediately. “wait,” he says gently but firmly, reaching for your hand. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
you pout, frustration rising fast. your gaze drifts to your reflection and you notice it, how bloated you are, how your stomach looks rounder than it normally does after a night out.
your throat tightens. “i’m fat.” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
anton scowls at you the second the words leave your mouth. he drops your hand only to cup your face instead, thumbs brushing gently along your cheeks until you’re forced to look at him. “____,” he says softly but firmly. “no.”
you shake your head, eyes glassy. “my ring doesn’t fit a-and i feel gross and—”
“baby,” he interrupts, brows knitting now, not liking the way you’re talking about yourself. “you’re not fat. you’re a perfectly healthy weight and even if you gained a little, which happens, that’s not a bad thing.”
you sniff, still unconvinced so he continues. “we ate a lot of salty food today, we had wine, we’ve been traveling. your body’s probably still adjusting from the flight.”
he kisses you gently, once, twice and then a third time. “you’re beautiful.”
you breathe out slowly, letting his words sink in, trying to believe them yourself. “thank you,” you say quietly.
you abandon the rest of your skincare after that, suddenly uninterested in staring at your reflection any longer. instead you turn toward the bedroom, exhaustion crashing back over you all at once.
“i should sleep, i have brunch with the girls tomorrow. i don’t want to oversleep.” you mumble.
anton smiles softly and leans in to kiss you again, slow and reassuring. you return it briefly before pulling away, padding straight to bed and curling beneath the covers without a second thought. he finishes brushing his teeth before turning the bathroom light off and following you soon after.
you keep flexing your fingers against the tabletop, opening and closing your hand without really meaning to, distracted by how strange it feels not to have the familiar weight of your wedding band and engagement ring present. your skin is pale where they should be, a faint indentation if you look closely enough.
anton had helped you take them off while you were getting ready. it took ten minutes of gently tugging before they finally slid free and he kissed your knuckles apologetically, promising it was just for the day just to see if it helps with the swelling.
your friends jen and nyla sit across from you, leaning in toward each other as they look over the menu. you can hear them talking but don’t register a single word. your attention keeps drifting back inward; between falling asleep everywhere, the constant heaviness in your body and now this weird swelling you can’t explain, you feel hyper-aware of yourself in a way you’re not used to. you’re still staring at your hand when nyla speaks again.
“earth to ____?”
you blink, lifting your head a little too quickly. “what?”
nyla arches a brow at you. “did you hear anything we just said?”
“sorry,” you say, rubbing your thumb against your palm. “i zoned out.”
jen’s eyes flick down to your hands for a second before returning to your face. she hesitates and clears her throat softly. “are you…are you and anton okay?”
the question throws you completely. “yeah,” you answer immediately, confusion knitting your brows. “why?”
nyla doesn’t hesitate. “you’re not wearing your rings and you’ve been frowning since you got here.”
you glance down at your hand again then back up at them, understanding clicking into place. “oh! no! we’re fine, really.”
jen still looks a little unsure so you explain, “my fingers have just been really swollen so anton suggested i take them off today to see if it helps.”
“swollen?” nyla repeats, tilting her head.
you shrug. “yeah. i don’t…it’s weird.”
they both watch you for a moment not saying anything but then jen nods slowly, accepting your answer. “okay,” she says gently.
nyla lets it go too, already turning her attention back to the menu. “fair enough.”
you exhale, sinking back into your seat, fingers curling against the table again without thinking. the empty space on your hand still feels wrong.
you pick the menu up to make your selection, maybe food will help clear your mind a bit.
nyla is still debating across from you, tapping the side of her glass absentmindedly. “i don’t know if i want the blueberry pancakes or strawberry crepes,” she says half to herself, half to the table.
you glance up from your menu, lips curving faintly. “want to get the pancakes and we can split the crepes? that way you don’t have to choose.” you suggest.
nyla considers it for all of two seconds. “that’s…actually genius.”
“you’re just indecisive," jen says dryly.
“oh yeah? and what are you getting,” nyla says, already nodding at the server when they come by.
jen scoffs and rolls her eyes, letting nyla order first before putting in an order of french toast. you end up ordering something simple for yourself; eggs, toast and a black coffee, nothing adventurous lest you upset your stomach on top of bloating. after the server leaves, jen leans forward, elbows on the table. “so…how’s married life?”
you don’t hesitate. “amazing. it’s been a dream honestly.”
jen smiles at that. “yeah? he treating you right?”
you huff out a quiet laugh. “he always has.”
nyla hums, resting her chin in her hand. “i still can’t get over the fact that you guys are actually married…like what? it’s also weird that you’re back in jersey.”
you laugh and reach for your glass of water. “yeah it is crazy when i think about it but it's the best decision i’ve ever made.” you shrug in thought. “it’s nice being back in jersey too. seoul is pretty and all but nothing beats home.”
“five months is insane. what are you guys even doing with all that free time?” jen says, referencing the amount of time anton and the boys were given for a break.
you think about it for a second, shrugging. “nothing crazy. staying in a lot, cooking, watching stuff. he’s been in the studio downstairs most days. we just kind of…exist near each other.”
nyla makes a face. “that’s disgustingly cute.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “it’s nice,” you admit.
the conversation drifts for a bit after that, bouncing between topics without much thought. you nod along, add in where you can, but you can feel yourself slipping again, attention lagging just a half step behind everything else. you resort to pinching your thigh to stay awake.
the food arrives not long after. plates are set down in front of each of you, the table filling quickly with pancakes stacked high, french toast dusted with powdered sugar, your plate of eggs and toast placed neatly in front of you, the crepes sit in the middle.
the smell of the crepes hit you almost immediately. they’re sweet almost in a sickly way and yet putrid, your stomach turns before you can stop it. a sudden wave of nausea rolling through you so fast it catches you off guard. you gag automatically, hand flying up to cover your mouth.
“____! what the heck? are you okay?" nyla asks, already running a hand on your back.
"i-i think. the crepes just smell...disgusting." the scent lingers in the air so you clamp your mouth closed with your other hand.
both nyla and jen give you a weird, incredulous look, "you literally love strawberry crepes." jen says.
"maybe the strawberries are bad." nyla offers before cutting into the crepes to inspect the fruit herself and shakes her head, "they look fine to me." she even takes a bite. "they taste just fine too."
you hold out your hand to take another whiff, maybe you had caught the scent of something else but still when the overly sweet and sour fumes hit your nostrils, you reel back and vigorously shake your head. "no. it smells gross."
your friends share a look. "are you pregnant?" jen asks under her breath, leaning forward a bit.
for a second, you just stare at her, still holding your breath like that might keep the nausea at bay, your hand hovering uselessly in the air. “what?” you say.
nyla’s hand slows against your back, her attention fully on you now and you can feel both of them watching you in a way that makes it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear what was just said.
you swallow, lowering your hand slowly, your mind already starting to work through it whether you want it to or not. you try to think back; dates, timelines, anything that could give you a clear answer but it’s all a blur of travel and long days and nights that bled into each other.
you and anton have never been careless exactly but you also haven’t been strict with birth control. you have an iud, have had it for a while now and somewhere along the way it turned into a kind of reassurance that everything would just…be fine. that you didn’t have to think about it too hard, didn’t have to track every period or worry about condoms or pulling out and didn't have to rush to buy emergency contraceptives.
you exhale slowly, leaning back into your chair, your fingers curling against the edge of the table again. “i don’t know…i haven’t taken a test or anything. it’s just…” you glance down at your plate then back up at them. “i don’t know.”
jen’s hand comes to rest lightly over yours. “we can go get a test, there’s a pharmacy right down the block. we can just walk over after this, it doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”
you immediately shake your head. you want anton to be there, whether it’s positive or not. “no. i need anton.”
jen nods right away, like she expected that. “okay.”
nyla gives a small shrug, already easing back into her seat. “yeah, that makes sense,” she says, picking her fork back up like nothing has changed.
and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, drifting into something lighter and easier and you try to follow along, nodding at the right times, offering small responses when you can but your mind keeps circling back to the possibility of being pregnant.
your drive back home feels shorter than usual, though you’re not sure if it’s because of traffic or because your mind won’t stay still long enough to notice the time passing. you sit in your car once you pull into the driveway to collect yourself.
you sit there for a total of thirty minutes before gathering enough courage to climb out and go face your husband. the house is quiet when you step inside. you kick your shoes off near the door, shrug your jacket off your shoulders and for a moment you just stand there, listening for anton. you hear movement coming from the kitchen so you follow it.
you find anton standing at the island, back to you and shirtless, a light sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin from what you assume is his typical afternoon workout. his hair is damp at the edges, curling slightly and he’s focused on what he’s doing, slicing fruit probably for his protein shake.
for a second, you just watch him. he glances over his shoulder when he hears you come in, the corner of his mouth lifting immediately when he sees you. “hey, baby” he says, turning slightly. “how was—”
“—i think i’m pregnant.”
it comes out before you can stop it. before you can soften it, or ease into it or choose better timing. the words hang in the air between you..
anton stills. the knife in his hand pauses mid-motion before he sets it down carefully on the counter, turning to face you fully now. his expression isn’t panicked, rather calm and you don’t know if that soothes you or panics you even more. “what?” is all he asks,
you shrug, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands, your voice quieter now that it’s actually out there. “i don’t know. i haven’t taken a test or anything. it’s just—” you trail off, searching for the right words and not finding any. “a feeling…? a hunch?”
he just watches you for a second, taking it in then he moves towards you slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. his hands find your waist first, warm and steady and then he pulls you into him without hesitation, grounding you in a way that makes your shoulders drop just a little.
“do you want to be pregnant?” he asks softly.
the question catches somewhere in your chest. you hadn’t really let yourself go that far yet, hadn’t let the thought fully take shape beyond maybe. your hand lifts almost automatically, pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
you tilt your head, looking up at him, searching his face. “do you want me to be?” you ask instead.
anton exhales quietly, his lips pressing together for a second, like he’s holding something back on purpose. his thumb moves absently against your side, a small, repetitive motion that tells you he’s thinking harder than he’s letting on. “you first,” he says finally.
you let out a small laugh, more out of nerves than anything else, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you look away for a second, trying to gather your thoughts. you think about the past year: about your wedding, settling into this life with him, the transition.
you also think about kids. about the way he is with them, the way he’s talked to you about wanting some one day with you. you look back at him, your answer coming easier than you expect. “yeah, i do.” you say softly, nodding once then again, a little more sure this time. “i really do.”
his shoulders relax, something in his expression softening as a small smile pulls at his lips. “me too,” he says.
you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your forehead brushing lightly against his for a second before you both pull back just enough to look at each other again. his hand squeezes lightly at your hip before he pulls back just enough to take your hand, already guiding you toward the stairs. “come on,” he says. “we still have some tests, right?”
“yeah. in the bathroom.”
he hums and leads you upstairs and you step into your bathroom together. anton moves first, opening the drawer, pulling out the box you both forgot was still there. he turns back to you, holding it out, his fingers brushing yours when you take it.
for a second, neither of you says anything. you exhale slowly steadying yourself before turning away to take the test. anton stays by the sink while you pee on the stick. once you finish your business and drop the test face down on the counter, he slots in behind you and lets his right hand settle on your stomach, thumb moving in slow soothing circles.
“okay,” he murmurs, reaching around you to grab his phone. you hear the quiet tap of the screen as he sets a timer before he sets it down beside the sink.
neither of you moves right away.
anton’s chin comes to rest near your shoulder, his voice quieter now. “do you want a girl or a boy?”
you let out a small breath, the question catching you off guard. “a girl,” you say eventually.
you feel him smile against your shoulder. “yeah?”
you nod, even though he can’t really see it. “what about you?”
his hand shifts slightly, thumb still moving. “me too,” he admits. “i want a girl.”
you turn your head just enough to glance at him, catching the way his expression has softened completely, something almost shy settling there. “another princess for me to spoil,” he adds.
“you’re already planning?” you murmur, tilting your head just enough to look at him a little more.
he shrugs lightly behind you but his hand doesn’t stop moving, thumb still tracing those slow, steady circles against your stomach. “just thinking,” he says, softer now. “i think i’d be really good at it.”
your throat tightens a little and you don’t trust yourself to answer right away, so you just lean back into him instead.
the timer cuts through the moment and you both still. anton freezes for half a second more before reaching forward to silence his phone, setting it back down on the counter
you swallow, your fingers curling against the edge of the counter as your eyes fix anywhere but the test. “i can’t. can you look?” you admit, voice small now.
being the amazing husband he is, he doesn’t hesitate. he leans in first, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his hand squeezing lightly at your hip before he steps forward, moving around you so he’s standing in front of the counter. you turn slightly, your eyes fixed anywhere but the counter as he reaches for the test, flipping it over carefully in his hand.
there’s a beat of silence. then another. you turn back to watch his face instead, the way his eyes scan it, the way his brows pull together. “anton? what does it say?” you call softly, your heart climbing into your throat.
he doesn’t answer.
your chest tightens. “anton!”
his eyes gloss over, his lips part slightly like he’s trying to speak and can’t quite get there and before you can even ask again he lets out a small, breathless laugh. he turns the test toward you.
you’re met with two dark lines.
for a second you just stare at it, like your brain needs a moment to catch up to what you’re seeing. “oh my god,” you breathe, the words falling out of you as your vision blurs.
anton lets out a quiet, disbelieving sound, shaking his head slightly as he looks back at you, eyes shining now. “it’s positive,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly on the last word.
you laugh and cry at the same time, your hands flying up to your face before you reach for him. He eagerly pulls you into him, arms wrapping tight around you like he doesn’t ever want to let go.
“thank you,” he murmurs against your hair, voice thick, repeating it again and again like it’s the only thing he can think to say. “thank you. thank you.”
you cling to him, your face pressed into his chest, both of you laughing softly through tears as the reality settles between you.
his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, holding you there. “i love you.” he says through tears.
you laugh through tears of your own and wipe his away. “i love you more. i can’t wait for this chapter with you.”
he exhales shakily, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand slipping from the back of your head to rest low against your stomach again, like it’s instinct now. neither of you says anything after that. you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, letting it settle.
for the first time since you returned to jersey, everything feels as if it's finally starting to fall into place.
taglist: (please send in an ask if you asked to be aded to this series tallest, i lost my list ^^)
Sypnosis: after a year of silence, Anton reaches out for a drink to "catch up." The night starts with bitter apologies and polite lies in a dimly lit bar, but ends in your apartment as you both realize that life apart was just a long, failed attempt at forgetting how it feels to be home.
Contains: angst to fluff, ex! anton, exes to lovers, angst, crying, fluff, explicit content at the end (oral m to f), praising, soft kisses, soft touches, breeding, no sex, just making.... love( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩)) 4.074 wc
A/N: my first ever actual worked on fic y'all... i cried writing this, i'm not even lying... i cRIED, but i promise ending is fluff, but yes, soft soft soft hours, i'm so proud of this!! inspired by anton's cover of 'the dress' by dijon. link to cover.
please let me know your thoughts and opinions, they're so appreciated, maybe will push me to write more fluff content too ...
The bar was a cavern of low-frequency hums and warm, honey-colored light that didn’t quite reach the corners. It was the kind of place where the air felt thick, like you were breathing in the hiss of a vinyl record. It was the kind of place Anton liked—understated, moody, and just quiet enough to hear the thoughts you were trying to drown out.
You were late. You were always late, and the irony wasn't lost on you as you adjusted the straps of the dress one last time in the reflection of the glass door. It was a slip of dark silk that felt like a second skin, a choice that felt like a declaration of war or a desperate peace offering—you weren't sure which yet.
When you finally spotted him, he was hunched over a drink, his large frame looking almost too big for the mid-century stool. He looked different, but the way he held his glass—fingers long and steady, tracing the rim—was exactly the same.
"You still take a long time to get ready, I see" Anton said before you even reached the bar.
He didn't look up immediately. He let the words hang there, a soft, teasing blow that landed right in the center of your chest. When he finally lifted his head, the dim light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, observant depth of his eyes. His gaze didn't just land on your face; it swept down, taking in the dress, the way the fabric pooled at your hips, the way your collarbone dipped as you took a shaky breath.
He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he looked back at his drink. "You're really wearing that one? That's mean, even for you."
"I didn't think you'd remember it" you lied, sliding onto the stool next to him. The proximity was an immediate mistake. You could smell him—that familiar mix of something clean and something woody—and it made your head feel heavy, just like the lyrics of that song you’d both obsessed over.
"I remember the zip was stuck" he muttered, his voice dropping into that low, mumble-soft register that used to vibrate against your skin in the dark. "I remember how much you complained about the price. I remember everything, actually."
He finally turned his body toward you, his knee brushing against your thigh. It was a ghost of a touch, but in the vacuum of your shared history, it felt like an electric shock. Anton looked tired, his eyes carrying a weight that wasn't there a year ago. He looked like a man who had spent too much time thinking and not enough time feeling.
"We're just catching up, right?" he asked, though his eyes were searching yours for a contradiction. "No patching things up. No messy 'who-did-what' talk. Just... a drink. Like people who didn't ruin each other."
"Just a drink" you agreed, your voice sounding thin to your own ears.
Anton leaned in then, his elbow resting on the bar as he moved closer, invading your personal space with a practiced ease. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray strand of hair near your ear and tucking it back. His skin was warm, and he let his hand linger for a second too long, his thumb grazing the shell of your ear.
"Liars" he whispered, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We're both such good liars."
You pursed your lips, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head. It was so typical of him—trying to set boundaries that he was already breaking with a single look.
"You're the one who started it" you murmured, watching as he signaled the bartender.
He led the way to a small, circular table tucked away in a booth that felt a little too private, a little too much like a sanctuary. He didn't even have to ask; he ordered a strawberry mojito for you and a simple plate of snacks to pick at. It was that effortless familiarity that hurt the most—the way he didn't need to consult a menu to know exactly what you wanted when your nerves were shot.
For a while, the conversation was safe. You talked about work, the mutual friends you’d drifted away from, and the mundane updates of a life lived apart. Anton listened with that quiet, heavy intensity of his, nodding along, his eyes never really leaving yours. It was easy, almost too easy, to pretend that the months of silence between you were just a long pause in a conversation that hadn't actually ended.
But then, a lull fell over the table. The kind of silence that happens when you run out of small talk and the big talk starts looming in the shadows.
The speakers overhead crackled softly before the first warbling, lo-fi chords of the song began to bleed into the room. It was raw and hazy, the guitar notes sounding like they were being pulled through water.
Anton froze for a split second, his glass halfway to his lips. He knew this song. He knew what it meant to both of you. He set the glass down with a slow, deliberate click and looked at you, his expression softening into something dangerously vulnerable.
"Dance with me" he said. It wasn't really a question.
You felt the heat crawl up your neck, a deep blush staining your cheeks as you instinctively shook your head, looking down at the melting ice in your drink. "Anton, no. There’s hardly any room, and I’m..."
"You're in that dress" he interrupted softly, standing up. He didn't wait for a second rejection. He moved around the table and came to a halt in front of you, towering over you in that way that always made the rest of the room disappear.
He reached down, offering his hands, palms up. His fingers were long and steady, waiting for yours. You let out a long, shaky sigh—the sound of someone who had already lost the fight—and placed your hands in his.
He led you to the small, cleared-out space near the back where a few other couples were swaying in the dim light. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he turned to face you.
Anton didn't hesitate. He slid one large hand around your waist, his palm warm and firm through the thin silk of your dress, pulling you just close enough that your breaths began to sync. His other hand stayed locked with yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.
You settled your free hand against the center of his chest, feeling the steady, heavy thrum of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. The song swirled around you, messy and emotive, and for a moment, the distance between "catching up" and "falling back" completely vanished.
You kept your gaze fixed on the buttons of his shirt, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest that felt heavier than the silence between you. The scent of him was a cruel reminder of every night you’d spent trying to forget how safe you felt in his arms. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff you’d already fallen off once before.
Anton seemed to sense the shift in your breathing. He shifted his weight, leaning down until his forehead brushed yours before he tucked his face into the crown of your head. He took a long, shaky breath, inhaling the scent of your hair as if he’d been starved of it.
"I'm sorry" he murmured, his voice muffled and thick with a regret he hadn't let himself voice until now. "I’m so sorry I pulled away."
His hand on your waist tightened, drawing you flush against him. "Things just got... too hard. Life was being mean, and I could feel myself starting to get meaner too. I didn't want to be that person for you. I didn't want to take it out on you, so I thought if I just backed off, I’d be saving us." He let out a ghost of a frustrated laugh against your hair. "But I just ended up hurting you more, didn't I? I was trying to be noble and I was just a coward."
Your fingers curled into the dark fabric of his shirt, bunching the material tightly in your fists. The honesty in his voice was a sharp blade, cutting through the protective layers you’d built up over the months. Your eyes stung, the familiar heat of tears blurring your vision as you shook your head against his chest.
"Anton" you whispered, your voice trembling. "Stop. You’re going to ruin my makeup."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could track down your cheek. His expression was soft, a pained sort of tenderness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.
"Sorry" he said again, his voice dropping into that low, gentle register. "Stay here."
He stepped away for a brief second, returning with a clean napkin from the bar. He didn't just hand it to you; he held your chin tilted up, watching with focused intensity as you took it from him and carefully dabbed at the corners of your eyes, mindful of the eyeliner you’d spent thirty minutes perfecting.
A small, genuine chuckle broke from his throat as he watched you work. "True. Sorry. It really would be mean to mess it all up now, especially when you took so long getting ready."
You let out a wet laugh, your hand flying out to hit his shoulder softly. "Shut up, Anton. Seriously."
"I'm being for real" he said, his smile lingering even as his gaze turned serious again. He reached out, his fingers skating over your hip, the touch lingering on the silk of the dress. The tension hadn't fully dissipated, but the air felt clearer, lighter. "Look, it’s late. Let me take you home, at least? Just so I know you got back okay."
You stayed quiet for a long moment, pursing your lips as you weighed the risk. You knew how this story usually went—one of you would say something you didn't mean, or worse, something you did mean, and the night would end in a beautiful, tangled mess. But as you looked at him standing there, wait-listed for a second chance he didn't even think he deserved, the logic didn't matter. You just needed him. You needed the closure, or the beginning, or whatever was left of the "us" you’d been grieving.
You gave a small, resigned nod, and the tension in his shoulders visibly ebbed away.
The walk to his car was brisk, the night air turning sharp and damp. True to form, he beat you to the passenger side, pulling the door open and holding it steady while you tucked the hem of your dress inside. The drive was a heavy, quiet blur. Anton didn't need to ask for directions; his hands moved on the steering wheel with the muscle memory of a thousand previous trips to your apartment.
Outside, a soft drizzle began to smear the streetlights into hazy orbs of gold against the pavement. The radio was nothing more than a low, static-laced hum, filling the gaps where neither of you knew what to say.
When he pulled up to the curb, he didn't just let you out. He reached into the back for an umbrella, stepping out into the rain and circling the car to shield you before you could even reach for the handle.
"Don't want the dress getting ruined" he murmured, tilting the umbrella toward you as he walked you toward the lobby door.
You stood under the small overhang of the entrance, the sound of the rain hitting the canvas above you like a frantic heartbeat. The silence here felt different—final. Anton looked at you, his face unreadable in the shadows, before he gave a slow, stiff nod. It wasn't an angry gesture; it was the look of a man accepting a sentence.
"Okay" he said, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I'll leave. Goodnight."
He started to turn away, his boots scuffing against the concrete, and for a second, you almost let him. But then your hand shot out, your fingers hooking around his pinky finger—a small, desperate anchor.
Anton froze. He looked down at your hand, then back up at your face. You were looking at him with wide, glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous. You smeared your lipgloss as you bit your lip, your head shaking a slow, silent no.
"Come... in?" you asked quietly, the words almost getting lost in the wind.
The umbrella tilted slightly as his grip on the handle tightened. He didn't answer with words; he just let out a long, shaky exhale and followed you toward the door.
The elevator ride up was a quiet hum of shared breath and unspoken questions. When the door to your apartment clicked open, the transition felt surreal. Anton stepped inside, leaning the dripping umbrella against the wall and stepping out of his shoes with a practiced ease that suggested he’d never really been gone.
You watched him as he moved into the living room. His eyes roamed the space, curious and sharp, landing on the new sage-green sofa and the plush rug that replaced the one you’d spilled wine on a year ago. He looked like a man visiting a museum of a life he’d helped build but was no longer a part of.
"You changed the rug" he noted softly, his voice echoing in the quiet of the room.
"Yeah" you breathed, standing in the middle of the floor, feeling suddenly shy in your own home. "It was... time for a change. Do you want some water? Or—"
You started to turn toward the kitchen, but Anton moved faster. He stepped into your space, his large hands reaching out to find your waist, the heat of his palms soaking through the silk of your dress instantly.
"No" he murmured, shaking his head before you could finish the offer.
He didn't pull you in roughly; instead, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. His thumbs traced the curve of your hip bones, steadying both of you. "No water. Just... stay here. Let me touch you for a second. I just need to know you're real."
The honesty in his voice broke the last of your defenses. You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and rising onto your tiptoes to close the gap. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him with a desperate, bone-deep tightness that said everything you hadn't been able to put into words.
Anton let out a jagged sigh, his arms winding around your back, crushing you against his chest as if he were trying to merge back into your life by sheer force of will. He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his nose brushing against your temple.
"I missed you" he whispered against your skin, a confession that felt like a prayer. "God, I missed you so much."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face, your thumbs smoothing over the sharp line of his cheekbones. His eyes were dark, but the edges were beginning to soften into something much more tender.
Neither of you moved for a long beat, just staring, memorizing the way the low light hit the other’s features. Then, as if the gravity between you finally became too much to resist, Anton leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first—a tentative, bruisingly sweet question. It tasted like the strawberry of your drink and the lingering rain from outside, a slow-motion collision of two people finally finding their way home through the dark.
The kiss shifted instantly, losing its tentative edge and sharpening into something desperate. It was the sound of a year of holding your breath finally being exhaled. Anton’s hands, which had been so steady at the bar, were suddenly restless, his palms sliding up from your waist to cup your face, his thumbs hooking under your jaw to tilt your head back. He tasted like the night—cool rain and the lingering sweetness of fruit—and he made a low, needy sound in the back of his throat when your tongue flicked against his.
"The bedroom" he rasped against your lips, not waiting for an answer.
He didn't let go of you as he backed you toward the hallway, his socks scuffing the floor in a clumsy, urgent rhythm. He pinned you against the doorframe for a second, his mouth dropping to your neck. He wasn't being gentle anymore; he was breathing heavily, his open-mouthed kisses hot and damp against your skin, marking the spot right where your shoulder met your throat. A jagged moan escaped him, vibrating against your collarbone.
"Anton" you breathed, your hands scrambling for the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, fumbling with the fabric until you managed to pop the first few. You pushed the shirt off his heavy shoulders, the material pooling on the floor as he finally reached for the back of your dress.
He found the zipper, his fingers catching on the familiar snag. "Still stuck" he muttered, a frustrated, breathless huff of a laugh escaping him. He didn't force it; he worked it with a focused intensity, until the silk finally gave way. The dress slid down your body, a dark puddle of fabric at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your bra and lace.
His eyes were dark, almost black in the shadows of the room, as he took you in. He reached behind you, his large hands dwarfing your frame as he unhooked your bra with a practiced flick of his wrist. When it fell away, he let out a sharp, hitching breath, his hands coming around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until you whimpered.
He moved you toward the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he pushed you back onto the pillows. He stayed between your legs, his hands roaming over your ribcage and down to your tummy, his kisses following the path of his fingers. He was so vocal now, every breath a heavy huff of desire, every touch accompanied by a low, guttural rumble of approval as he pulled your lace down your legs.
He leaned down, his mouth moving from your stomach to the soft skin of your inner thighs. He went agonizingly slow, peppering the sensitive skin with biting kisses that made your hips arch off the bed.
"You taste so good" he groaned, his voice thick and wrecked. "I’ve spent every night thinking about this."
He didn't make you wait. He moved lower, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open for him. When his tongue finally met you, it wasn't tentative. He used his tongue flat and firm, tasting your sweetness with a rhythmic, hungry focus. He was thorough, his face pressed into you as he drank you in, his own moans muffled against your skin. The sensation was overwhelming—the heat of him, the friction, the way he seemed to know exactly how to drive you to the edge of the cliff you’d been hovering over all night.
Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling softly—not enough to hurt, but just enough to ground him as a needy, broken sound left your throat. "Anton, please... I need you. I really need you."
He paused, looking up at you with a small, breathless smile that was more tender than anything you’d ever seen. He leaned in for one last lingering kiss on your inner thigh before standing up at the edge of the bed. You watched him, your breath hitching as he unbuckled his belt and let his jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Even in the dim light, he looked like a god—broad-shouldered and solid, a sight you’d replayed in your head a thousand times during the year of silence.
He crawled back onto the mattress, looming over you as he braced his weight on his forearms. He took a moment to wipe his face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours, before leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His hand reached down between you, coating himself in your shared dampness and his own saliva, preparing you both with a focus that made your stomach flip.
"I've got you" he whispered against your mouth. "I'm right here now."
Then, he guided himself in. He moved slowly, his face contorting with a low, guttural moan as he finally slid home, the friction of it making your eyes roll back. He didn't rush into a rhythm; he just stayed there for a beat, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky exhale.
His hand found your waist, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, while his other arm braced himself firmly beside your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way back before pushing back in with a heavy, grounding force. He was navigating the familiar terrain of your body with a precision that only came from years of loving you.
When he adjusted his angle, finding that one specific spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch, he let out a soft, triumphant huff. He smiled against the skin of your neck, his lips grazing your pulse point as he felt you pulse around him.
"There it is" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I remembered."
You couldn't answer, your hands reaching around to his back, your nails grazing the skin of his lats. You held him tight, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, needing to close every millimeter of space between you. The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by the steady rhythm of his body against yours and the way he kept whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.
The pace began to climb, the friction of the silk sheets beneath you and the heat of his skin against yours creating a fever pitch. Anton was increasingly vocal, his usual quiet reserve completely shattered. He was making low, desperate sounds in the back of his throat, his breath coming in sharp, staggered hitches. He went faster, his movements turning into a blur of deep, heavy friction that made your vision swim and your heart hammer against your ribs.
He was focused, his eyes locked onto yours even as his face contorted with the effort of holding back. But then, his grip on your waist tightened until his knuckles went white, his head falling back as he reached the peak.
his body was shuddering with a violent release. He filled you up so completely, the sensation of him coming inside you making your own climax ripple through your nerves until you were breathless and shaking.
He didn't pull away. He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and grounding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. The room was silent except for the sound of your shared, frantic breathing and the rain still drumming against the window.
Anton shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. His hair was a mess, his eyes were blown wide, and he looked more "home" than he had in years. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray, happy tear from the corner of your eye before he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.
"I love you" he whispered, the words steady and sure this time, no longer shadowed by the angst of the bar or the regret of the past.
You let out a long, shaky exhale, your eyes rolling back for a second in pure, exhausted bliss. A small, tired smile stretched across your lips as you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair one last time to pull him down for a soft, sweet kiss.
"I love you too, Anton" you murmured against his lips. "So much."
anton who’s always a soft and smiley guy with a long patience but a sudden switch happened because he got jealous. maybe he gets jealous with another member or someone 🙉
it was a thursday night in seoul, the kind where the air still carried the leftover chill from march even though april had rolled in. you sat cross-legged on your dorm bed, the steam from the ramyeon cup warming your face as you slurped noodles straight from the container. the tv played some random variety show in the background, but your phone was the real distraction.
you: im eating ramyeon
the reply came after a minute.
anton: thats good
simple, like always. you typed again.
you: wyd?
anton: im studying
you stared at the screen for a second, the blue light reflecting off your eyes. third-year political science at snu wasn't a joke. anton spent most of his days buried in books or in the library, prepping for discussions on international relations or whatever dense theory they threw at them that week. he was soft-spoken when he talked to you, gentle even, always answering your texts even if it was just a short line. but you knew better than to ask him to drop everything and come over every time. he always found his way back eventually, though, slipping into your routine like he belonged there.
you didn't push tonight. instead, you finished the ramyeon, tossed the cup, and scrolled through messages. sungchan's text popped up from earlier. his apartment party tonight. nothing huge, just a bunch of his friends from different majors blowing off steam mid-semester. sungchan had become your friend through anton somehow, the three of you hanging out enough times that invitations extended to you even when anton was swamped.
you didn't tell anton. he was studying, and you didn't want to pull him away or make it seem like you expected him to babysit your social life. you threw on jeans and a simple top, grabbed your jacket, and headed out. the subway ride to sungchan's place near campus was quick, the car half-empty at this hour.
sungchan's apartment was already buzzing when you arrived. music thumped low from a speaker in the living room, not too loud but enough to feel the bass. about twenty people scattered around—some on the couch arguing over a game, others in the kitchen mixing drinks from whatever bottles were on the counter. sungchan spotted you right away, waving you in with that easy grin of his.
"hey, you made it. grab a drink, yeah? everyone's chill tonight."
his friends were the usual mix: loud but friendly, the kind who pulled you into conversations without making it awkward. you danced a bit in the cleared space near the speaker, nothing crazy, just moving to the rhythm while holding a plastic cup of soju mixed with something sweet. a couple shots went down easy, warming your chest. the room felt alive in that typical college way—laughs cutting through the music, someone yelling about a recent exam fail.
you were in the middle of the small dance area, half-laughing at a story one of the girls was telling, when a hand landed on your waist from behind. not aggressive at first, but definitely trying to pull you closer. you shifted, trying to turn and see who it was, but the crowd pressed in a little and the guy didn't let go right away.
"hey, come on—" you started, voice steady but annoyed.
"that's enough."
the voice cut through clear, low and even. you knew it immediately. anton. he wasn't shouting, wasn't making a scene, but the tone left no room for argument. his face was blank when you finally turned— no smile, no soft look he usually saved for you. just a tight jaw and eyes hidden behind those thin-framed glasses he wore when he read late.
he reached out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, not rough but firm enough to guide. you let him tug you through the room toward the short hallway that led to the bathroom. people glanced but didn't say much; sungchan's parties had their moments, and everyone knew anton was the quiet type anyway. the restroom door clicked shut behind you, the music muffling to a distant hum.
the small space felt even smaller with both of you in it. a single bulb overhead cast warm light on the tiled walls. you pulled your arm back gently, heart picking up for reasons that weren't just the drinks.
"anton, wait— it's not what it looked like. that guy just came up, i was about to—"
he didn't interrupt with words at first. instead, he adjusted his glasses with one hand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose like he did when he was trying to collect his thoughts after a long study session. his other hand stayed near your arm, not holding anymore but close. the blank expression cracked just a bit— not anger exactly, but something tighter, frustrated in that quiet way he carried everything.
"i know," he said finally, voice soft but edged. "saw it from the door. still didn't like it."
you opened your mouth to explain more, but he stepped closer. the air between you shifted, heavy with the faint scent of his usual detergent mixed with the night outside. his jaw flexed once, visible even under the light stubble he sometimes forgot to shave during crunch weeks. then his hand came up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing near your cheekbone.
no big declaration. just the way he looked at you for a beat, like the studying and the distance and the random guy had worn through the usual gentleness for a second. he leaned in slow, giving you time, but when his lips met yours it wasn't tentative.
the kiss started firm, his mouth warm and insistent in a way that didn't match the soft-spoken guy who texted back short replies. you tasted the faint mint from whatever gum he chewed to stay awake during all-nighters. his free hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you gently toward the sink counter. glasses fogged a little from the closeness.
you kissed back, hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the tension there from hours hunched over political theory texts. it deepened quick— tongues brushing, a quiet sound escaping him when you nipped at his bottom lip. his jaw moved under your fingers as he angled his head, kissing harder, like he needed to remind both of you why he came crawling back every time. one hand left your face to grip the edge of the counter beside you, steadying himself. the other stayed at your waist, thumb pressing in just enough.
"fuck..." he muttered against your mouth, pulling back half an inch to adjust his glasses again. they were crooked now, lenses slightly smudged. he looked at you, breath a little uneven, the blank mask gone and replaced with that familiar softness mixed with something hotter. his lips were flushed, hair a bit messier from your fingers.
you caught your own breath, the party noise still faint outside the door. "you were supposed to be studying."
"i was." his voice stayed low, almost a whisper. "got your last text. then sungchan mentioned you were here. couldn't focus after that."
he didn't apologize for showing up or for the tug to the bathroom. just leaned in again, slower this time, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing to your jaw. it wasn't rushed or dramatic—just real, the kind of moment that happened when two people orbiting each other in busy college lives finally collided. his hand slid up your back under your top, palm warm against skin, while you tugged lightly at the collar of his hoodie.
outside, someone laughed loud in the living room, a glass clinked. inside, it stayed just the two of you for a little longer, the makeout easing from that initial edge into something steadier, his gentleness creeping back in between the heavier kisses. anton wasn't the type for big scenes. he was the guy who studied late, answered texts simply, and showed up quiet when it mattered.
anton didn’t waste time. his hand was still around your wrist when he turned you around to face the sink, your hips pressing against the cool edge of the counter. the mirror in front of you fogged slightly from the warmth of the small room and your quick breaths. he stepped right behind you, chest to your back, and kept kissing you—mouth hot on the side of your neck, then moving to your jaw, then lower to the collarbone where your top had slipped a little.
his lips were firm, a little urgent, the kind of kisses that came from hours of holding back while buried in textbooks. you felt his breath against your skin, warm and uneven.
“anton… wait,” you said quietly, voice catching as his hand slid under your top. “not here. they’re right outside.”
he didn’t stop. when his mind locked onto something, he could be stubborn like that—quietly, without raising his voice or making it dramatic. he just hummed low against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.
“i know,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “but i saw that guy’s hand on you. didn’t like it.” his voice stayed soft, almost gentle even now, but there was an edge underneath. “just need a minute with you.”
you tried to turn your head to look at him, but he kept you facing the mirror, one hand on your waist holding you steady while the other worked the button of your jeans. the denim slid down your hips with a realistic tug—his fingers a little clumsy from the angle and the heat of the moment, but determined. cool air hit your skin as the fabric pooled around your thighs.
“anton—”
“shh,” he whispered, not mean, just focused. his hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding you already warm and slick from the drinks and the sudden closeness. he rubbed slow circles at first, gentle pressure that made your knees feel unsteady. “you’re so wet already.”
a small sound escaped you and you gripped the edge of the sink. he kept going, fingers playing, teasing the spot that made your breath hitch. then he slid one finger in, slow and careful, curling it just right. you arched slightly, back pressing into his chest. the movement made you lean more over the sink, and anton followed, leaning down with you so his body stayed flush against yours.
“fuck… you feel good,” he said under his breath, voice low and a little rougher than usual. he added a second finger, pumping steadily, the wet sound quiet but unmistakable in the small bathroom. his thumb kept rubbing outside, building it up. “been thinking about you all night instead of my readings.”
you breathed out a shaky laugh, trying to keep quiet. “you were supposed to be studying… not showing up here and doing this.”
“couldn’t focus after sungchan said you were coming,” he admitted, lips back on your neck, sucking lightly. “kept picturing you here, dancing, someone else trying to touch you.” his fingers moved faster, curling deeper. “this is mine tonight.”
your legs trembled a little and you felt the pressure building quick— the alcohol loosening everything, his steady touch doing the rest. you came with a quiet gasp, hips jerking against his hand, one palm slapping lightly on the mirror for balance. anton didn’t pull away right away. he kept his fingers inside you through it, slowing but not stopping until the waves eased.
when he finally slid them out, he brought them up to your mouth. “open,” he said softly. you did, tasting yourself on his fingers as he pushed them past your lips. his eyes met yours in the foggy mirror. “good girl. always so good for me.”
he kissed your temple, gentle now, while you caught your breath. you were sweaty, hair sticking a little to your forehead, cheeks flushed. anton’s free hand moved between you, unbuckling his belt with a metallic clink that sounded loud in the quiet space. he pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock hard and warm against your ass.
“sorry,” he whispered, voice back to that soft-spoken tone, almost apologetic even while he lined himself up. “i know it’s not the best place… but i need you right now.”
you nodded, still breathing hard. “just… be quick. someone might knock.”
he pressed in slowly, careful at first, a low groan escaping him as he sank deeper. “shit… you’re tight.” his hand gripped your hip, steadying both of you. once he was fully in, he paused, forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. “you know you can call me anytime, right? huh?”
you let out a small breathy sound as he started moving, slow thrusts at first. “yeah… i know.”
“good. because i’ll come crawling back to you every time,” he said, voice low against your ear, punctuating the words with a deeper push. “doesn’t matter how many readings i have. doesn’t matter if it’s late. i’ll be here.”
the rhythm built gradually—realistic, not perfect, the angle a little awkward over the sink but it worked. his hips snapped forward steadily, one hand sliding up your back under your top while the other stayed on your hip. the sound of skin meeting skin was muffled by your bodies pressed close.
“feels good?” he asked quietly, breath warm on your neck. “tell me.”
“yeah… fuck, anton, right there,” you answered, voice hushed. you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “don’t stop.”
he didn’t. he kept going, pace picking up just enough, glasses slipping down his nose again. he adjusted them quickly with one hand without breaking rhythm. “you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. “all flushed and taking me in sungchan’s bathroom.” a small, almost shy laugh escaped him at how ridiculous it sounded, but he didn’t slow down. “never thought i’d be doing this tonight instead of highlighting articles on foreign policy.”
you smiled despite the heat, gripping the sink tighter. “you’re such a nerd… even when you’re inside me.”
“your nerd,” he corrected softly, kissing the side of your jaw again. he reached around with his free hand, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts. “come on, baby. one more time. i want to feel you again.”
the second orgasm hit you harder, legs shaking as you clenched around him. anton groaned low, burying his face in your neck to muffle it. a few more thrusts and he followed, hips stuttering as he came inside you, breathing heavy against your skin.
he stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath, his arms loosely around you. the party noise filtered back in—someone laughing in the distance, music still playing. he pulled out carefully, grabbing some tissue from the counter to clean you up first, then himself. his movements were gentle again, the stubborn heat fading back into that quiet care.
“you okay?” he asked, voice soft as he helped pull your jeans back up, buttoning them for you. his glasses were still a little crooked, hair messy, cheeks pink.
you turned around to face him properly now, fixing his glasses for him with your fingers. “yeah. a little sweaty. you?”
“better,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “sorry if i got carried away. just… didn’t like seeing someone else touch you.”
“i know. it was nothing,” you told him, smoothing his hoodie. “but next time text me before you show up like a jealous boyfriend.”
he gave a small smile, the soft one that made his eyes crinkle a bit. “not boyfriend yet. but i can be. if you want.”
the words hung there, simple and real, no big confession under dramatic lighting. just anton, 21, third-year poli sci, buried in books most days, standing in a bathroom at his friend’s party with you after fucking you over the sink because he couldn’t stay away.
he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “want to stay longer or head out? i can walk you back. or we can go somewhere quieter if you’re not done with me yet.”
you hadn’t ended the night. the party was still going, and so were the two of you.
Title: 4 Seasons
Content: Sungchan x Fem!Reader, slice-of-life, slowburnish, strangers to lovers, fluff
Description: A kind gesture brings a kind stranger into your life.
Warnings: brief mentions of death, um stranger danger lol??
W.C.: 2.6k+
A/N: I revived an old WIP of mine and it seems to fit Sungchan so perfectly ♡
Part: 1/4
— That Winter.
Like an overlay of thickly spread acrylic, the sky settles into miserable shades of grey, the rain falling in an unrelenting downpour, deepening the cold until your skin turns icy.
You shiver despite being wrapped in more layers than most would wear in winter, your earmuffs enclosing your ears, holding your earphones in place as you gaze up at the brooding sky.
The awful weather has everyone relying on the safety of their cars, traffic building and grinding to a halt, disrupting your bus’s regular schedule by ten minutes.
Your gaze drifts lazily over the array of car lights blending together, until a blur of white draws your attention to a man in a shirt and joggers. No jumper or coat, no hat—he’s visibly shivering, his clothes clinging to his body as he approaches an old man sitting at the bus stop.
The outside world is mute, your ears filled with slow jazz that suits the laborious weather. You watch the stranger’s lips move, then see him hand over what you think are heat packs to the old man, who takes them with frail hands and vigorous nods, as if being scolded.
The young man smiles, his cheeks lifting before softening again. He dips his head in a small, respectful bow before turning away and moving to the edge of the shelter. You begin to feel guilty watching him rub at his bare, rain-soaked skin, goosebumps rising in the cold.
“Here,” you say, holding out your scarf. “You look like you need it.”
He blinks, eyes wide and owlish, before the corners of his eyes slowly curl into a soft, petal-like smile. You can’t hear him, but the gentle curve of his lips and the shape of his words tell you he’s grateful. You nod, offering a silent “you’re welcome,” as your attention is pulled away by the approach of your bus.
Your short winter break rolled by like a windy night—rushed and cold. The stress of last term still lingers deep in your bones, settling further than any chill could reach.
It’s what prompts you to seek out a café not too far from campus—one that, in your opinion, makes the best hot chocolate—for a change of scenery that’s better suited to studying.
The sweet smell hits you in waves the moment you open the door. An addictive mix of warm drinks and sugary treats fills the cozy, home-like atmosphere, giving your steps a little bounce as you approach the counter.
“Good evening, what may I get for you today?” The waitress’s greeting is infectiously sweet, making you smile giddily.
“One honeycomb hot chocolate, please—oh, and please go heavy on the whipped cream and chocolate powder.”
Going through the transactional motions, you step to the right to wait for your drink.
That’s when you feel the weight of someone staring at you.
Looking up and scanning your surroundings, you’re surprised to catch the gaze of a man squinting at you. His head tilts, hair fringing his eyes, as if he’s trying to figure out whether he knows you or not.
You most certainly don’t know him—so that’s unlikely, you think. Then he clicks his fingers, his expression shifting both dramatically and comically as he says, “Ah!” When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crease into sunray-like lines, and you recognise him instantly.
He doesn’t hesitate in approaching you, and you feel somewhat apprehensive at the sight of the looming stranger you had no idea you would cross paths with again.
“Hey, how are you?” he asks warmly, with a familiarity like he’s known you forever.
The question is simple, but it leaves you a little stunned. “Um… I’m doing well, thank you. And yourself?” Your voice is softer than usual, matching the café’s ambience.
“I’m great! You really saved my life that day. If it weren’t for the scarf, I think I would have died.” His eyes widen, his expression an exaggeration of his words, and you smile, letting out a small huff of laughter.
“Well, what kind of crazy person goes out without a jacket in winter?”
He scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I guess I was a bit crazy…”
The chance to reply is cut off when his order number is called. He moves forward, his broad, towering frame oddly reminiscent of a deer in the careful way he steps. You watch as he collects his drink, his voice softening as he thanks the waitress—then, to your surprise, he returns to you.
“Do you mind if I wait with you?” he asks, sheepish.
Though your original purpose for being in the café lingers at the back of your mind, the shyness on his face makes you shake your head. “Of course not.”
You retrieve your drink not long after and then you both naturally move to find a table, seating yourselves by the windows.
The man mirrors your actions, sinking into the plush seats and placing his drink in front of him..
“I’m Sungchan,” he introduces, his eyes smiling.
You offer your own name, then raise your cup to your lips, blowing gently as steam mists forward, eager for the drink to cool so you can finally take a sip.
Sungchan watches you, his lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re a bit impatient.”
You mumble into the cup. “They have the best hot chocolate in the world, and I don’t want to wait another second.”
He laughs, watching as you purse your lips and blow at the hot liquid. You take a quick sip, then hiss as the heat singes your tongue.
“Too hot?” he asks, amused.
You frown in response, eliciting a laugh from him. You try another sip, scalding your lips in the process, and ultimately put your mug down with a resigned sigh. Your eyes drift upward to find Sungchan’s eyes squinted into a smile.
After a beat, he asks, “So, you just out for hot chocolate, or do you have plans?”
Your fingers tap against the mug as you voice the true reason for your visit, aside from the heaven-sent hot chocolate. “Actually, I was going to attempt to get a head start on my assignments. I’m usually a last-minute kind of person, so I was trying to be a bit more… responsible?”
Sungchan snickers, his face lighting up. “Sounds like the life of most students. So, what’re you studying?”
“Social work,” you reply.
His eyes widen for a moment, his brows lifting before he lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s really cool. I can see why, though—you’re a caring person.”
You lift your cup to your lips quickly, shielding your widening eyes, wincing as you drink. You let out a small breath and offer a smile. “Um… thank you?”
Sungchan just laughs, easy and light. “Seriously, you didn’t have to give me your scarf… which I totally would’ve returned if I knew I’d see you again.”
You wave him off, taking another sip. “I just felt sorry for the doofus out in the rain with no coat.”
But you don’t mention that you found said doofus sweet for getting an old man some heat packs, regardless of himself.
You and Sungchan end up speaking for a while about random things—like the latest drama and how the second lead is always the better option, though of course the writer would never allow that, or how odd it is that tomatoes are considered fruits. He also mentions a rather long list of things that scare him in this world (to him, at least), and you agree with a small frown to soothe his surprisingly fragile heart.
When you’re halfway through your drink, his phone rings.
He answers with a small smile that feels as warm as the room, and your immediate thought is that it might be his significant other.
You drink silently, focusing on the patterns on the table to drown out his conversation and avoid unintentionally eavesdropping.
The conversation is brief; from a casual greeting to Sungchan’s expression falling slightly, as if in disappointment, before he hangs up with a quiet, “I’ll see you at home.”
When he ends the call, he looks up at you with a small pout that quickly fades as his lips settle into a gentle smile. “Hey, I know this is random, and we don’t really know each other, but will you keep me company somewhere?”
It’s safe to say that today is not the day you start on your assignments.
You should have had more willpower, really—he is a stranger, after all. And if your mother, your sister, your aunt, your grandmother, your cousins, hell, even your friends knew that you agreed to follow a stranger to an unknown location on a late winter night, well… they’d kill you themselves.
But you couldn’t say no. Not when his big brown eyes grew doe-like and he jutted his lips into a pout, practically begging you to accompany him.
Even if, in all honesty, you were a tad weirded out.
Thankfully, you’re not led far from the café, and there are plenty of people out to notice the two of you.
Sure, he seems like a nice guy, but at the end of the day, he's still a man you don't know.
Sungchan must sense your weariness, his long arms swinging loosely as deep lines crease his forehead when he frowns. “I’m not a scary person.” Then he adds, quieter, “People always get me wrong.” He stops in his tracks, prompting you to stop as well, your neck craning back to look at him.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re still a man.”
He grimaces, as if the thought itself bothers him—his teeth bared slightly, nose and cheeks scrunching. “I am, aren’t I?”
You laugh, roll your eyes, and grab the material of his jacket. “C’mon, Sungchan. I haven’t got time to waste.”
Gradually, his pace matches yours. You can feel his stare lingering on your face, his head turning back and forth between looking ahead and glancing at you nervously.
The edges of your lips curl into a barely noticeable smile, and you nudge his side. “You’re not so bad, Sungchan.”
That brings his smile back.
Soon, you come onto a quiet street—the traditional kind, with cobbled paths and old, worn-out shops that have been around for decades. The lamps are dim, the rows of stores forming what feels like an alleyway.
You stop at the mouth of it. “This is very suss, by the way.”
Sungchan’s brows shoot up so quickly you half expect them to leave his face. “I—I—” He sighs. “It is.” He relents solemnly, his expression turning sulky.
You snicker and take out your phone. “Say cheese.”
He looks bewildered, and before he can question it, you snap a photo and send it to your sister. “Now, if you try anything, my sister knows your face and where I am,” you tell him candidly, stepping into the low-lit street.
Sungchan stumbles after you, his jaw hanging open. “I’m happy you’re safe, but… you’re very… cavalier about it, don’t you think?”
You laugh, shrugging. “Want me to go?”
“No!” he says a little too quickly, a little too loudly. He flinches at his own voice and huffs. “No, I’m… I’m enjoying your company,” he admits.
Your reply is just as easy when you shyly say, “Me too.”
You follow Sungchan to a shop.
The green paint coating the exterior is peeling away, revealing the rusted metal beneath the frame of the old store. The sign is only half-lit, bulbs dead and leaving the letters only partially visible.
“This is the place,” he grins.
Warmth greets you once again as you step inside. The interior matches the exterior—an old, almost retro vibe. Baskets filled with CDs, records, and tapes are pushed against the faded walls. A distinct smell, reminiscent of old books, lingers the further you walk in. You eye aged record sleeves housing timeless albums and clusters of old stereos, portable CD players, even older-model MP3 players.
You quietly follow Sungchan, only now noticing the shine in his eyes as he scans the various albums. You spot faded signs on each basket indicating genres—jazz, pop, folk music—but he passes them all and heads toward the back.
Hip-hop. Interesting.
“This is the only store around here that still stocks old albums—especially the lesser-known ones. I’ve discovered so many songs thanks to this place,” he gushes.
You nod, finding yourself smiling at his excitement. Sungchan’s eager fingers rummage through the semi-organised basket, mumbling to himself, “have it,” or “meh.”
Your own curious fingers reach out to scan the shelves, and Sungchan’s eyes flicker to yours. “They have other genres too! I’m not sure what you’re into, but they’re bound to have something here…”
You grin, pulling out a CD with a faraway look on your face. “I like hip-hop too.”
Time slips away so easily in the store, with Sungchan recommending various artists, explaining how each track sounds, how the artist’s voice works with the beat, and the kind of lyrics they convey. You find yourself caught up in his obvious passion, the two of you sharing animated conversations about music, and you even warmly recount a childhood memory of your mother listening to a pirate station in the kitchen, dancing as she did the dishes.
It isn’t until a while later that a worn, gravelly voice calls out Sungchan’s name.
“It’s nearly closing time.”
Sungchan smiles sweetly, acknowledging the old man who seems to have appeared from nowhere.
The old man stiffly makes his way to a chipped white counter and settles onto the worn-out stool behind it.
“Let’s get these. I’ll get this one for you,” Sungchan grins. And before you can reject the kind offer, he continues, “As a thank you for keeping me company. My friends were meant to meet me today, but… oh well, it all worked out.”
The word “no” dies on your tongue, and you nod with a grateful smile as you follow Sungchan to the counter.
As soon as you’re close enough, Sungchan is looking over to where the old man sits.
“Ah! Where’s the stool I gave you?” he frowns, placing the CDs on the counter to be scanned.
“It was too hard,” the old man replies gruffly.
His frown deepens, and you look back and forth between the old man, who doesn’t even look at him, and Sungchan, who unexpectedly seems a bit frustrated.
“And that old stool isn’t?” he argues.
“This stool has known my butt for years—it’s fine,” the old man grumbles back.
Sungchan huffs, leaning on the counter. “The doctor said your back is—”
“—I’ve lived like this for so long, I may as well have been born like this. Say hi to your mother for me.” He hands over a plastic bag, effectively ending the conversation, then gets up and walks away, leaving Sungchan watching him go.
You clear your throat, feeling slightly awkward.
“Sorry, he’s a stubborn old man I know,” Sungchan says once you’ve both left.
You shake your head. “You seem close.”
He nods, looking ahead, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Hmm, he and his wife used to take care of a lot of kids in our neighbourhood. They were like everyone’s grandparents.”
“That’s really sweet.”
Sungchan nods in agreement. “Yeah, he used to be active—doing everything, always smiling. But since his wife passed away, he hasn’t been the same.” Sungchan’s eyes flicker downward, his expression tightening as he swallows, fighting to hold back emotion.
“That must have been hard on everyone,” you say softly, watching him as you come to a standstill down the street.
He lets out a small, nervous laugh, as if trying to brush it off, before offering you a gentle smile. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
The walk is mostly in comfortable silence. The air is crisp, the cold sharp against your cheeks and numbing your nose.
You glance up at the darkening sky.
“It’s chilly—I should have gotten a hot chocolate to go,” he says, shivering.
You hum in response, watching for the bus. “Next time,” you smile.
note - i’m so in love with this version of anton. i know this song is a little more angsty and has a slightly different meaning than what i wrote but i hate sad endings, lyrics are out of order for plot purposes
series: turning songs i love into fics
——————————————
⋆｡˚☁︎ now playing ☁︎˚｡⋆
( spring into summer — lizzy mcalpine )
——————————————
You can’t recall what lead you and Anton’s relationship to this point.
You had met him in your freshman year of college. Well, technically, the summer before, at the mandatory first-year orientation. You hadn’t been too thrilled about being placed into groups of random people you didn’t know, followed by icebreakers you were oh so excited to participate in.
The cute tall boy, lanky, wearing a crewneck and jeans, introduced himself with an unexpected soft tone. “Hi, I’m Anton. I’m majoring in comp-sci, and one fun fact about me is that I swim and play the cello.”
That’s when found yourself stuck beside the cute comp-sci major during the entirety of the campus tours and the awkward team-building activities they made you do. Bonding over how much you dreaded being there, what you did over the summer.
—
First quarter, freshman year.
Like many people you meet at welcome week events and orientations, it’s common knowledge that you’ll most likely never see them or talk to them again. When you do pass them in the hallways, it’s usually pretty awkward, and you both try to pretend you didn’t see each other.
But you saw him everywhere. In the library, at the on-campus cafe, and although you had different majors, he was in most of your prerequisite classes.
Although soft-spoken, he wasn’t afraid to come up and talk to you from the moment he realized you were in the same Calc 1 class.
He became apart of your routine. Studying together, going on walks, getting lunch between classes, and meeting up after the classes you didn’t share. He became your best friend.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to become a packaged deal. If you showed up to a club meeting or a study group alone, the first question out of anyone’s mouth was always, “Where’s Anton?” If he was seen grabbing coffee without you, people assumed you were just saving a table. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a quiet, comfortable orbit that no one else quite understood. The shared notes, the inside jokes, your friend circle saw it all, existing in a world built just for each other.
Nobody knows what it's like to be us.
—
Winter quarter, sophomore year.
Anton was getting tired of seeing how some of these college boys treated you. You had mentioned how one guy you met in your major’s club asked you out and never paid for any of the six dates he took you on. Another guy was just a creep; he would follow you around when he noticed Anton wasn’t there, and still bothered you even when he was. It was a pattern of unfortunate men drawn into your space.
At the end of the semester, Anton asked you out. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture in front of a crowd. You were both sitting on the floor of his dorm room, textbooks scattered around you, the heater humming softly against the winter chill outside. He had been staring at his laptop screen for ten minutes without typing a single line of code.
Of course you’ve noticed the slight change in him since freshman year. The shy, lanky boy you met at orientation had started hitting the campus gym between his labs and lectures, and it showed. His arms noticeably thicker, his presence taking up more space in the small dorm room. It was also in the way he carried himself. The nervous eye contact was gone, replaced by quiet, steady confidence. You had caught yourself staring more than once lately, hyper-aware of the way his biceps flexed when he reached for a textbook or the broad line of his back when he walked ahead of you.
“You know,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going on these terrible dates.”
You looked up from your notes, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s the alternative? Die alone with my degree?”
Anton finally looked at you, his dark eyes serious but soft. He reached over, gently closing your textbook. “Go out with me instead.”
You had always known he was handsome, always appreciated his quiet care, but the sudden shift in the air between you made your heart race. “Anton…”
“I’m serious,” he said, shifting closer. He didn’t look away this time. “Let me take you out. Properly. Give me a chance to treat you right.” A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the only crack in his newfound confidence. “Just one date. If you hate it, we can go back to being just friends.”
You didn’t hate it. That first date turned into a second, then a third, and before the snow melted into spring, you were entirely his.
—
Autumn quarter, junior year.
The honeymoon phase faded, not into toxicity or anger, but into a quiet, heavy exhaustion. The reality of upper-level course loads and conflicting schedules began to weigh on you both. Anton’s projects kept him in the lab until ungodly hours, his eyes constantly fixed on screens, while your own classes demanded more of your time than ever. The easy routine you once had fractured into rushed coffees and exhausted apologies. It wasn’t that you stopped loving each other. It was just that the connection felt like it was slipping through your fingers.
Spring into summer, and the winter's gone
The breakup was slow and unraveling. You were both too tired to fight, too drained to fix the growing distance. One rainy Tuesday evening, sitting in the same cafe where you used to spend hours laughing, you both silently agreed that you couldn’t keep hurting each other with your absence.
“Maybe we just need time,” Anton had said, his voice thick, his hand resting over yours one last time.
I try to hold on to it, but the current's too strong
—
The months that followed were agonizing. Instead of trying to fix it, you both threw yourselves entirely into your departments. Anton practically lived in the engineering building, his name popping up on lists for prestigious hackathons and coding fellowships. You were busy in your own major, taking on extra credits and research projects. You saw him on campus occasionally, the familiar ache in your chest tightening every time you caught his eye before quickly looking away. It was the freshman year awkwardness all over again, but this time, it was laced with heartbreak.
But the pull between you two was too strong. By the time the leaves began to change again, the distance had become unbearable. It happened at a mutual friend’s birthday party. The room was crowded, the music too loud, and someone was taking a group photo of all the people close to you both. You were standing on opposite sides of the frame, but when your eyes met his across the room, everything else faded. He walked over, the familiar scent of his cologne making your head spin.
“I miss you,” he murmured, leaning down so only you could hear. “I don’t care how busy we are. I can’t do this without you.”
You didn’t answer with words. You just pulled him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him, the taste of cheap alcohol and desperate longing sealing the promise that you would try again.
You're always gonna be someone that I want
—
Spring quarter, senior year.
Graduation was looming, and with it came the acceptance letters. You got into your dream program on the East Coast. Anton was accepted into a prestigious tech fellowship in California.
You tried to ignore it. You spent the spring quarter wrapped up in each other, trying to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his laugh, the way his hands felt tangled in your hair. The nights were long and desperate, but the days went by in a blink of an eye.
The reality of the distance finally crashed down on you the week before graduation. You were packing up your apartment, the cardboard boxes a stark reminder of the impending separation.
“We could try long distance,” Anton suggested, though his voice lacked conviction. He was sitting on your stripped bed, watching you fold sweaters.
“Anton, it’s three thousand miles,” you whispered, dropping a sweater into a box. “We barely survived being across campus from each other. How are we going to survive across the country?”
He was quiet for a long time. Then, so softly you almost missed it: “So what are you saying?”
If I could jump into the past, I'd only change one thing
You couldn’t look at him. You kept folding, your hands shaking, because if you stopped moving you would fall apart. “I’m saying that I think we need to let each other go.”
The silence that followed was deafening. You heard him stand up from the bed. You heard him take a breath.
“You’re ending this?” he asked. Not accusatory. Worse. Confused. Like he genuinely could not understand how you could be the one to say it first. Not after everything.
“Anton, don’t—”
His voice cracking. “I came back. I would have kept coming back.” He stopped himself.
“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together.
“I know,” but the look on his face said that knowing the reason didn’t make it hurt any less.
I'd never hurt you first, I'd never let you leave
—
The actual goodbye happened on graduation day. The campus lawn was a sea of black robes and cheering families. You found him near the edge of the quad, holding his diploma, looking devastatingly handsome in his regalia. The confidence he had built over the last four years radiated from him, but when he looked at you, his eyes were red-rimmed and entirely soft.
“I guess this is it,” he said, his voice tight.
“I guess so,” you replied, trying to force a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
He pulled you into a hug, and you felt his arms tighten around you in a way that made your ribs ache. He held on for too long, the kind of hug where you can feel the other person memorizing you. “Have a good life on the East Coast, I know you will do well,” he whispered against your temple.
“Have a good life in California, Anton. Good luck with everything.”
Your chest physically ached as you turned your back on him and walked toward your family. You didn’t look back. You knew if you did, you would never leave.
—
Post grad. Three years.
It had been three years since you last saw Anton Lee. Three years of building a life on the East Coast, of throwing yourself into your career, of trying to forget the boy who had ruined you for anyone else.
The first year was the hardest. You threw yourself into your grad program, filling every waking hour with coursework and research so you wouldn’t have time to think about him.
By the second year, you convinced yourself you were ready to move on. There was a guy from your office building—Eunseok. He was kind, consistent, uncomplicated. He asked you out in the elevator one morning, and you said yes because you couldn’t think of a reason not to. He was the kind of person who showed up when he said he would, who texted you good morning, who never made you guess where you stood. He found you when you were emotionally adrift, not quite drowning but not really swimming either.
Somebody finds me in the state I am,
You tried with him. You really did. You held his hand in public and kissed him goodnight and told him you cared about him, and all of it was true in the most surface-level way. You kept trying to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could will yourself into loving him the way he deserved, just because you knew you were capable of love.
Eight months in, Eunseok sat you down in his apartment, his expression careful and measured, the way it always was.
“You’re not here,” he said quietly. “You haven’t been here for a while.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was right. Every time he reached for your hand, you thought of longer fingers. Every time he laughed, you listened for a different sound. You had been trying to love him, but you knew you couldn’t. Not the way he needed.
Love you like I mean it, when I know I can't.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and you meant it.
He nodded slowly, like he had already known. “Whoever he is,” he said, standing up, “I hope he knows what he has.”
—
Your company sent you to a conference in San Francisco. It wasn’t just a networking event—it was a final interview of sorts. They had offered you a transfer to the West Coast campus, a massive promotion that you had been working toward for three years. You told yourself it was just a work trip. You told yourself you wouldn’t look for him.
But of course, the universe has a funny way of forcing your hand.
You were sitting in a quiet, dimly lit hotel bar, nursing a drink after a long day of networking, when you heard a familiar laugh. Your heart stopped. You turned your head slowly, almost afraid that your mind was playing tricks on you.
It wasn’t. He was sitting a few tables away, and the sight of him knocked the wind out of you. He didn’t look like the boy you left on that graduation lawn. The last traces of softness in his face had shifted. Stronger jaw, defined cheekbones, the kind of face that made you do a double take. His shoulders were broader, filling out a tailored suit in a way that contrasted the lanky freshman in the crewneck. He looked like a man now, and the quiet confidence he had been building since college had matured. He was talking to a colleague, a relaxed smile on his face. He looked successful. He looked happy. He looked like he hadn’t spent the last three years missing you at all.
A sudden, sharp wave of bitterness washed over you. You had spent three years comparing every man to him, three years trying to scrape together a life without him, and here he was, looking completely unbothered.
As if feeling your gaze, he turned his head. His smile faltered. The noisy bar seemed to fall completely silent as his dark eyes locked onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The gap of time between you felt insurmountable, a vast expanse of years and miles.
He excused himself from his table and walked over to you. Your breath caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you. Up close, the change was even more devastating. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his neck met his collar, the sheer physical presence of him. His eyes scanned your face, taking you in slowly, as if making sure you were real.
You could tell by the way his gaze lingered that you had changed too. The years had been kind to you in the way they are when you finally stop trying to be someone else. You had grown into yourself—your features settled, your style sharper, the kind of quiet beauty that comes from a woman who has been through something and came out the other side. You could see it register on his face, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his eyes softened with something that looked a lot like awe.
“Hi,” he breathed out, his voice deeper but still soft on the edges, still sending the same shivers down your spine.
Leaning back in your chair, you kept your face blank, building a wall between you before he could tear it down again. “Hi, Anton.”
He blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. “You’re here,” he said, a look of disbelief washing over his features. “In San Francisco.”
“Work conference,” you explained flatly, gesturing vaguely to your badge on the table. “I fly back tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Can I sit?”
“I was actually just about to head up to my room,” you lied, reaching for your purse. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t sit across from him and pretend it didn’t hurt.
“Please,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. The confident facade he had been wearing across the room shattered instantly. He looked at you with such raw, desperate vulnerability that the wall you had just built began to crumble. “Just for a minute. Please.”
You hesitated, your grip on your purse loosening. You let out a slow breath and nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.
He slid into the booth. The silence between you was heavy, thick with unsaid words.
“I’ve missed you,” he said suddenly, the confession hanging in the air between you. “Every day. I tried to move on, I really did. But…” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you remembered all too well. “No matter how much time passes, you’re always going to be the one I want.”
The walls you put up faltered, replaced by the familiar, terrifying ache in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Anton…”
Head below the surface, almost never certain of the truth.
“I know we have so much time between us now,” he continued, leaning forward, his gaze intense. “I know we live on opposite sides of the country. But if I could go back, I would have never let you go.”
He reached across the table, his large, warm hand covering yours. The spark that ignited at his touch was instantaneous, a familiar fire roaring back to life.
“Come home with me,” he said quietly. Not desperate. Not begging. Just steady, certain, like he had been waiting three years to say it. “Just for tonight. We don’t have to figure everything out. I just don’t want to let you walk away again.”
You let out a breath. “Okay.”
I’m always, forever, runnin’ back to you.
—
The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of the bar, but something softer. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the fabric of your dress like he was making sure you were still there. The city lights blurred past the window, and you watched his profile in the glow of the street lamps, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the slight tension in his shoulders like he was afraid that if he breathed too hard, you would change your mind.
Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.
His apartment was on the top floor of a clean, modern building. You barely registered the details: dark floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air. It looked like him. Put together, intentional.
He closed the door behind you and you stood in his hallway, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. Three years of distance, and now you were standing in his home, and the enormity of it hit you all at once.
Anton turned to face you. He didn’t rush. He just looked at you, really looked at you, the way he used to when you were twenty and sitting on the floor of his dorm room. Like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.
“I never stopped,” he said softly. “You know that, right? Not for a single day.” Just him, standing in his hallway, telling you the simplest truth.
You closed the distance between you and kissed him.
And now I'm here forever, runnin' back to you
It was different from the desperate kisses you shared back then. It started slow—tentative, almost careful, like you were both afraid the other might pull away. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks, and you melted into him.
Then the slowness burned away. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the solid, heavy muscle of his chest through his dress shirt, the sheer size of him pressing against you. You reached up, pushing his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When you finally pushed the fabric aside, your hands flattened against his bare chest. He was so much bigger now, his muscles hard and defined under your palms, his skin radiating heat.
Then the slowness burned away. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the solid, heavy muscle of his chest through his dress shirt, the sheer size of him pressing against you. You reached up, pushing his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When you finally pushed the fabric aside, your hands flattened against his bare chest. He was so much bigger now, his muscles hard and defined under your palms, his skin radiating heat.
“God, I missed you,” he groaned against your mouth, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucked a bruise right over your pulse point, making your knees buckle.
He caught you easily, his strong arms wrapping under your thighs to lift you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to his broad shoulders as he carried you down the hallway to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, and the sight of you spread out beneath him made his breath hitch.
The rest of your clothes were discarded in a soft rush. When he finally hovered over you, completely bare, the sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. He was big—bigger than you remembered. The years of discipline had carved him into something devastating, and the way he looked down at you, his dark eyes dragging slowly over every inch of your naked body beneath him, made your skin burn.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his large hand gently brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. His gaze dropped lower, tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the way you looked so small spread out underneath him. Something shifted behind his eyes—something hungry, possessive. “You’ve always been so fucking beautiful.”
“Anton, please,” you begged, your hips arching up instinctively to meet him.
But he didn’t give you what you wanted. Not yet. Instead, his hand trailed down your body slowly, over your collarbone, between your breasts, down the flat of your stomach—until his fingers found the slick heat between your thighs. You sucked in a sharp breath as his fingertips grazed your folds, barely touching, just enough to make your hips chase his hand.
“So wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and thick. He dragged two fingers through your slit, spreading the wetness. “All this for me?”
You couldn’t form words. You just nodded, biting down on your lip as his thumb found your clit and pressed down in a slow, firm circle. Your back arched off the bed, a choked moan spilling from your mouth.
He slid one finger inside you, and the stretch of his finger, long, thick—made you gasp. He curled it forward, pressing against the spot that made your thighs shake, and your hand flew to his wrist, gripping it hard.
He added a second finger, and the fullness of it pulled a low, desperate moan from your chest. He pumped them slowly, his thumb still working your clit in tight circles, his dark eyes fixed on the way your body opened up for him. His fingers were so big, filling you in a way that made your toes curl against the sheets.
“You’re so tight,” he breathed, his jaw clenching as he watched his fingers disappear inside you. He scissored them, stretching you, “Need to get you ready.”
You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned like it physically hurt him to hold back.
He added a third finger and your vision blurred. The stretch burned in the best way, his knuckles pressing against your entrance as he fucked you with his hand at a pace that was slow and devastating. His thumb never stopped circling your clit, and the dual sensation had you writhing beneath him, your moans getting louder, more broken, your thighs trembling.
“Anton—I’m gonna—”
“Not yet,” he said, and pulled his fingers out.
You whined at the loss, your hips lifting off the bed, chasing the contact. He brought his slick fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, and the sight of it made your brain go completely blank.
Then he settled between your thighs, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. He guided himself to your entrance, letting the blunt, heavy head of his cock press against your slick folds. Even after his fingers, the stretch of him was overwhelming—thick and deep, so much fuller than his hand, filling you so completely that a broken whimper tore from your throat before you could stop it.
Anton squeezed his eyes shut, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried his face in your neck. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, buried to the hilt, just letting his body adjust to the tight, wet heat of you. His chest heaved against yours, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your skin.
Then he looked down.
His eyes locked onto the faint, visible press of him against your lower belly—the subtle outline of how deep he was inside you. His breath stuttered. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, his large palm pressing flat against the slight bulge, and a low, wrecked sound left his mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his thumb tracing over the spot where he could feel himself inside you. “You feel that?” His voice was barely a whisper, rough and reverent, like the sight of it had short-circuited something in his brain. “You take me so well.”
The pressure of his hand on your belly, the way his eyes darkened as he watched himself inside you—it was almost too much. You whimpered, your walls clenching around him involuntarily, and his hips jerked forward on instinct.
“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, his hips finally beginning to move in earnest.
He started slow, setting a deep, rhythmic pace that had you whining his name. Every thrust was deliberate, pulling almost completely out before sinking back in to the hilt, his hand still pressed against your belly so he could feel every inch of himself filling you up. His body was heavy and solid above you, dwarfing you against the mattress. His other hand moved to pin both of your wrists above your head with ease, his grip swallowing yours completely, his broad frame caging you in, his large hands holding you down like it was nothing—made your head spin.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice dark with lust.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw clenched tight as he fought for control.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper than before. The angle made your vision go white. His hand pressed down harder on your stomach, and you could feel the pressure of him from the inside and outside at once.
“I’m yours,” you sobbed, your body trembling as the pleasure spiked. “Anton, I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”
That was all it took to break him. His pace turned frantic, his thrusts hard and punishing as he chased his own release. The bed frame hit the wall with a rhythmic thud, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin, your breathless moans, and his deep, guttural grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, taking every inch of him, letting him completely consume you. He was relentless, his hips snapping forward with bruising force, his hand still splayed across your belly like he couldn’t stop watching the way your body yielded to him.
The orgasm hit you like a wave, ripping a loud, shameless scream from your throat. Your inner walls clamped down hard around him, milking him through your climax. Anton let out a harsh grunt, his body going rigid as he drove into you one final, deep time. You felt the hot pulse of his release spilling deep inside you as he crashed over the edge with you.
But he didn’t stop.
Your orgasm was still rolling through you in aftershocks when he started moving again, rock hard again—slower this time, but deliberate, grinding deep into you with every roll of his hips. Your body jerked, oversensitive and trembling, your hands pushing weakly against his chest.
“Anton—ah—wait, I can’t—” Your voice cracked on a high, broken moan as he bottomed out inside you again. “ngh—It’s too much, please—”
“You can,” he breathed against your ear, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore. It came out thin, strained, almost whiny—like the feeling of your swollen, oversensitive walls clenching around him was ruining him just as much as it was ruining you. “Fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—” He let out a shaky, desperate sound against your neck, half groan, half whimper. “One more. Give me one more, please.”
The please undid you. How could you say no? He was practically begging now.
Your protests dissolved into loud, broken moans that you couldn’t hold back anymore. Every nerve ending was on fire, your body shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down your temples and into your hair. Picking up his pace snapping and deep, each thrust dragging against your oversensitive walls, pulling sounds out of you that didn’t even know you could make.
“Oh my god—Anton—fuck—” You were babbling, your words slurring together between sobs and moans, your fingers clawing at the sheets, at his arms, at anything you could hold onto. “I can’t—I can’t—”
“Yes you can, baby,” he panted, and his voice broke on the word. His thumb found your swollen clit and circled it with a precision that made you arch clean off the bed, a scream tearing from your throat. His hips stuttered at the sound, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps against your skin. “haah—that’s it” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes glassy and half-lidded. “That’s my girl. Let me hear you.”
You couldn’t have been quiet if you tried. Every slow, deep thrust punched another moan out of you, louder than the last, your voice raw and wrecked. and Anton—his composure was long gone. He was whining against your neck, needy sounds that vibrated against your pulse, his hips into you like he physically couldn’t stop. “You feel so—fuck—” He choked on his own words, his body trembling above yours. “You’re gonna make me—”
The second orgasm crashed into you without warning—sharper, more intense, ripping through your entire body like electricity. You screamed his name so loud your throat burned, your nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, your thighs clamping around his waist as your body convulsed around him. The force of it dragged him over the edge with you—Anton let out a broken, wrecked cry against your shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking in shallow, desperate thrusts as he rode it out.
He collapsed beside you, his heavy, sweat-slicked body pulling you into his chest immediately. You wrapped your arms around his wide back, your fingers tracing soothing circles over his skin as your breathing slowly returned to normal.
Anton shifted his weight, rolling to the side and pulling you tightly against his chest. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you like he was terrified you might disappear if he let go.
You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. “I got an offer,” you whispered into the quiet room.
He shifted, looking down at you. “What?”
“My company. They offered me a transfer to the San Francisco campus.” You looked up, meeting his eyes. “I haven’t accepted it yet.”
Anton stared at you, the realization washing over his face. The distance, the three thousand miles, the three years of missing each other—it could all be over. He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair, his voice thick with emotion.
“Accept it,” he whispered against your skin. “Please.”
The years apart felt like a distant dream, fading away the moment you turned around and found him running right back to you.
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ WORD COUNT: 16.3k
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ TAGS & WARNINGS: f1!au, teammate's sister!au, strangers to lovers!au, straight up fluff
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ SYNOPSIS: incoming f1 rookie jung sungchan is focused only on one thing: get through his first season without losing his seat by the end of it. ferrari's taken a big chance on a rookie this year, and he's not about to mess that up. on the other hand, your job is to keep your brother in the good graces of fans and media and draw all attention to your brother.. . and not yourself.
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ NOTES: the race order in this follows the 2025 calendar & there is no intentional similarities to any real-life racing events/results/incidents. this is in an ideal world, where ferrari has a good car and a competent team. we can only dream. i have a lot more planned for this couple, but wanted to get a fic out for the bday boy. watch this space!!!
happy birthday to our amazing and talented jung sungchan<3 i love you my jinsu!
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 01 - AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX
You're doing your best at keeping your face neutral as you watch executives, managers and staff buzz around you at the very edge of the garage. The phone in your tight grip sounds out the 7th ring and you grow more impatient as it continues on.
Finally, the line clicks.
"Mark, where the fuck are you?" you snap into the phone abruptly.
On the other side of the line, Mark lets out this deep, resigned sigh that has steam coming out of your ears, "Sis, chill. I'm coming back now."
You hear a shrill, high-pitched laugh in the background of the call and a whiny voice calling for your brother and you want to choke yourself out on the spot. You now know exactly where he is but you decide you'll give him the opportunity to lie to you.
"You better not be at the fuck ass Williams garage, I swear," you seethe into the phone, "40 minutes before lights out and you're not even at your own garage."
Your profanity catches the attention of the team principal walking pasts you, who shoots you an exasperated look, "Where is Mark?"
Letting out a nervous and awkward chuckle, you point to your phone, "He's coming. He's coming"
Fred just nods and makes a hurry up gesture with his hands as you bring the speaker back to your ear. You catch the tail end of Mark's rant where's he's calling you "-such a fucking bore."
"Just get here on that dumb little scooter of yours, now," your tone leaves no room for argument as you hang up and shoot Fred and the engineers a thumbs up as they look around in confusion.
Anyone would be confused if their driver suddenly went AWOL 40 minutes before the first race of the season and they're all looking at you because unfortunately, it is your job to ensure Mark is where he needs to be at all times. You didn't think telling him to be at his own team's garage before a race would be part of it though- let alone the first race of the new season.
You've always known that your brother, the social butterfly, likes to wander. And if you don't know where he is, he's probably somewhere gallivanting with Williams driver Lee Haechan. You caught some of it at the tail end of the previous season when you began feeling out your role and getting the low down from your mom who has since handed the job over to you after you graduated the summer before.
Officially, you're Mark's manager, but you're more like his manager, publicist, personal assistant, therapist, and babysitter rolled into one. Starting this season, your job is to make sure that Mark's only worry is getting into that car and driving well, which means that everything else falls on you and your stress level is at an all time high 100% of the time.
No wonder your mom had to take an early retirement.
You honestly, truly, genuinely had no idea how much work went into managing an F1 driver and you could have all the undergrad and masters degrees in communications in the world and you'd still have no idea how your mother endured it since Mark's younger karting days.
You zone out against the wall for what feels like forever, until you hear your brother's calls into the garage as he zooms in through the front on that scooter that actually makes him look quite stupid, but it gets him places faster than his feet.
"I'm here, someone tell Y/N to chill," Mark chortles and you resist the urge to throw the brick of a phone in your hand straight at his face.
"I'm gonna go to hospitality then," you breathe out deeply to calm yourself, knowing you were resolved from duties for the next hour and a half while he zooms around the track. You peer out the garage door and see it's still raining as it had been all morning and afternoon, "Good luck, Markie. Be safe out there."
Though you're residually annoyed at your brother for making you stress, the nerves you have before each race finally begin to seep in between your bones to replace that feeling. It's not even a welcome substitution, but it's a familiar feeling having watched Mark race for the better part of your life.
He reaches over to ruffle the top of your head and shoots you a gentle smile before nodding his head in the direction of the door to shoo you away.
Over the years, it's grown easier to watch Mark race, but that feeling will never go away- the one where your stomach sinks into a pit every time a competitor gets near him, the one where you hold your breath every time he dives into an overtake on a dangerous corner, the one that explodes into a ball of flames on those rare occasions he crashes and you have to find out if he's okay alongside the world. This is your first year as part of Mark's team, and with that, you know you have to travel to every race weekend with him. Before, you could only manage to get to the weekends that fit around your school schedule and exams, meaning you only had to deal with those emotions a handful of times per season, plus the occasional broadcasts you would catch if it was in the right time zone. Now, it's a new challenge of making it through every weekend without ripping all of your hair out in anxiety.
Your mind is all occupied and in tatters that you don't even register it completely when you bump into a figure and nearly trip over your own feet. A set of strong hands catch you at your shoulders to steady you, "Woah, careful."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking," the hallway out of the garage is narrow and you should have been looking to make way for whoever was coming.
When you finally look up, you're face-to-face with a visage you've only seen on social media posts recently, "No worries- wait, you look familiar," his eyes drop down to the pass around your neck- an all-access Ferrari pass- "Do you work for Ferrari?"
"Y/N Lee, Mark's sister and manager," you introduce yourself calmly.
"Ah, right. I'm Sungchan. Sungchan Jung," he bares his teeth in a charming smile as he fiddles with the fireproof suit pooling around his waist. Ferrari's newest driver, and a rookie at that, stands in front of you all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He's probably nervous for his first F1 race under the emblem, having only raced a couple times in the previous season as a reserve for Haas.
You laugh at him, "I know who you are. But nice to finally meet you. You'll see me around a lot this season, but probably rarely in as calm a state as right now."
Sungchan chuckles with you, "Does your version of calm involve you walking into people all dissociated?"
"My only advice to you is be nice to your manager and don't make them pull their hair our trying to get you to where you need to be," you tut at him before looking back at the garage and realising, "Which is probably exactly what you're doing. Get in there, Jung! Good luck for the race."
Sungchan tugs his lips into an appreciative smile as he ruffles the hair out of his face, "It's nice to meet you, Y/N Lee."
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 02 - CHINESE GRAND PRIX
You're not that familiar with the Shanghai Grand Prix grounds, having only visited it the one time in Mark's 2nd season. It's the first year in 5 years that the track returned to the calendar, so the crowd is pumping with excitement and your brother nervous in his motor home.
For most tracks, drivers could do it with their eyes closed, driving on feeling and memory built up over the years. It's comforting to know that a majority of the other drivers on the grid were also fairly recent racers with limited experience on the track.
Although the practices went okay and he was starting on the grid at P2, you could read it in his face that he was unsettled as he went through his breathing exercises in the chair. His coach had recommended him to meditate before races to keep his head clear and get his head in the game and he's followed that advice religiously ever since.
"Markie, what's wrong?" you call out softly to him.
His head lifts up to meet your gaze, "It might rain during the race. It was such a shit show with the rain last week and if I can't see anything out my visor, it's gonna be a mess again."
You know your brother was having a hard time grappling with the P3 finish after starting in pole in the first race of the season. He was coming off a driver's championship the previous season, so everyone was expecting him to keep the momentum going and win right off the bat.
"It's only the second race, Mark. The season's long, so don't get in your head about it so early on," you try to comfort him, "Plus, every driver will experience the same weather as you on the track. You just have to trust in your team, okay?"
"Speaking of team, I can't believe Sungchan is starting in P5 today," Mark clapped his hands together as the thought came to him, "Maybe we can fight for a constructor's championship this year."
The rookie already impressed the team and the public with a points finish in Australia, securing P7. Last season, Mark had nearly single-handedly led Ferrari to 3rd in the constructor's championship, but his lack of a consistent teammate had meant they couldn't get any closer to the top. There was a reason that there was a new driver in the second seat and you, along with everyone else, were hoping that he could take Ferrari to that next level again.
"I bumped into him just before the race last weekend. He seems nice," you comment casually, happy to distract your brother from his nerves, "Where did he come from? Feels like he just came out of nowhere."
"As if you followed last season diligently," Mark teases, "But he's a Ferrari junior, raced a few times as a sub last season too . He's got a hell of a lot of potential though, but I hope he doesn't get on my ass too much."
You shrug, "Some competition is nice."
"He's the youngest person on the Ferrari team right now- other than you. You guys should be friends," Mark says, "You'll see him a lot this year."
"Ha, is this also your way of saying I don't have friends here?" you tease him.
Mark rolls his eyes, "Cause you don't."
"I'm friends with Eunseok's girlfriend," you protest, offended.
"And she's never ever in the paddock because she's a doctor," Mark counters, "All I'm saying is that it's nice to have a friend on the team."
You decide to shelve his comments in the deep section of your brain reserved for things that weren't about your brother and your job as you check your watch, "It's time to go to the car now. You good?"
Mark flattens his lips together, "Always ready. Going up to hospitality? Or watching from the garage today?"
"Depends how in the way I feel in the garage today," you shrug and follow him out of his motor home. He greets the staff members that litter the path and makes small conversations with a few engineers that briefly join your walk before breaking away.
Behind him, you're tapping furiously at your phone to ensure you had absolutely everything mapped out and booked in for his post-race duties.
"Ever keep your eyes up?" Sungchan's voice isn't so familiar to you yet that you can recognise him without looking. You don't stop in your tracks as you look up and see him peering down at you.
"Mark's a busy guy, which unfortunately makes me a busy woman," you mutter, finalising something on the calendar you share with Mark before pocketing your phone, "How are you feeling for the race? Great job in qualifying."
"Yeah, I'm really happy with where I'm starting. It's gonna be tricky defending my spot from the rest of the grid but I'm excited," the expression on his face is endearing and full of passion.
"Good luck," you tell him sincerely, "I'll be watching from the garage today and cheering you on!"
Sungchan's face twists in surprise at your words, "You will?"
You give him a confused look, "You're my brother's teammate and the team would love a constructor's championship this year."
Sungchan makes an 'ah' face, "Yeah, of course. Thanks Y/N."
"Why do you look so surprised?"
He looks hesitant to answer you as his mouth opens, then closes, before it opens again, "I'm not used to people cheering for me. That's all. See ya later, Y/N."
Jung Sungchan disappears behind your brother in a wall of race engineers and tyres stacked up to the roof. You're confused by his comment briefly before your mind transports itself back to a time between the end of the last season and the start of this one when your brother had told you about his new Ferrari teammate.
Mark had been frowning at his phone, reading the comments of the post announcing Sungchan's F1 contract. There were masses of hate comments left by strangers on the internet who were so angry about this young adult getting the Ferrari seat over their favourite driver and that conversation with Mark had left such a sour taste in your mouth and a lot of sympathy for his teammate you hadn't yet met.
In a blink of an eye, you're pressed against a wall of the garage, peering up at the screens displaying the feed of the race. Evidently, you couldn't find a seat in the area, but you were too distracted by your own thoughts to trust yourself to put one foot in front of the other.
Mark was doing well as you expected. He had managed to undercut the race leader with a well-timed pit-stop and even managed to give his teammate a good tow in the process of waiting out the pitstops in front of him. The guests and staff around you were all buzzing with excitement at the prospect of the first Ferrari win of the season, but somewhere along the way when Mark had a comfortable lead, your gaze had started focusing on the letters 'JUN' on the side of the feed.
He had managed to keep his position at P5 50 laps into the 56 lap race, and he was getting closer and closer to the car ahead. With Mark seemingly securing his victory already with a 9 second gap, the garage had then started to talk about the rookie and his prospect of a higher points finish.
Sungchan was very nearly in DRS range to the car in front of him and with every turn before the detection zones, everyone held their breaths. Your routine was to tune into Mark's feed on your phone to get all the info from his team radio and the pit-wall in case there was something you'd like for him to address in his post-race interviews, but your fingers had moved by themselves to switch the feed to Sungchan's.
"Give it everything, Sungchan," his race engineer had instructed softly as he began lap 52, "Your tires will hold out until the end. Push, please."
His voice was shaky as his radio came in, "Copy."
"1.046 to Song."
In every other situation, you'd feel bad for Eunseok. You were almost friends through his sweet girlfriend, but Sungchan was your brother's teammate and you were practically a Ferrari employee. Of course you were going to cheer for the rookie.
Sungchan hadn't managed to close the gap before the first DRS detection zone, but going down the first straight, it seemed like he had just put his foot to the ground and nudged his car right up to Eunseok's. You couldn't breathe as he sent the cars full throttle into turns 14 and 15, knowing he needed to get within a second of Eunseok before turn 16.
The roar of the garage was electric the exact second that DRS was activated and Sungchan flew past the Mercedes in a handful of seconds. You let out a sigh of relief as the garage burst into applause.
In your lone earbud, Sungchan's race engineer comes in proudly, "P4. Well done, Sungchan. Keep it up and defend, okay?"
"Jung's defying all expectations," someone beside you murmurs, "I doubted him when they signed the contract, but he's proving everyone wrong."
The person they were accompanying replies something in favour of the rookie, but his words from earlier echoes back to you- I'm not used to people cheering for me.
It reminds you of Mark's early racing days when winning or getting on the podium at every race wasn't the norm. It took a lot of hard work for Mark to get on the top, but there was a point he was contemplating on giving up, but your parents had sat him down and asked him whether that would be what he truly wanted. Their support for him instead of pushing him into a more conventional and less expensive path was enough for him to keep trying, at least just for that moment. From then, Mark never looked back.
Sungchan had this expression of uncertainty when you spoke to him earlier. Maybe all he needed was someone to truly believe in him.
꒰🏎️꒱
BREAK BETWEEN ROUND 02 and 03
It certainly felt pointless to you to fly halfway across the globe from China to Italy when the next race in a week and a half was in Japan, but wherever Mark went, you followed. It's not your first time in Maranello, sure, but you've actually never been allowed to spend a lot of time at Ferrari HQ when you were just Mark's sister and not his employee.
Still, there's not much for you to do at the headquarters other than twiddle your thumbs and gaze upon the endless trophies of the past they had displayed. In the past 2 days that Mark has been doing stuff with the team, you've read pretty much every plaque describing all the moments immortalised on the canvases lining the walls. You already knew a lot about Ferrari history from dining room table conversations with your family, but now, you're definitely an expert.
The staff have been exceedingly nice over the past couple of days, always asking if you wanted a drink or a driver to take you around town, but you'd mostly just declined in your best Italian and scrolled your social media in the corner of this boujee lounge dedicated for their drivers.
You don't actually even know what Mark's doing with the team- you haven't bothered to learn all the nitty-gritty technical things related to the car and driving, saving your brain expenditure on publicity training tips to impart on your brother and organisational skills instead. It was certainly no easy task trying to communicate to all the brands that sponsored your brother and all the people reaching out to have him do this, that and the other, all while making sure his calendar was prioritised for his races and F1 commitments first.
Sure, a GQ photoshoot and spread would be good for his fame, but if Ferrari needed him at Maranello, then they'd either have to come to Mark themselves or find another driver.
"Hi Y/N," Sungchan waves at you in greeting as he enters the lounge. He's throwing back an energy drink down his throat as he takes the sofa across from you, "Still waiting for Mark?"
"I don't know when he'll be finished again. I probably should have just stayed in the hotel," you nod solemnly.
"Why did you come to Italy? You could've gone back home in your break or travelled a bit," Sungchan asks you curiously.
You shrug, "I'm Mark's employee now so I guess I have to follow him. Canada's too far for only a week's stay and Monaco is boring without Mark there. I just moved to Monaco so I don't really have that many friends there yet."
Sungchan grins, "I'm moving to Monaco soon actually. Right of passage for F1 drivers, I guess."
"Oh, you don't live there yet? Where do you live?"
He gestures out the window with his hand, "I moved here when I was 15. I've been a development driver that long. My mum came with me at first, but she went back to Korea when I turned 20."
"Oh that's so cool- do you speak Italian?" you quiz him.
"Sì, certo," Sungchan blurts proudly, "It's definitely not native level but I try my best."
"That's very impressive," you compliment, "I only know how to say yes, no and where's the toilet in Italian. It's actually only my fourth time in the country."
Sungchan looks surprised, "Really? But Mark's been a Ferrari driver for years and years."
"I've been busy with school; Canada is so far from the rest of the world. I worked whenever I was off school too," you explain to him, "My whole family came to Maranello though when Mark signed his rookie contract with the team and I came to Monza and Imola a couple years back."
"Does that mean you haven't seen much of the town?" there's a glint in his eyes as you shake your head, "Do you want a tour from a local? I'm free the rest of today."
For a moment you contemplate whether it's ethical to leave your boss hanging, but then you remember he's also your silly older brother. He definitely wouldn't mind if you ran away with Sungchan for an afternoon- he didn't even want you to come to Maranello with him to be honest.
"Would Mark mind?" Sungchan can see the gears turning in your head.
"Nah, he doesn't have time to show me around himself anyway. Are you sure though?" Sungchan holds an arm out that you grab to tug yourself up to your feet.
He points out the window, "It's a gorgeous spring day. Let's make the most of it!"
You're not sure why, but you don't hesitate to follow Sungchan out of the room and to wherever he wanted to take you. After shooting Mark a quick text, you catch up to the heels of the tall driver.
He bows and say thank you and goodbye to every staff member you come across out of the building and they all look at him with such fondness and adoration that you start to understand why they might possibly choose a rookie driver who's grown up with the team over a egotistical, over-cocky external recruit.
The Ferrari HQ actually has valet, so Sungchan walks up to the desk and greets the staff there like they're old friends before they disappear into a door behind the desk.
"Ah, of course you have a car here; you live here," you hum beside him as he leans against the glass at the front of the building.
"Mhm, they gifted it to me when I made my F1 debut last year. I have to ship it to Monaco soon, though," he cocks his head in realisation, "Or drive it 5 hours over the border. Maybe a road trip would be fun, but it's not like the car would carry anything anyway."
As soon as he says that, a sleek and expensive looking sports car with the prancing horse logo pulls up into the front. The valet steps out and hands the key over to your companion, who gestures for you to get inside. Your brother has his fair share of flashy cars, so it's not anything new to you, but you don't deny it's still cool.
Sungchan opens the passenger side door and you watch it swing up instead of out. You give him an appreciative smile before he jogs around to get behind the wheel.
"I wish I could compliment you on this car, but I don't know much about them," you say sheepishly, "I'm definitely eager to learn more as I go through the season."
He's started driving already without telling you where you were going, but you somehow find it in yourself to trust him with your life despite only having met him a handful of times.
"How come you ended up working with your brother then?" he asks.
"I have an undergrad and masters in communications, so being a PR person or manager was the natural route. My mum has been doing it for Mark for forever and she wanted to retire from it, so it kind of felt natural for me to step into her role out of college," you explain, "I know, I know- I'm a nepo baby."
Sungchan shrugs, "Mark's lucky to have family at each race then no matter what. If I was him, I'd hire my sister who's literally educated in that area with no doubt. That's definitely something I'd consider but my parents and my older brother are content in their other careers."
"I'm assuming you have a manager, but I haven't met them yet. Do you get on well?"
A soft smile adorns his face, "Yeah, Changmin's like my second dad. He's been with me for a while too, but he has a few other racers in his management. Still, he's incredible, seriously. I'd be so lost without him."
"I wish Mark would appreciate me like that. Instead, all he does is stress me out by running away with Haechan before races," you snort, "Just kidding, I know he's grateful- or he should be."
Maranello isn't that big of a place so your conversation comes to a halt after a few more minutes of Sungchan finding out more about your family and your role with Mark. He parks up on the side of the street in front of a row of shops and restaurants.
"I forgot to ask if you were hungry, actually," Sungchan looks sheepish as his two hands grip the steering wheel as he turns the car off.
You giggle at his expression, "I'm always down for Italian food- and authentic Italian food this time."
His grin is dazzling as he reaches for the car door and tells you to wait. You obey, despite not quite realising why he requested that in the split-second it took for him to reach your side of the car and open your door. Sungchan offers out a hand to help you up, knowing how difficult it was to get out of the sports car sometimes without looking silly.
"You're such a gentleman, Sungchan. Your mother's raised you well- or your past girlfriends," you tease him lightly.
He lets out a playful scoff as he denies, "Nah, I've never even had a girlfriend. Was too busy racing in my teens and I was homeschooled when I came to Italy so I didn't exactly know many Italian girls to fall at my feet. But yeah, my parents have drilled it in me and my brother to treat people well."
"Hey, you're an F1 driver now," you nudge him playfully as you follow him to an entrance of a restaurant with a brick facade, "Your life is about to be yachts, models, partying and celebrities. You're the celebrity."
He scrunches up his face adorably, "I don't know about that one, actually. Doesn't seem like the lifestyle for me."
Every moment passing with Sungchan just shows you how good of a person he seems to be. Mark may be right in trying to get the two of you to be friends.
The restaurant he takes you to is small beyond the exterior, but it has a homely vibe with the colourful, but wearing tablecloths adorning the surfaces and the soft music crooning over the speakers. Sungchan speaks in hushed, fluent Italian to the server who smiles at him like he knows him- which every person in the town probably does.
The server leads you to a table in the far corner, but it's still a good spot to not make you feel cramped. It's just cozy and just right.
Sungchan translates carefully what the server harps off about the restaurant and when they leave for you to decide, you eye the menu in hesitation. There's not a lick of English on it, which you don't expect, but you didn't buy any data to load Google Translate as you thought you'd be scrounging off hotel and HQ wifi the whole time.
"I'll go through the menu with you," Sungchan offers softly when he sees your reluctant face and plucks the laminated sheet out of your hand, "Are you allergic to anything?"
"Nope," you murmur. You're in awe of his kindness, truly. He's currently sat across the square table from you, but he picks up his chair and moves perpendicular to be able to nestle in beside you. He leaves behind his own menu to lean over and peer at your own.
You don't even realise you've frozen until he's softly saying your name, "Y/N?"
"Oh, yeah- sorry!" your cheeks flush pink after being caught out, but Sungchan doesn't take notice as he points to the starters.
Diligently, he translates every dish and the descriptions, giving his own opinions and watching your face react to each item. From his recommendation, the two of you decide on your food and he calls over the server to take your order. You weren't a big drinker and wine wasn't exactly up your alley, so you settled for soft drinks instead.
When Sungchan finishes listing the familiar food items, the server's eyes flash towards you before he says something to Sungchan. The driver, who was still sat beside you, breaks out into little giggles as you notice the tips of his ears start turning red while he curtly responds.
"What did he say to you?" you ask curiously, taking a sip from the water the server had supplied when you sat down.
Sungchan purses his lips and opens them, before he hesitates and closes them again for a second, "He just made a funny joke. It's in Italian so hard to translate."
You eye him warily, "Hm, okay."
He asks you a question to distract you into a tangent about your degree until the food comes. Unsurprisingly, it's the best Italian you've ever had and the server, despite his little English, manages to dedicate such great customer service to you that you're practically a silence away from writing poetry in their TripAdvisor reviews.
Sungchan happily details to you his life- how he got into racing, his highs and his lows in his career and his biggest dreams. The way he babbles between fork-fulls of pasta is utterly endearing that you have to stop yourself from reaching over the table and squeezing his cheeks. Still, you keep composure as he talks about his racing heroes.
When the food winds down and you're stuffed to the brim, finished off by a good helping of tiramisu, Sungchan is already behind you, ready with your jacket to slide over your arms.
"We haven't paid yet, though?" you frown at him.
The server, carrying a tray of drinks to another table, passes you at this moment, "Mr Sungchan paid. Che bella coppia! Buona serata!"
You look over at Sungchan who waves a dismissive hand at you and leads you out of the restaurant and to the car with a goodbye to the staff.
"What did he say at the end? I'm guessing he said have a good evening and bella means beautiful right?" you investigate him. The smile on the server's face was so sincere; you wished you understood what he said.
"He said what a beautiful couple," Sungchan chews the inside of his mouth bashfully, "I told him earlier that we weren't a couple, but he's just teasing."
You realise suddenly, "Ah, that must be what made you so red earlier, haha. It's fine- he's a lovely man and it's an amazing restaurant."
You both clamber into your respective sides of the car as Sungchan displays a solemn expression, "I just realised that was probably my last time there for a while since I'm moving."
"You act like the HQ for the team you drive for isn't here," you tease him, "Maybe you'll just have to learn to cook like them!"
Sungchan chortles, "As if! You can be my taste-tester in Monaco then. You'll regret giving me that idea."
You join his hearty, melodious laughs, "Okay, I'll see you in Monaco for that."
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 03 - JAPANESE GRAND PRIX
You were having your first difficult weekend dealing with your brother. It was so hard, in fact, that you didn't even join him for dinner after qualifying day.
A spun out Alpine during his final Q3 flying lap meant that he only qualified 6th and he certainly felt some way about it, making his feelings known to the press. Your brother isn't usually so hot-headed and irrational when it came to these things, but sometimes, things just build up and his fuse blows.
The Alpine had been driving erratically all weekend, seemingly unable to properly control the car, and it was just Mark's luck that the bright livery managed to crash into the championship leader's own red vehicle. But still, Mark should've known to keep mum- it was still early in the season anyway. You don't win championships on round 3.
But the damage was done and he had run his mouth and you were dealing with all these requests for comments from all these papers, while simultaneously trying to keep up with the comments about your brother on social media. It's tricky because you know people's opinion changes up in a snap of your fingers and a lot of people do accept that motorsports gets intense and things said in the heat of the moment both during and after a race should be taken with a pinch of salt, but at the same time, Mark has a reputation to uphold and sponsors to keep happy.
Not only was Mark subject to a hefty fine for his language over the radio and in the post-session interviews, he was also being subjected to the wrath of his little sister who's work was cut out for her.
"I said I'm sorry," Mark pleas beside you as you walk through the paddock and over to garage on race day. He stops a few times to take photos with kids and sign some caps and shirts, but he has to scuttle to keep up with your marching pace.
"You should've kept your mouth shut," you grumble, trying to keep a neutral expression for the eyes you know are watching you, "And you ruined Sungchan's qualifying too."
Mark pauses at the comment and furrows his eyebrows together, "Sungchan? Since when do you care where he qualifies?"
Mark didn't exactly crash in the altercation with the Alpine, but he was so in his head and also driving erratically that he had accidentally impeded his own teammate on the track who was on his own flying lap. Thankfully, the stewards considered the situation that happened just seconds beforehand and let him off with a warning, but Sungchan had only managed 8th in the end.
"We're friends," you snap, "Weren't you the one that suggested that?"
"Jeez, I'm just gonna stop talking," Mark sighs defeatedly at your tone.
"That would've been useful yesterday," you mutter under your breath. Your older brother shoots you an exasperated look, but you shoo him away to where he needed to go as you reached the Ferrari area.
You situate yourself in the majorly empty garage with most personnel headed to the team meeting before the race. You wave and greet the few members of staff loitering about, but for the most part, you busy yourself with the emails piling up in your inbox.
Time passes around you in the form of mechanics and engineers passing in and out like one of those movie montages and you don't know how long it's been until a hand taps you on your head to call your attention.
"No way," your mouth drops when you see your visitor, "I didn't know you were coming."
Eunseok's girlfriend returns your grin as you sweep her up in a hug. It's been a while since you've seen her- not since the season started even!
She laughs melodiously, "I didn't think I was able to come either, but I was able to swap my shift last minute so I could attend race day. Japan's not too far anyway. How've you been- do you wanna pop out and get lunch at one of the stands?"
Mark's gonna be occupied in the meeting for a good while, so you agree and link arms with your first friend you met through F1.
"What's it like doing the whole travelling to every race thing? And officially working for your brother?" she asks you. In the corner of your eyes, you spot a few people stop and snap a pic of the two of you as you peruse the paddock for food.
"It's already exhausting travelling and this is only race 3 of 24," you sigh, "And Mark pissed me off bad yesterday. Did you see what he said to the press?"
She giggles in guilt, "I did see the buzz on social media, yeah. It's okay; it happens. Remember when Eunseok crashed with Namjoon last year?"
You click your tongue, "Maybe I should get Mark his own separate PR manager? I can just do everything else as his general manager."
"Nah, he'll remember now for every time he thinks about running his mouth to the media," she reassures you, "Has the team been treating you well?"
"Duh! They're all lovely even though I'm one of the youngest," you gush, "They're don't boss me around like some might do to their driver's PA. I don't know if maybe it's cause I'm his sister too, but they've been good."
"Everyone would love you no matter what," she dismisses.
You became friends with Eunseok's girlfriend early in the previous season at a race you were both fortunate enough to attend. She'd gotten lost trying to find her way back to Mercedes' area in Saudi Arabia and you had asked if she was okay, since she looked on the verge of tears. You exchanged social media accounts and got lunch in the city centre the Friday before the Melbourne GP and the rest was history.
You didn't make it to every race of the last season as you finished up your final year of university and she was a newly qualified doctor, so it was hard to see each other often, but you kept in touch.
You both decide on a lounge set up in the paddock and take a seat away from the glass front. You order pretty quickly and the server promises to return with your food as quickly as possible.
"You know what though?" she begins with a small, tight frown, "It's gonna be hard for you to date now you have to travel so much. You're never gonna be in one place at one time."
"Psh, I'm not even thinking about dating!" your voice raises in pitch and volume in defence, "Plus, you and Eunseok make it work."
Her face contorts into this kind of pained expression, "We do, but it's hard. But we've been together a long time, so it's been a more gradual shift to the full on F1 calendar and career. I guess you should just date someone who works and travels with an F1 team. Do you want me to get Eunseok to ask around who's single?"
You bat at her arm, "I'm not trying to date, seriously. I'm busy enough as it is trying to adjust to being Mark's manager!"
"Text me when you change your mind," she rolls her eyes playfully, "Do you wanna watch the race together? Or do you have to be at the Ferrari garage?"
"I'm not actually sure on the etiquette on that, but I should probably be at Ferrari to make sure I can drag Mark away quickly with my hand covering his mouth in case he starts getting mouthy again," you sigh in annoyance, "We can catch the next race together, whenever you'll make it next."
"I'll be in Miami," she confirms happily, "We can party it up on Jungkook's boat after!"
"You mean his mega-yacht?" you snort. The Mercedes legend has a reputation for hosting the best and wildest parties on his yacht, which you were yet to experience. However, he did invite your brother once to have dinner on the yacht, catered by a Michelin-starred chef, which he graciously dragged you to despite you not knowing anyone on that vessel.
"It's mammoth," she emphasises, "Oh, I'm excited!"
When you finish eating, you drop her off to Mercedes' garage and elbow your way through the buzzing crowd to get back to Ferrari. It was less than hour before the race now, so it was getting busy both around the paddock and in the garage. You could see both Mark and Sungchan on their respective sides, floating between their car and the engineering station.
They're close to sending the car out on the grid for the reconnaissance laps, so the drivers stand out from their team in their matching fireproofs. Mark gives you a rushed, but enthusiastic wave as you settle yourself if your usual corner of the garage and you give him two thumbs up to wish him luck. Sungchan, on the other hand, spots you a few minutes later and surprises you by jogging on over to you.
You haven't spoken to him since he dropped you back off at your hotel in Maranello, but you did follow each other on Instagram a few days ago, which was instigated by him. It's been a busy weekend, so other than waving at you in passing during media day, FP sessions and before qualifying, there had been no instances of greeting each other properly.
"Hi Sungchan," you grin as he bounds on over to you, "Good luck today."
"Thanks Y/N. Haven't had the chance to say hi all weekend," he runs a free hand through his soft locks as he grips his balaclava tight in the other.
"It's been busy," you agree, "But you'll do great out there. I know Mark made it hard for you yesterday, though."
Sungchan looks over his shoulder briefly, watching Mark preside over his engineers with hands on his hips, but he just shrugs, "Part of racing and he didn't mean to. Obviously, he didn't know it was me and I would have been way less composed after a collision."
As a racer, Sungchan's been involved in more collisions, accidents and incidents than he would've liked to admit- it was part of the sport. Over the years, he's learned how to deal with them and how to pick himself up after and keep going even when it hurt or he felt guilty.
But it was his rookie season in the top flight and despite the fact that he knows it's only a matter of time before his first mistake, he's trying his best to hold it off as long as possible.
You reach out to touch his arm and he's thankful his layers are so thick that you don't feel him tense up under your grip, "You're gonna do great, Sungchan," you repeat.
His eyes, large, glossy and unreadable, peer down at you as his lips tug up at the corners, "Forza Ferrari, then. Enjoy the race. See you later?"
You don't know what later means; it could mean dinner or it could mean 4 days later in Bahrain, but you nod and send him away, in a manner and motion that you don't even do to your brother. You don't know how to describe your friendship with Sungchan, but he's quickly becoming an important character in your life, which scares you a little.
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 05 - SAUDI ARABIA GRAND PRIX
Whenever Mark has a difficult race, he has a routine. He doesn't have these often, thankfully, but you've sussed him out by now.
He finishes the race and thanks his engineers and team- they work so hard despite everything. He composes himself in the garage and accepts he has to do his media duties and he fibs and reassures the world that he's okay and promises to come back stronger the next weekend.
It must be hard to be a previous world champion- everyone expects you to do it again and again no matter how much the world changes around you from the drivers to the cars to the rulebooks to the tracks to the tyres and to the officials.
You know that Mark carries himself with grace through the team meetings after hard races, but then you also know that he holes up in his hotel, orders a bunch of food and goes MIA for that night once he finishes all his obligations. He doesn't need or want anyone to comfort him; he just needs some space and time.
He doesn't like it when someone rubs his back and tells him something was not his fault when it was. He doesn't like it when he's coo'd false promises and he hates it even more when people look at him in pity.
So, you don't exactly know what to do when Sungchan DNF's in his 5th F1 race in his rookie season after a Haas dives into the side of his car and takes out his wings.
You've been tuned in to his feed the past few laps and the heartbreak in his voice was evident when he finally cut through the silence.
"I'm sorry, fuck. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened," his voice isn't altogether clear over the radio, but even still, you could hear the pain.
His engineer buzzes in, "Are you okay, Sungchan?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck. I'm sorry."
"You're okay, that's all that matters. We're bringing the car back, just stay there. Virtual safety car is up," his engineer tells him.
It takes at least 5 laps for the safety car period to end and what felt like a lifetime before the car and the driver arrived back at the garage. You couldn't see much of the car by way of every mechanic immediately pouncing on it for repair, but Sungchan loomed over all figures in the room.
He stayed by his team principal and race engineer's side for a while, speaking in hushed tones with eyebrows tugged together. His race suit was gathering at his waist and he was nervously running his hands through his hair.
To divert your attention, you switch back to Mark's race. From P6, he had managed to get himself up to P3 by lap 30 and was less than 2 seconds behind the silver medal position. The Ferrari garage was still locked in, vying for another win for their top driver, so the atmosphere hadn't changed too much.
You had focused so much of your attention on the screen ahead of you, that you didn't even notice when Sungchan came to your side until he taps the plastic of your red over-ear headphones.
"Sungchan, hey," you slip the device off your head, "Are you okay?"
His lips form into a pout, "It fucking sucks. Did you see it?"
You don't nod, but instead give him a tight smile, "It wasn't your fault."
"I could've done more to avoid it. Swerved, or something," he sighs dejectedly, "They're sending me to the media centre. I know Mark's still racing, but can you walk with me? I don't have anyone here with me. Changmin's away this weekend and I don't know what to fucking do-"
"Hey, hey, hey," you reach out to steady him and grab at his forearm, "I'm here with you. Don't worry. I'll come with you."
Sungchan meets your eyes properly and his glassy orbs display his every emotion. He lets out this deep, dreadful sigh from the centre of his chest as he chews at his lips and nods, "Thanks, Y/N. Can you wait here? I'm just gonna get changed out of this."
He comes back a few minutes later from his driver's room in the team shirt and matching cap, still not looking all the settled. You keep up with his pace all the way to the media centre, which isn't hard because he's dragging his feet to prolong the journey instead of his usual large strides with his long, long legs.
"What should I say to them?" he murmurs under his breath as the building comes into view. The paddock isn't busy as the race is still ongoing so there's no one coming up to him for any random reason, "I mean, I know what to say but like- Ugh, this is the worst."
You swallow hard and turn your brain onto PR manager mode, "Just try and look calm, okay? Just tell them it was a tricky situation, but that's what happens in racing. Just tell them you'll come back stronger next time. They just wanna make sure you're okay too."
Sungchan's lips are seconds away from bleeding by the way he's tugging at them with his teeth and even now, he's avoiding any eye contact with you or anybody else you pass for that matter. Just as you reach the building, you pause in your tracks to try give him a pep talk.
"Sungchan I know it sucked, but you're gonna be okay, yeah? You're an amazing, amazing driver and this was just a small mistake and accident that wasn't even your fault for the most part," you attempt to reassure him, "You're not gonna lose your seat over this and the team adore you and know that this is just something that happens. You've been doing so great the past 4 races and it's so early in the season. You've already proven yourself to the tifosi who love you and the racing world adore you too. It's gonna be okay, Sungchan. I promise."
Sungchan listens to you with an unreadable expression which melts softly as your words come to a close. By the door of the media centre, he unexpectedly pulls you in for a hug.
"Thanks, Y/N," he pulls away before you even react, "I'm so grateful you're here."
"Anytime, Sungchan."
꒰🏎️꒱
BREAK BETWEEN ROUND 05 AND 06
Your brother is eyeing you suspiciously from the couch perpendicular to the one you were sat cris-cross on. He was all squinted stares and furrowed eyebrows too as he periodically looks between the TV and then back at you.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you huff in annoyance as you finally speak up on his 15th head turn, "Just watch the goddamn movie."
Mark decided a few hours ago that he was gonna dedicate the whole day to watching Spider-Man films, but he wasn't watching them in any particular order. You don't really know how it makes sense to watch The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and then Spider-Man: Far From Home and then Spider-Man 3, but whatever makes him happy during the break, you guess.
It's nearing dinner time, which means one thing: Lee Donghyuck is probably around the corner, just himself and his spare key to the apartment ready to devour whatever Mark plans to order in. You're not really sure why they don't live together, but you've already claimed the second room in the apartment so it's too late now.
"You keep smiling at your phone," Mark says observantly, suspiciously, "And you're wearing like, real clothes."
"God forbid your sister is happy," you grumble at his insinuation, "Am I not allowed to smile?"
"Yeah, but, like, you never smile," Mark says this like it's the most obvious thing, "Are you watching funny TikToks? Send them to me!"
Your brother is so unserious, it hurts. No one would think he's a multiple-time F1 champion.
"I'm going out for dinner," you finally tell him, your voice as steady as you can make it.
Mark's interest piques with this as he sits up straight and pauses the film, "What? With who? You don't know anyone in Monte Carlo."
"You're actually horrible. You don't think I can make friends?" you throw the pillow in your lap at him, which he dodges with his quick reflexes.
"Well, yeah. So who?" he presses on.
"It doesn't matter," you whine, regretting even telling him instead of just walking out.
"As your older brother, I'd say that it actually does matter. What if you're meeting a serial killer? Or a stalker? Or an undercover pap or journalist who's gonna infiltrate our family? Someone with bad intentions?" Mark begins to show signs of distress as he stands up and paces back and forth in front of you, "Did you meet them in Monaco? Are they from a rich family? Do they work here? How is this the first I've heard of you meeting someone here?"
Your phone buzzes in the pocket you've hid it in, signifying to you that your company for the evening has stopped driving and is presumably outside. You stand up and collect your bag from the side table, as well as your shoes by the door. You can feel Mark's eyes follow you around the apartment.
"Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?" Mark calls over in concern. It's kinda fun to wind up your brother like this, but you decide to put him out of his misery.
"I'm going to dinner," you deadpan, unlocking the front door, "Now if you'll excuse me, Sungchan is downstairs."
You shut the door behind you, but not before you hear him exclaim in the most confused tone possible, "Sungchan? My teammate Sungchan?"
Your phone buzzes again when you get in the elevator and you check to see if its from Sungchan, but instead you're faced with capital letters and exclamation marks.
Markie: ARE YOU GUYS DATING?!!!!!!!!!!!
Markie: Y/N WHAT THE FLIPPPPPPPP ANSWER ME
You laugh, shaking your head at your dramatic brother.
Y/N: we're just friends!! you're fun to wind up
Markie: Y/N YOUR CURFEW IS 9:30PM
Y/N: in ur dreams, lol, ur not my mother. i'll be back when i wanna be back
Sungchan is dressed in black from head to toe as he leans against the passenger door on the side of the street. He's watching you exit the building in amusement, his hands in his pocket.
"Hey, Channie," you greet him enthusiastically.
"Your brother says I need to come up after I drop you home," he quirks an eyebrow at you.
"Ha, did he text you?"
Sungchan laughs a little and shakes his head, pointing upwards, "He's watching us."
Horror immediately rushes through your veins as you cock your neck back to see your brother dangling over the balcony with a smirk on his face.
"Mark! Fuck off!" he mirrors the way you flip him off.
"10:30 latest, Jung!" he calls out to your company.
"We're just friends," you shout up at him, "You never gone out for dinner with friends?"
"Not on their first day moving to the city! Why are you the first person he's seeing in Monaco?"
You grumble to Sungchan, "Sorry about him. Should we just leave?"
Sungchan chuckles at your exchange with your brother, moving to open the passenger door for you. It's the same Ferrari you rode in Maranello, so he must have road-tripped it over.
"Bye Mark!" Sungchan bids your brother a goodbye as he jogs around to the driver's side and you can see Mark still watching from the balcony as Sungchan drives you away.
You're still giggling by the first corner and Sungchan eyes you cautiously from his seat, "I know he's your brother, but I don't wanna piss off the first driver on my team. What if he has me kicked off?"
You roll your eyes playfully, "Mark would never do that. He's just joking around."
"I know, I know. Mark's one of the kindest people I've met, but you're still his little sister. The look he gave me when I looked up and realised he was there- oh, chills down my spine!" he exclaimed as he gripped the wheel tighter.
"It's not like we're dating," you state, "I don't know, maybe it's cause I've never really had male friends around him and with our parents so far away, he's trying to take on that protective role."
Sungchan goes quiet, tapping on the steering wheel, "Hm, yeah. I guess."
꒰🏎️꒱
He had previously detailed to you in Maranello that he wasn't exactly a Michelin-started chef, so instead, he took you to a 2 star restaurant whose name you couldn't even begin to pronounce despite the years of French you've taken in school.
Sungchan is sitting across from you, a knife and a fork clutched in his hand tightly.
"Sungchan, I know you said we were gonna go to a pretty fancy restaurant, but I feel severely underdressed," you look down at your pleated trousers and your pink blouse and then at the lady at the table across in a silk dress and gloves.
"Relax, we're cosplaying as mega rich today and they don't dress up that much to go out to dinner," Sungchan tries to reassure you. He's dressed pretty simple too, but not casual enough to have been denied entry at the door.
"Are our wallets cosplaying mega rich too?"
He looks at you pointedly, "Our? I'm paying, of course. And well to be honest, I got a pretty big raise going from reserve slash academy to sitting in the second seat. What else am I gonna splash my money on?"
Your cheeks flush, "If you pay it's gonna feel like a date. We should split."
He smirks subtly and a glint twinkles in his eye, "All the more reason for me to pay then."
Your food comes in small portions, but feels endless in courses. It's interesting to listen to the waiter babble on about the fancy ingredients and the elusive concept, but the dinner is made more special by your company.
Sungchan is simply nice to be with. He has wit- joking about the food and never missing a beat to banter with you- and he has a lot of charm. You're not really sure how he's never had a girlfriend before, but you know through your brother that their career takes up so much of their time and focus. Sungchan's the kind of guy that every girl would have fawned over in school, the kind of colleague all the ladies in an office would talk about and vie for, but he's here, with you, in one of Monaco's upscale restaurants.
Maybe that's saying something about your relationship with him that you haven't yet accepted has changed.
After dinner (where yes, he did end up paying), he drives the two of you down to the port and you walk shoulder to shoulder under the streetlights and between the twinkles of the yacht lights reflecting off the water.
"Have you driven here before?" you look behind you at the road, which was still busy despite the time. Monaco was truly alive in the evening.
"Mhm, it's on the F2 and F3 calendar so I've done it a good few times. It's a really difficult race if you're not in pole, but I enjoy it," Sungchan reminisces, "I won it last year in F2."
"You just had to add that, didn't you?" you tease him by bumping your shoulder against his.
Sungchan chuckles melodiously, "I don't get to say that about many places to many people. And this year will probably taint my memory and feeling of the race, so gotta enjoy it while I can."
"Hey, you should really back yourself more. You're a good driver; you wouldn't be in a Ferrari seat if you weren't. Who knows- you could repeat it again!" you were chant in a motivating tone.
A soft smile decorates Sungchan's face as he sighs happily, "You know, I really appreciated you telling me you were cheering for me in China. Even if you support me because I'm your brother's teammate and you feel like you have to, it was nice of you to support me. It was kind of hard at the start of the season since no one thought I'd be able to perform well or deliver at all, so your support made me really happy."
Your heart swells, "I cheer for you because you deserve it and I believe in you. Even if at the start, it was because of that, it certainly isn't now. You're such a good person, Sungchan- I'll always support you."
He's trying to hide his blush from you as the breeze pushes the two of you along the harbour, "Even if I beat your brother one day?"
"He's already got some championships," you dismiss casually, "I hope I'm there for your first F1 win."
"Might be a while, so don't hold your breath."
"Sungchan! I just said you have to back yourself," you whine at him and punctuate, "Believe. In. Your. Self."
"Okay, fine. I'll win a race soon, just so I know that you'll be there watching," Sungchan rolls his eyes playfully, "I'll dedicate my win to you."
"Ha! As if."
"What, can't I dedicate a win to a friend?" he says the final word with some kind of disdain that you check his face- all scrunched up and cute.
"Why'd you say it like that?" you prod teasingly.
Sungchan glances quickly at you to find you already looking at him, so he turns away as his ears go red, "Stop!" he whines.
"Stop what?"
"I know I'm being obvious," Sungchan murmurs shyly, "Being friends for now is good, but you know, in the future-"
"In the future, what?"
Sungchan stops in his tracks to stomp his feet adorably, "Y/N, you're doing this on purpose!" his face is heated up like a tomato while you double over in laughter, "Don't make me say it."
"Say what?"
Sungchan huffs and rolls his eyes, refusing to speak and instead grabs your hand to keep the two of you walking despite being the one to stop.
"You're fun to tease, just like my brother," you're still laughing and he's still holding your hand, softly, gently.
"You're a menace," he utters with a smile on his face, "I hate that I like it."
"I like your company too, Sungchan," you giggle, pressing your arm against him, your entwined hands squishing between the two of you, "You're not the only one."
Sungchan looks at you, a content expression on his handsome features, "Good. That's good."
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 06 - MIAMI GRAND PRIX
No matter the outcome of the race, there was one sure thing about the Miami Grand Prix since it started running- and that was the fact that Jungkook will always, without fail, host the best party of the entire year that's second to none in your brother's opinion. Mark invited you to come in the previous years, but the Miami GP always fell around the season of deadlines and you weren't sure about partying with people that you haven't met the majority of.
Of course, tonight's going to be packed with strangers too, but you're hoping the occasional familiar face will help you settle in and feel more comfortable. If all else fails, you're sticking with Eunseok's girlfriend.
With another win for your brother in the bag and a slew of interviews later, you were finally clocking off and being chauffeured from the hotel to the dock. You're hoping and praying to the gods that Mark doesn't do anything at the party that would amount to more work for you, such as cleaning up after his messes in the press, but even if he decides to get a little wilder to celebrate his win, he told you that Jungkook's security for the party is absolutely second to none- completely iron clad. There was nothing illegal happening on the boat, of course, but the drivers and their acquaintances deserve a little privacy here and there to act freely.
"No groupies, no fans, no one that can't be trusted," Mark tells you again in the car, "So go crazy. Not that anyone's gonna be paying attention to you, but just in case you get close to any drivers tonight."
You shove his side and he snarls at you, "I didn't even say a name! You can get it on with Mingyu from Mercedes for all I care- well actually, don't do that, but, y'know."
Mark stops his train of thought when you give him a death stare and diverts the topic onto what he thought about the race. You stand off to the side for so many of his interviews, but it's always hard to listen because of all the noise on the track. He's blabbering about the safety car and the situation that happened halfway through the race when Eunseok's girlfriend texts you that they've made it onto the yacht.
"- and I know Donghyuck is my best friend, but I swear he lives to get under my skin on the tract," Marks tuts in annoyance beside you, "Raced wheel-to-wheel with me instead of letting me pass when he was a pit stop behind me anyway. Prick."
"I'm sure he's just vying for entertainment in the midfield. That's just how he is," you hum along, "Who's that driver who retired but was a pain in the ass to everyone for his own entertainment?"
"Oh, Jeonghan? I don't know why McLaren kept him so long. Amazing driver but was always on the verge of a race ban with his penalty points," Mark chuckles in remembrance, "The grid's a bit more calm this year with so many rookies from last season and this season; no one's taking insane risks yet."
"Good. I hate seeing crashes," you counter, "Sungchan was so sad in Saudi Arabia after his crash."
Mark's face contorts into constipation from holding back from teasing you, but it slips his lips as he coos in a high-pitch tone, "Oooo, Sungchan. How was loverboy after the race anyway? I didn't get to see him since we had separate meetings today."
You resist the urge to snap at him and breathe in and out deeply, "I haven't seen him either. I was with you, remember?"
"Oh yeah. Then let's congratulate him properly for his second P4 finish! So insane!" Mark claps happily, doing a little dance in his seat. Because of Sungchan's good performances, they were steadily fighting for the top spot of the Constructor's Championship. You had managed to send Sungchan a congratulatory text, but other than the rushed 'thank you!!' and 'see you soon!:)' he was able to send you because he was whisked away by his team, you hadn't spoken to him.
The car pulls up to the dock and you momentarily marvel at the flashy, jaw-dropping yachts before Mark drags you to the direction of the brightest and loudest boat of the line up.
"C'mon, if we're late they'll actually just leave," Mark murmurs under his breath. It's all sights he's used to so he doesn't realise you're trying to take in the surroundings, but you forgive him for the sole fact that because he was the winner of the race, Jungkook gave him rights to skip the queue of people trying to get on the boat.
Haechan gives the two of you the stink-eye and the bird as he waits for security to get through everyone.
Jungkook is deep in host-duties as you step on the boat following an extensive search. He daps up Mark and congratulates him on the win before turning to you, "Y/N, right? It's good to see you again!"
"Thank you for letting me come. I've heard lots of things about your Miami parties," you greet him pleasantly.
"Mark's been talking about inviting you for years, so I'm glad you could make it. Haven't seen you much in the paddock this season yet," Jungkook cocks his head.
"I'm always hiding in the Ferrari garage. I don't really know anyone to mingle in the paddock with," you tell him.
His face lights up, "Well then tonight is the perfect opportunity to meet the people that frequent the paddock! Mostly drivers, their partners and their entourage on the boat tonight. And if you're single, my party's matchmake'd a good handful of couples," his lid drops into a wink as he smirks.
"Trying to set my sister up right in front of me," Mark sighs in defeat beside you, "We'll see you around, Kook. Have to go find the other Ferrari."
"Tell him that overtake he did on me at Turn 11 was downright dirty, but incredible," Jungkook kisses his teeth as the memory from a few hours earlier surfaces, "I must have missed him coming aboard."
Mark drags you further afield into the boat, thanking everyone briefly that shouted congratulations his way, but he's steadfast on his journey. With such an exclusive guest list, the boat isn't too cramped yet despite being lively in nature so early in the night. You easily find Eunseok and his girlfriend towards the bow of the ship, delighting you to find her waiting with a drink in hand for you.
"Sorry, didn't get the race winner a drink," she says sheepishly at Mark who waves her off, "But congratulations."
Eunseok parrots the same sentiment to your brother.
"Thank you guys and don't worry- there's plenty of time for drinks," he smiles, "Have you guys seen Sungchan?"
You previously told Eunseok's girlfriend that you were hanging out with Sungchan a lot and enjoying his company and her mouth had dropped in shock that she didn't think to put the two of you together despite him driving for Ferrari as he was also Eunseok's best friend on the grid. You'd identified they were close with the stories Sungchan would tell you about his karting days and junior career, but you wanted to wait to see if there was even anything to say to your friend to not make it a big deal.
"He came on with us but I think Taeyong dragged him away. I told him to come back here now," Eunseok flashes his phone at you to their texts. Mark just hums and leaves quickly, saying that he'll come back again later in the night after making sure you'd be okay with the company.
His girlfriend hooks her arm around yours and clinks your drinks together in a cheers, "We're finally having a night out together since we first met. Let's go crazy!"
"I don't know if crazy is the right word. I don't wanna fall off the edge of the boat!" you squawk as you cast your eyes overboard to the steep drop down into the treacherous ocean.
"Please, your loverboy would never let that happen. He won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight regardless," she rolls her eyes playfully and bats at the tassels coming off your dress.
"No, you look so good," you squeeze her arm.
Eunseok scoffs in front of the two of you, "Get a room, geez!"
"Watch your back," you stick your tongue out at him teasingly as his girlfriend giggles beside you.
Eunseok opens his mouth to reply, but then his eye catches on something behind you that makes him smirk.
"Y/N, you're here. Finally," you feel her arm slip away from yours as you hear that familiar, deep and comforting voice behind you through the buzz of the party.
Sungchan is dressed in a full-black outfit complete with a leather jacker over his shoulders, perfectly matching your black dress.
Your arms reach up instinctively around his neck to pull him into a hug, while his hands find home on the exposed skin on the small of your back, setting your nerves on fire in the way they linger there.
"Congratulations on P4 again. You're amazing. I'm so proud of you," you whisper up to his ear.
"Thank you. That really means a lot from you," his voice is soft and appreciative, as he rubs the area cut out from the back of your dress, "And you look so incredible tonight."
You pull away, already knowing your cheeks are red, but his hands stretch and stay clasped around your waist for a beat too long. You don't even question it, not even when he releases one hand, but keeps a hold onto your waist and pulls you by his side.
Eunseok and his girlfriend's eyebrows are raised in amusement when you finally remember their existence, but they don't say anything and just sip their drink instead.
"Where'd you go?" Eunseok asks your companion, who was radiating all his body heat to you even in the gusty Miami breeze.
"Taeyong was introducing me to his team," Sungchan says off-handedly, "What are you guys drinking?"
"Mojitos," you tell him, showing him the cup in your hand and bringing it up to his lip, "Want some?"
Sungchan hums in agreement, capturing your straw with his plump lips, "Mhm, that's good. Let's get more when you finish."
"You two are gross," Eunseok grumbles, but the two of you cock your head in confusion at him. He just bats away at you and turns to his girlfriend, "Babe, let's go mingle and leave these two alone."
His girlfriend agrees instantly, dropping you a not-so-subtle wink as she's whisked away into the crowd. It leaves you alone with Sungchan, him watching the party as you become all too aware of his hand still around your waist.
"Someone's touchy tonight," you murmur softly, not accusatory.
He doesn't let go, but looks down at you with that fond look on his face, "Is that okay?"
Your heart thumps in your chest, "Mhm, yeah."
"Good."
Later on in the night, you found yourself in the lounge inside of the boat where it was lit up by lamps, but people weren't any less drunk. A group was playing card games around you, but you were tucked up against Sungchan's side, trying to sober up a little bit after you both had too many cocktails. There was no reason for Jungkook to have over 20 enticing cocktails on the menu, seriously!
After a bit of dancing once the mega-yacht started sailing and there was no exit until you docked back, you were winding down inside.
"You doing okay?" he whispers down to you after his turn in the game passed.
Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his black button up, leather jacket long gone, "Yeah. I'm comfy, don't worry."
"Tell me if you wanna go get some air, mhm?" he pats your head sweetly. Across the room, on another sprawling couch, Eunseok's girlfriend wiggles her eyebrows at you.
From the outside, it's obvious you and Sungchan are more than friends. There's no denying it, even between the both of you. At least you hoped you were reading the situation right. But you hadn't really tiptoed past that line that cemented being beyond friends- it feels like you're just waiting for the time or moment to come.
There's a commotion and a clash across the room as a door swings open, letting in a a whiff of fresher air and then slams closed.
"Fuck, I'm so drunk. Can I sit down?" your brother, who you definitely forgot existed, stumbles into the room.
"There's no space," Haechan groans, "Sit on the floor."
"Noooo, I need to collapse on this couch right now. Y/N, just sit on your boyfriend's lap," Mark whines impatiently, pointing at the two of you. The whole room practically ceases all noise, everyone turning their head to look at you.
"Mark, I'm gonna throw you overboard," you grit your teeth at him.
Sungchan just laughs deeply beside you as he looks over, "Y/N, it's fine. Your brother looks like he needs to sit down. You mind?"
Hesitantly, you get up from your very comfy position and Sungchan shuffles over to get under you. You make no move to sit, so he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you down onto him, making you giggle nervously.
"Tell me if I'm too heavy," you twist your head to look at him, surprising yourself with the close distance down to his face.
You don't know if your eyes deceive you, but his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a split second before he shakes his head, "You're as light as a feather. Have you seen my muscles?"
You choke back a scoff and swat at him, but he squeezes his arms around your midriff instead to make you laugh.
"Anyway, how are you feeling? Still wasted?" his own words slur ever so slightly as you deny his question.
"Tipsy, but not as bad as earlier," your head still feels heavy on your neck, lolling to one side, but everything seems a bit clearer with every second that passes, "Our first time getting drunk together!"
Sungchan fights back the cheesy smile that threatens to take over once he heard the word 'our' come from your lips. He could definitely get used to that.
"Okay, good. Keep drinking your water, mhm?" he hums, nodding over to the table crowded with cards, cocktail glasses and bottles of beer, sodas and water.
"You're acting like my parent. Even Mark's not this vigilant," you jut your chin over to your brother, who is sprawled on the end of the plush couch, moments away from slipping off but sitting without a care in the world. His eyes are scrunched together tightly, trying to block out the light and you just know he's concentrating on stopping the room from spinning.
"Your brother just won so I guess he can get drunk off his ass. Therefore, I gotta make sure you make it off the boat in one, pretty piece," he humphs behind you.
You twist your body, "He didn't put you on babysitting duty, did he?"
Sungchan chortles, "Of course not. And he doesn't have to. I wanna take care of you."
"Oh," you relax in his hold, "Okay. Thanks Channie."
"You're gonna be at lunch tomorrow, right?" he moves topics quickly, but it doesn't slip past you the way he leans forward so his lips are pretty much pressed and moving against the bare skin of your shoulder.
You freeze in the moment and melt when he murmurs your name against your skin to get your attention again.
"Oh, yeah. With Eunseok and his girlfriend? Of course. Gosh, we've both been so busy this weekend- I had to ask her to tell you all the details," you sigh deeply, "How do we work for the same team and barely see each other sometimes? Well, it's cause you're a big shot formula one driver and I have to be following around my brother and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, which is highly likely at any given moment-"
"Definitely still tipsy. You're so talkative when you're tipsy," he's found out this fact about you over the course of the night, "But it's okay. As long as you'll be there tomorrow."
"Sungchan! Hey!" a face that's distantly familiar appears above you. Lee Taeyong smiles down at the two of you, a bottle in hand, "This must be your girlfriend. I had no idea."
"Girlfriend?" you cock your head at him, "I'm Lee Y/N. Mark's sister." You point at your brother, who is now curled up into a ball as Haechan looms over him, snapping pictures on his phone.
Kim Jungwoo apparates beside his McLaren teammate, swinging an arm around his shoulder, "He's such an idiot. I told him Sungchan had a girl. Nice to meet you officially, Y/N."
You've heard lots of good things about the pair as they're pretty close to your brother, but you had never properly met them until now.
"I'm sorry- I didn't know for sure," Taeyong pouts.
Behind you, Sungchan is tense. You can feel it in the way his grip tightens.
"Huh?"
Your face must have displayed the epitome of confusion as Taeyong looks at you apologetically, "My cousin thought Sungchan was cute and I thought he was single so I dragged him to introduce them at the start of the night. I would have never done that if I knew, Y/N. I don't mean to disrespect you at all. Thanks for introducing my cousin to Theo though, Sungchan. I think she thinks he's even cuter than you!"
Your perplexity only triples as Taeyong goes on and you nervously turn around to your companion who gives you a sheepish look.
"It's alright, guys. We're gonna go outside now, though, if you wanna take my seat," Sungchan taps on your hip to get you to stand up. Wordlessly, but still confused, you follow his command. The two McLaren drivers beam at you as they wave goodbye and you don't even realise that Sungchan is holding your hand all the way to the deck until he stops and separates your hands to brush his through his hair.
"What just happened?" you laugh incredulously, "I am so confused right now. Did I get more drunk? Did I hallucinate that?"
Sungchan's lips tug into a guilty smile, "Taeyong tried to set me up with his cousin. I didn't wanna lead her on or anything so I said I wasn't available. Theo from Haas walked past at that moment so I introduced him instead."
"Oh," your mouth flattens at the idea of Sungchan being set up with someone, but then your heart explodes into butterflies, "Yeah, it probably did look like I was your girlfriend sat on your lap like that."
"Good. I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea about me again," Sungchan's voice drops low as he leans against the rails of the ship. His eyes are dark, his lids fluttering slowly in his slightly tipsy state.
It's getting windier and colder as the night goes on and the sound of the sea crashing on itself seems to intensify as silence occupies the space between you.
"Sungchan?" you look up at him to find him already staring down at you, something unreadable in his large eyes.
"Yeah?"
"You're not as drunk either now, are you?" you ask quietly.
"Nope. My head's crystal clear, promise," he utters truthfully.
"Okay."
A breeze runs through your figures and you shake at the coolness. Sungchan frowns and pulls you to his body, wrapping you up in a hug, "Shit, let's go find my jacket and find somewhere else inside. You're gonna freeze out here."
Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around him, letting his body heat migrate to you, "Yeah, let's. But for now, you're pretty warm."
Sungchan drops his chin on top of your head, "Then let's stay like this for a bit longer, mhm?"
You pull your head back to meet his eyes, "Sungchan?"
"Yes, Y/N?" he says again, expression fond.
"I heard kissing is a really efficient way to warm up."
Sungchan's face doesn't even display surprise as he smirks cheekily, "Oh really? Maybe we should try that out."
"Yeah, it's really cold."
Even in your heels, you still have to reach up on your tiptoes to meet his face halfway, steadily pressing your lips against his as his hands come up to cup your flushed cheeks.
His lips sets your body ablaze as he moves his mouth slowly, but desperately against yours. You melt into his touch as you deepen the kiss with every beat and the way you feel him yearn against you is so delicious. It feels like you've been waiting for this for so long- because you have- and it's even better than anything you could have conjured up in your imagination as relief floods your body to finally be so close to him.
"Y/N," he practically pleads as you both come up for air.
Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight as you pull him in for another kiss, never wanting this moment to end, "Sungchan, I'm still cold."
"Let me fix that. Can't let my girl be cold," he smiles against your lips.
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 07 - EMILIA-ROMAGNA GRAND PRIX
You've been lucky to attend a few Italian races while your brother's been racing for Ferrari. Other than racing in Canada, they're Mark's favourite races due to the passionate support of the tifosi- the roar of the crowd, the sea of red, the banners and the flags. Monza and Imola are staples in the calendar for your family to attend, so you're already used to cameras on you in the paddock. So far, you've asked to be kept off the screen as much as possible since you were now technically Ferrari staff, but if your family was around, you knew you'd end up on the broadcast for reactions.
Your family arrives only a couple of hours before lights out at Imola, choosing to skip the build-up days to extend their vacation for as long as possible. The calendar was going into a triple-header, so your family was excited to see three races in a span of just over two weeks.
"Is Mark driving you insane yet?" your mother snorts as she settles beside you in the Ferrari garage.
"You know it," you half-joke, knowing she's the one person who'd understand what you're going through, "At least you can relax, eomma."
"I know it's tricky sometimes, but I just wanna make sure that Mark has family around and he can take care of you too," your mother smiles softly. With the way the sport worked, drivers were constantly being sent around the world week on week and it could get isolating from your family sometimes, not being able to be still for a while. You wouldn't have it any other way, really.
"How's Monaco?" your dad asks from your other side. He's got a camera around his neck, ready for sightseeing once he's out of the garage. Your dad's hoping for a Mark victory to be able to capture all the love of the tifosi through his lens.
"I've barely seen any of it. After this race, this next week will probably be the longest I'll have been in the city since I moved there," you tell them honestly, "I've made a couple of friends."
"Friends? Y/N's got a boyfriend!" your elder brother sing-songs from behind you.
If there weren't so many people around, you would have turned around and pounced on Jinhyung.
"Y/N, he's coming to dinner tonight, right?" your dad's tone turns serious.
You groan, "Yes he is, but please do not be embarrassing or try to scare him. You'll probably see him briefly in a second."
"No promises," your dad pulls you into an affectionate side hug, "You'll forever be my little girl, Y/N. And he's the first boyfriend we're ever meeting!"
"Acting like Donghyuck's not practically your son's boyfriend," you jeer at them.
Right on time, you see two figures round the front of the garage. It's a funny picture- your middle brother with his arms slung around the shoulder of your almost-boyfriend despite the height difference. Mark's adorning a smirk, amused at the gravity of the situation, meanwhile Sungchan looks like he's three seconds away from combusting.
He meets your eyes and you try to give him a comforting smile.
"Eomma, appa, hyung, this is Sungchan. My teammate," Mark punctuates his final word, staring at you teasingly.
Sungchan waves nervously, bowing to them in greeting, "Hi! It's nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy the race."
"Aren't you so handsome! And tall!" your mother coo's. You're sure they've seen each other in passing before, either at Maranello or the races Sungchan substituted for previously, but it's their first time meeting officially.
You watch fondly as his cheeks tint pink and he begins to fiddle with the material of the fireproofs bunched up around his waist.
"And you've been such a good driver this season. You're very talented- definitely rookie of the year," your father compliments.
"How are you balancing being a Ferrari rookie AND dealing with both of these Lee's?" your eldest brother exclaims, "You deserve an award for that."
"You're the worst one!" you jeer at your brother and then swat away at your family, "Mark and Sungchan have a race to get to!"
You hug your brother good luck with your family following suit and you can sense Sungchan's eyes following you when you pull away from Mark, not knowing whether it was appropriate to approach you in front of your family.
His body relaxes in relief when you open your arms wide for him to slot himself into. You reach up on your toes and stop at his ear, "Good luck, Sungchan. I believe in you."
A hand squeezes at your waist in gratitude, "Thank you. See you after the race, baby."
꒰🏎️꒱
ROUND 08 - MONACO GRAND PRIX
There's a few moments in your life that you can still visualise and feel the nerves and tension of that situation to this day.
The bubbling in your stomach, the way the room and the people in it started to blur, the pounding of your heart against your chest- you were feeling all of it now and to an intensity you didn't even feel before walking the stage for your college graduation, nor walking into the hardest exam of your life.
You can feel your mother's hand in between your own tightly enclasped hands that are resting in your chin in a prayer. Every so often, you bring yourself back to consciousness and remind yourself to breathe.
Coming into Sunday, you were already very, very, very nervous and anxious. It was rare to find your brother qualifying outside of the front row, but some traffic impeding his Q3 flying lap and a set up that just wasn't completely optimised for the day had him in P4 coming into Sunday. Mark was optimistic - he had a good lead in the championship - so he was in a good mood before the race.
The biggest thing that made you nervous wasn't related to your brother - it was the fact Sungchan qualified in P3 ahead of him.
And was running the race with 3 laps to go in P1.
Monaco was one of Sungchan's favourite tracks in the world with the hairpin bends and incredible scenery. It's not a sentiment shared by everyone- it's hard to overtake, whoever qualifies first usually wind, blah, blah, blah. But Monaco remains one of the most prestigious races in all of motorsports and those who can survive and come out on top will go down in the history books.
Sure, the F1 world will say that there was luck involved if this does turn out to be the Ferrari rookie's first F1 win- a crash between P1 of Red Bull's Juyeon and P2 of Mercedes' Yeonjun was how Sungchan found himself leading the grand prix - but it was important to capitalise on what you were dealt with. It would've been so easy for Sungchan to panic and start to make mistakes, but he kept his cool and locked in.
"3 laps to go. Mark is still 4.3 seconds behind. Let's go to the end, Sungchan," his race engineer's voice is shaking over the speaker.
The atmosphere in the garage is nothing like you've ever experienced. Mark winning is just another race to them (not that it's any less exciting) so they have their routines and they know what to do.
Having watched each of Sungchan's races during his rookie season, you knew his first podium, let alone his first win, was just a matter of time, but to do it in Monaco? Only 8 races in? When the whole motorsports world was doubting him coming into the season? That was impressive.
"C'mon," you grit your teeth together and plea under your breath, eyes glued to the screens in the garage, "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."
On the other side of you, Sungchan's mother crumples herself even deeper into Sungchan's father's chest. His brother is rubbing his hands together frantically in prayer. If there was a race to win for Sungchan, it was probably this one.
"Last lap, Sungchan. Give it everything," his engineer encourages softly as the car passes the starting grid for his final lap.
He makes the first turn gracefully and charges down the Beau Rivage. Behind him, the red of Mark's car appears in the distance, but he sweeps past Casino and reaches the part where your breath hitches and your heart stops beating. It's so terrifying watching the car come to such a slow speed all of a sudden as he whips the car around the hairpin of turn 6.
There's too many cars in the tunnel for you to let out your breath, but thankfully, they all move over expertly as they get lapped. You see the nerves getting to Sungchan as he grips his wheel even tighter trying to focus through the Nouvelle Chicane, but you blink and he's already at the Swimming Pool, moving at a blistering speed.
"Oh my God," Sungchan's mother starts crying the very second that Sungchan makes it safely past the very last turn and there's only a few seconds before he's barrelling through the finish line as winner of the 2025 Monaco Grand Prix.
You don't know what happens after. There was a lot of hugs from everyone around you. Then your brother points out that you're crying- even as much as you were when Mark won his first F1 race all of those years ago.
His family, who you met a few days ago, sweeps you up in a hug and you're all blabbering incoherently at each other.
Your headphones get knocked about, but they remain on your head long enough to hear his melodious, proud and exhausted screams as his engineer and team principal congratulates him on his win. Sungchan's voice cracks in gratitude over the radio as he thanks the team and all you want to do is pull him into the tightest hug and tell him how proud you are of him.
"Come, let's see them!" one of the Ferarri mechanics beckons over in the general direction.
You let go of his mother's hand, "Tell him I'm proud too!"
His mother gasps and gives you a pointed look, "No! You tell him. You have to come with us."
"I shouldn't. Your family deserves to celebrate this," you say hesitantly, reaching up to swipe your tears away.
His brother drops his arm around your shoulder and begins to drag you out of the garage, "You have to come for your brother anyway. The second Sungchan sees you there, he's gonna be so happy. He wants you there."
Your entire body is shaking as you watch from behind the engineers and the mechanics the cars pull into Parc Ferme. Sungchan clambers out of the car and when he stands on top of it and raises his arm in victory, your heart swells in pride.
The team are screaming, hyping him up as he runs over and when he jumps, they receive him with cries and congratulations. As he takes his helmet off, the team part in the middle and usher his family, and you, towards the barrier. You stand back in respect, watching Sungchan cry into his mother's neck and then into his Father's and brother's. When they move aside to reveal you, Sungchan's grin grows even wider.
"Come here," he calls over to you desperately.
In a flash, you're hooking your arms around his neck, being lifted off the ground as he tries to squeeze your body against his as best he could with the metal barrier between you.
"I'm so proud of you, Sungchan. You're an F1 winner. You just won the Monaco Grand Prix! Again!" you sob into him.
His breath is hot on your ear, "You're my lucky charm. Thank you for being by my side, Y/N."
When your feet reach the ground again and you pull away, you're taken by surprise when Sungchan's glove-covered hands come up to your cheek and then his mouth presses against yours faithfully. Your lips move against his in the cacophony of the Ferrari team's whistles and yelps, as well as the cheering of the supporters in the stands and presumably, of the millions of people at home watching.
The world quickly drowns out around you and all you can focus on is the sweet taste of him on your lips and the way his being and his soul envelops you in this blanket of warmth and light. And you know in that moment that you could do this forever.
a/n: thank you thank you thank you for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3
slight angst but lots of slowburn. anton yearnermaxxing. mutual pining since the beginning. warning: suggestive near the end. DRYHUMPING only dw :P reader kisses his tattoo.
5830 words. this was drafted as a listicle/headcanons, but i got away again so its all narrated like that... mian TOT/ hehe some parts were inspired by the first frost 😁 enjoy 💕
anton, the moment he grew fond of you, swore to himself that he would work harder than destiny. than the universe. than the whims of any god.
that man has been helplessly in love with you since day one. no one can change his mind.
anton is the most patient man to ever walk this earth.
he patiently waits for you when classes are finally over. you pace slower than him when walking together.
when you asked him to teach you some bass basics, and you were struggling, you never heard him hiss or groan in annoyance. it was new to you because you were used to hearing people complain when you were asking for nothing more than help.
anton is the gentlest soul. he was your classmate in high school, the quiet boy who was into music and sports. often carrying his cello and training bag, he would sometimes intentionally bump his things against your desk every morning just so you would notice him and greet him "good morning."
eventually, you became friends and bonded through silly conversations, trips to convenience stores, or random weekend study "dates."
by senior year, it was safe to say he was a close friend who obviously liked you. he wasn't even subtle, yet he remained remarkably nonchalant about it. (he didn't confess, but his actions were telling.)
anton never made you feel pressured to return his feelings. still, both of you stuck together like constant companions.
he was simply charming back then. he always accompanied you to the bus stop, a ten-minute walk from school.
being in love with you meant becoming a total loser for you. imagine him riding the bus, pretending to get off at a stop after yours just so he could linger with you a bit longer. in truth, he didn't even need transportation...he lived within walking distance of the school.
he noticed that you sometimes skipped lunch (to save money or sleep). so, he’d bring far too much food to share with you. he reasoned it as "bulking" for training whenever you asked why his meals were so proportionately large.
anton was always ecstatic whenever you asked him about music. whether it was an inquiry about instruments or what songs were trending, he’d geek out, genuinely pleased that you were interested in his world.
thus, he created a playlist of all his recommendations and shared it only with you. even his friends weren't allowed to listen to it; you were the only one with the link.
besides, he had a folder full of draft compositions, all inspired by you.
one time you mentioned liking a certain drink from the store, and the next thing you knew, it was a consistent sight on your desk every other day.
anton never stares directly at you for too long because he’s afraid his eyes will give him away.
instead, he became a master at watching you out of the corner of his eye. anton memorized the way you tie your hair or the specific sound your shoes make in the hallway.
but he's also incredibly attentive when you speak in class or tell him something you've discovered. you would become self-conscious because he would never break eye contact while you spoke.
anton swore he loved the idea of memorizing your features, yet he mastered the skill of grasping every word you yapped about despite being drowned in the beauty right in front of him.
often, he would look away instantly when he felt his nose burning with a pink flush.
you had to admit that your first love was memorable because it was anton.
...and you for anton.
as you grew older, it was a slow realization that you were just like anton—reserved and quiet. you shared so many interests and opinions, but the contrast was that you were too scared of love.
he was full of it, deserving and willing to give it all.
maybe he didn't deserve you. or rather, any part of your life that felt insecure when you let him in. his upbringing felt worlds apart from yours.
so, as romantic as it seemed, when anton confessed to you while the rain was pouring, you respectfully rejected him and bid him a final goodbye.
your world crushed as you saw his eyes, and how his expression showed he was trying so hard not to beg for answers.
"tell me you don't want me to leave, and i won't." it was hard to hear him, his soft voice clashing with the heavy rain. even if you tell him you don't want him to go, he is still fated to leave for his dreams.
of course, you didn't want anton to leave. he's the only person who sees through you, who genuinely cares for you, and totally understands you.
he was the only person you had.
but then again, your worlds were apart.
anton saw how you looked at him as if he were a stranger. you were the first to break eye contact, running away from him that night.
he stayed frozen there, standing in the middle of the park, drenched. all he could think about was you. he spent another thirty minutes alone in the rain, just in case you changed your mind and ran back.
when anton moved overseas to pursue his dream, you accepted the fact that your shared chapter had ended.
even though the only way you knew how to move forward with life was with him.
during college, you decided to distance yourself from everyone and start a new life. part of that meant leaving someone behind who wasn't there anymore.
anton, on the other side of the world, never stopped thinking about you. he tried asking your mutual friends how you were, but no information ever came back to him.
on your birthday, anton flew recklessly back home (without his parents' knowledge) just to gamble on the chance of seeing you after a year apart.
every year, he typed a "happy birthday" to your old number. he would stare at the blinking cursor, never moving past the drafted text.
anton usually celebrated your birthday in total silence, perhaps just by buying your favorite snack and eating it alone.
he wanted to respect your peace. he knew you so well. you had many reasons to be distant and alter your life, and he wished he could help you lessen the burden. so, showing up suddenly didn't feel right.
but a plane has already brought him back home.
instead, he waited at a cafe near your university, hidden in a hoodie and mask.
he had no idea whether you would even walk by or go to that cafe.
finally, after three hours of hoping and inhaling iced americanos, the bell chimed. there you were—the person he loved so much, despite the painful silence between you.
you had changed, and it was physically visible. he couldn't pinpoint if it was for better or worse, but he wouldn't dare bother you.
you ordered an iced latte and the cheapest cake the cafe had. for a student on a budget, it was enough.
anton devised a simple plan: buy a whole cake of your favorite flavor, ask the server to hand it to you with some made-up excuse, and hurry back to the airport.
you were surprised that day by a "lucky birthday promo." you went back to your dorm happily with a box of strawberry shortcake you had been eyeing for weeks.
the universe had finally favored you. from then on, you promised yourself you'd be a frequent customer there until you graduate.
little did you know...
all thanks to the guy who flew back overseas that night, uncaring of the consequences. at least he knew you were well.
you stopped listening to his playlists. you didn't want to be reminded. but the moment you found out he was still consistently adding new songs, you found yourself saving them again.
anton never stopped adding music to that old playlist he exclusively shared with you. he wasn't sure if you were listening, but the chances were never zero. for years, he added songs he wanted you to hear—songs that resonated with his longing.
it was still you. it was always you for anton.
for his junior recital, titled "Saudade," anton performed pieces by his assigned composer. he also finally completed the drafts he started in high school—the ones you saw only in the hidden music room. the ones you gave suggestions for, despite knowing nothing about the musical notes. the ones you teased him about dedicating to you.
on a random day, you decided to check how he was doing. you jumped from site to site, glad to see him thriving.
you stumbled upon his soundcloud. a three-minute song titled "saudade" was there. you tried to stay composed until you heard a familiar giggle fading softly after the bridge.
anton had sampled your giggle from that silly high school video of the two of you doing dinosaur impressions.
oh.
anton remembers you more than he ever truly knew you.
guess who flew back just to stop by your university on graduation day?
anton was also graduating in two days. he thought, time zones be damned.
he didn't ask if outsiders were allowed. he just roamed outside the venue until the ceremony ended. he spotted you from afar, taking photos with friends.
he wanted to give you flowers, but he didn't know how. so, he settled for the contentment of seeing you happy.
he wore a white long-sleeve shirt that fit his figure perfectly. he blended into the crowd, though people whispered about how handsome he was as they passed.
coincidentally, you saw a familiar face in the sea of robes. your gut told you it was him, but by the time you pushed through the crowd, he was gone.
maybe you were daydreaming.
you swore it was anton. but there was no way he’d fly back just for this. he probably forgot about you already.
anton focused on his career during those years, becoming successful immediately after graduating. he thought that if he ever ran into you again, he wanted to be "worthy" of standing beside you.
months later, when a friend invited you to a reunion at a new family restaurant, you never expected anton to be there.
and god. locking eyes with anton again—it was a struggle to convince yourself that this was reality.
you were mesmerized by how well he had aged. he looked intimidating, secure, and grown.
there was no way a man like this was still single.
there was no way anton would ever care about you like he used to.
when you finally crossed paths, anton’s reserved nature acted as a shield for the fact that he was actually shaking inside. his teenage self was screaming internally. it brought him back to the memory of you looking so dangerously pretty during the senior ball.
you had a way of making him feel incredibly uneasy, almost as if a million butterflies were fluttering in his stomach whenever you were around.
he was more nervous than he’d been at any recital.
anton wanted to see if you remembered him. you didn't react when he arrived at the table. it was awkward; you were sitting right across from him. people started to ask why you weren't close anymore.
"anton, here's the menu," you spoke quietly, handing it to him. the unexpected exchange went completely unnoticed by the rest of the table, oblivious to the tension building in the air.
as he looked across the room, he felt as if time had come to a standstill in that fleeting moment. everyone's chatter faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears.
it was as if the world outside had dissolved, leaving only him and the source of his sudden, eager focus, enveloping him in a bead of heightened awareness.
when the group laughed at a story, anton still had the habit of not looking at the one telling the story. instead, he looked at you.
he just wanted to see if you were laughing, or if you felt left out. your reaction was the only one that mattered.
to lighten the mood after the heavy meals everyone had shared, a game started at the table. it was simple: there were random icebreaker questions on cards that anyone could answer freely. although it was somewhat boring, it helped spark conversations and allowed everyone to catch up.
yuha shuffled a card and read it aloud: “when was the last time you traveled alone?” everyone groaned, collectively agreeing that the card was boring. you didn’t have an answer, so you silently agreed with them.
as you picked a new card, anton coldly spoke up. “2023. 2026.” you looked up at him, and he was already sipping his drink.
“aigooo, no need to brag, nyc boy,” one of your classmates next to him cooed.
the years he mentioned were significant to you, so you watched him intently, wondering where someone as busy as him traveled alone during those times.
anton took another sip of his drink before glancing at you, as you were already conversing with yuha.
2023. your birthday.
2026. your graduation day.
later, he volunteered to drive friends home, and you were assigned to his car along with two classmates.
you discovered that he was residing in your building, sharing an apartment with your best friend's brother. they were living together temporarily while he searched for a place of his own, creating an unexpected connection just down the hall.
a true coincidence. destiny had favored him this time.
"unlucky" for you, you had to sit in the passenger seat.
anton was quick to notice you shivering and adjusted the temperature without a word.
when he overheard you were sick, he dropped a bag of supplies at your door. he texted, "i had extras, thought you might need them," even though the receipt showed he bought them five minutes prior.
"it's been five years. i'm sure he has moved on," you told your best friend.
moved on?
anton is immovable when it comes to you.
even now, he drinks the tea you liked and reads the niche authors you mentioned once in passing.
in the years apart, anton found ways to keep you in his life without you being there.
it wasn't obsession; it was just that those things were the only physical tethers he had left.
with his gentle nature, his yearning was physically painful to witness—if only you could see it. he was constantly fighting the urge to reach out.
once, he was already in the elevator when the doors reopened to find you aggressively pressing the buttons, panting. you hurried inside, desperate for the doors to close.
you leaned heavily against the cool, glass wall, your heart racing as the weight of your emotions felt almost tangible as you tried to gather yourself.
when you finally lifted your gaze, there stood anton beside you, his presence steady and reassuring in the midst of your turmoil.
you fixed your posture and sniffed, looking at him with the same eyes that had cried in the rain years ago.
the air felt tight. anton was so surprised that he couldn't find the words to ask what happened.
in a millisecond, you found yourself buried in his chest, arms latched around his back as if anchoring yourself to him. a wave of emotion surged through you, and soft sobs escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.
the world around you faded as you lost yourself in the comfort of his embrace, finding solace in the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against you.
anton wanted to hug you back so badly it hurt, but he was terrified of overstepping. he let you clutch his shirt, his hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to hold you.
anton used to be the calmest person to hold you.
the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, jarring you from your thoughts and pulling you back to the present moment.
“i’m so sorry,” you stammered, your breath still quickened by the adrenaline. “a drunk man was... chasing me. i got so scared.”
with a deep, apologetic bow, you rushed out of the elevator, eager to put distance between yourself and the unsettling encounter.
you enjoyed reconnecting during hangouts at anton and sungchan's place with your best friend, yuha, and you occasionally bumped into him around the building, sharing small talk.
yuha, the typical best friend that she is, always insists you come to his brother's place so you can see anton.
after one busy week, you finally decided to go for a grocery run. you normally went with sungchan, but out of courtesy, you had to ask anton as well.
"oh. sungchan decided to just sleep and let me come with you," he awkwardly hissed.
when in fact, he actually pushed sungchan before leaving their unit.
the idea of shopping together felt casual yet friendly, an opportunity to bond over shared experiences as neighbors.
while strolling the aisles, your shoulders brushed as you reached for the same item. he went completely still. he didn't pull away. for a loser like him, he savored that half-second of contact like it was oxygen.
you tried to hide a smile when your hands grazed while grabbing a pastry. "hey. look, it's your favorite," he remarked.
he still had the same effect on you.
and he still had the same foolish heart for you.
just as anton memorized your features, he could recognize the sound of your heart the moment you entered a room.
when he spotted you talking to the same mean relative who had mistreated you since high school, he saw the tension in your jaw and the way your eyes lost their spark.
he approached the apartment security with firmness, requesting their assistance in drawing away the intruders from the premises.
after a tense wait at his car, he felt a wave of relief wash over him when the security personnel finally took matters into their hands.
you were so thankful and pleased to hear the admin's mention of the possibility of blacklisting your relative, ensuring they wouldn’t trouble you on the premises again.
anton doesn't just like you—he studies you well.
he leaves for work at the same time as you, so you often meet in the lobby. through those shared encounters, anton was content with the simple "good mornings" you exchanged.
eventually, he found the courage to ask if you needed a ride.
anton was a liar. he would drive thirty minutes out of his way just to spend more time with you in the quiet of his car, where the world felt small, and it was just the two of you and the hum of the engine.
still a loser in love. you never knew he was lying about his workplace location.
shared rides became a space for catching up, until the atmosphere no longer felt thick or uncomfortable.
anton is usually composed, but after a few drinks at a classmate's engagement dinner, his walls thinned.
he was honest.
anton leaned his head back, eyes half-closed, watching you across the table with a look of such raw longing it made your breath hitch. he whispered, "i miss you," and then immediately looked away, blushing.
that didn't exactly help you sleep that night.
just like several years ago, anton became a constant in your life again.
he had a hectic day on your birthday, but rushed to your unit an hour before the day ended. luckily, you were awake.
you were surprised to see him holding the same cake brand you received "for free" back in college.
you both stood there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. a soft smile crept across your face, slowly thawing the uneasiness between you. "i... i wanted to give you this," he said, breathless, his eyes flickering with a mix of excitement and worry.
you felt a rush of warmth as you stepped aside, inviting him into your space.
soon, you found yourself cozily settled on the couch next to him, the lights spread around a warm glow in the room. anton began to sing the softest version of "happy birthday," his voice still a gentle caress that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.
as you swayed the cake back and forth, the flickering candle casting playful shadows on your face, a sense of bliss surged through you.
with a deep breath, you closed your eyes to make a wish, then you blew out the candle in one breath.
anton, captivated by the scene unfolding before him. the view in front of him felt surreal.
all the waiting, all the years. it was clear that you were truly worth every single moment.
"what did you wish for?" anton asked as he sliced a piece for you.
"hmm. it's a secret."
he handed you the plate and smiled. "how can i make that wish happen if you won't tell me?"
one evening after his jog, he saw you with someone else in the lobby.
you were grinning, holding a box of chicken tenders from that guy (who held the elevator open for two minutes, uncaring of the sensor).
anton became incredibly polite, but his eyes went cold.
it was funny; you realized you knew him too well. the way he gripped his phone and how his voice dropped an octave.
"not the best chicken tenders," he broke the silence. you looked at him, amused. "very, very overcooked."
"too salty. if you got the yangnyeom flavor, it tastes like shi—"
you laughed. "actually, these are for sungchan. he asked me to pick them up for him. you can take them home."
right. wait, what? sungchan? my roommate? anton thought. stupid jealousy.
you handed him the bag. he was embarrassed, but his nonchalant facade held up.
before stepping off at your floor, you chuckled. "jealous over a delivery guy? tsk." the doors closed on his flustered face.
anton will mention tiny details—a specific keychain or a song you hummed once. you realized he was always paying attention, even when he seemed indifferent.
anton resigned himself to the idea that you might not choose him, so he settled for being the person you can always fall back on.
just like the old days. he remembered using family connections to get you scholarships, helping you confront your deadbeat parents, or gathering sign-ups for your part-time job. he even secretly paid classmates to buy the baked goods you sold. he even had revenge on those guys from the other class who made fun of you once.
even now, you don't know the half of his hidden efforts.
anton was the only person who truly treated you well.
once, you mentioned your laptop was dying, and you panicked over work files.
days later, he brought a giant box to your door. "you can use this for now. it's my extra."
before you could refuse: "it's not brand new." (it was.) "i didn't buy it." (he did.) you accepted it out of necessity, promising to pay him back.
"no need. use it however you want."
he can provide for you more than just the problems that need fixing, more than the convenience you wanted. definitely, he will provide for you however he wishes.
you also had a fair share of moments that you 'yearned' for him.
you find out through sungchan that anton also goes to your building's gym. therefore, that motivated you to become a 'gym person'.
suddenly, you're there every morning at 6:00 am or every saturday night at 9:00 pm.
you definitely had no idea how to use the specific machines near you.
"sungchan's the one who invited me," you boasted to anton, who was only wearing a tank top with his snapback backwards. damn it.
"i don't see a sungchan here every time i come, yet you’re here," anton smirked, almost walking past you. he paused and added, "sungchan trains on a different day. you might want to check on that."
one time, in all this pretentiousness, you were "cooling down" on a mat, but really, you’re just watching him do pull-ups in the mirror.
you started to admire the way the view of his broad shoulders and arms move when suddenly, his eyes met yours through the mirror.
instead of looking away, he holds the gaze while doing one more slow, effortless rep.
you were so flustered that you had to break eye contact right away and move somewhere you can't see him. when did he even get so hot?
sungchan had invited you over for a group dinner, excited to host after yuha had unexpectedly dropped by their place earlier that day.
to the siblings’ surprise, anton dedicated three hours to deep-cleaning the apartment.
once he finished tidying up, he rushed to take a shower, but not before he was left with the crucial part of picking the perfect outfit and perfume.
"anton, come out of the bathroom when i say, uhm… just a heads-up, the floor isn’t dry yet. i had to mop it again!" sungchan called out with a lie.
"okay!" anton’s cheerfully replied, unaware of the scheme that sungchan had. he invited you earlier than the actual dinner time, eager for a little fun at both of you and anton’s expense.
"you can come out now!" sungchan announced, barely able to contain his excitement.
when you stepped into the apartment, you were greeted by the sight of a shirtless anton, clad only in his denim shorts, who had just come out of the bathroom.
water droplets glistened on his skin, and he looked momentarily startled at your sudden appearance.
“i’m sorry! i wasn’t looking!” you covered your eyes in an instant. the shirtless guy was already tomato red.
“yes, you were~” sungchan sung while moving across the kitchen. his laughter threatened to erupt as he watched the scene unfold, a devious grin spreading across his face with the scenario he had orchestrated.
one quiet night, you stopped in your tracks while walking back from the convenience store. "why are you so nice to me?"
this stirred something in him. he finally found the courage to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. his fingertips trembled—as if his existence was a ticking bomb.
anton felt defeated by the sudden question. he looked at his shoes, then back into your eyes with an intense, careful gaze. "i've longed for you for all the years i had you, and all the years i could only remember you. i'm clinging to the hope that you'd eventually look at me and see someone you could love."
he sighed. "guess i was so nice to you."
anton doesn't look away anymore. he looks at you with a heavy, grounded stare, full of yearning that he no longer tries to mask.
as you looked back at him, you realized your own feelings had never truly faded. you were certain this time: you were finally ready to let him in.
the following night, a heavy, hesitant knock sounds at your door.
it was anton, he’s leaning against the doorframe, looking exhausted. the memory of his confession from the previous night never stopped replaying in your head. it's worse now that he's actually in front of you.
his crisp black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows didn't help your current state.
"i left my keys on the kitchen when i rushed this morning. sungchan is out. sooooo, can i stay here for a bit?"
your pulse thrumming in your ears. "sure, chanyo- anton. come in."
the atmosphere in your apartment shifts instantly. "i'll get you a blanket." you said, in attempt of escaping his presence.
"let's talk about last night." he walks toward you, stopping just inches away.
you try to back away, but you almost hit the wall next to you.
he places a hand on either side of you, effectively trapping you in his personal space. "please?" he pleaded.
anton was so close to your level. you can feel your chest ripping out any moment, you avoid his gaze as you can feel his eyes memorizing your face.
"i don't have anything to say to you," you murmured. in response, anton’s jaw tenses.
he looks down at your lips, "you sure?" you looked away and nodded.
you gazed at him once more, a wave of longing washing over you. anton leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing your skin as his nose delicately brushed against yours.
he felt a shiver run through him, every nerve ending alive with anticipation and desire. "you're a loser, anton." you murmured while his lips were just inches away from yours.
"i know." he says, a faint smirk appearing before he finally loses his composure. your thoughts surrendered to the following actions you made.
you don't say a word. you just reach up and clutch his sleeves. when you finally kissed him, it started gentle and innocent, a reminder of how your love started.
finally, he was able to relax his clenched fists at your side. he pulls back just an inch, looks at you, and kisses you again with ferocity. you pulled him closer as the kiss started getting desperate.
just moments after, you were both back on the couch. his hands, which usually stay strictly at his sides to avoid 'overstepping', are suddenly everywhere.
anton tilted your head back to deepen the angle of the kiss. he backs toward the couch, and you follow down instantly to straddle his lap. "now i understand why you didn't want to talk." anton mutters against your jaw, his breath hitching. you can feel his smirk form.
you lean down to kiss the sensitive hollow near his temple that smells like his perfume that you like. you pull away as you notice something. "you have a tattoo here?"
he pecks your lips before responding, "mhm." he fixed a strand of your hair and pulled your face down softly again for a longer, passionate kiss.
a low, jagged moan vibrates in his throat when you wrap your arms around his neck. you decided to move your lips again somewhere.
you softly sucked on the same spot again, teasing him.
anton quietly whimpered.
he actually did whimper.
"stop," he hissed. you were barely holding your grin from the response you got. "i swear."
just a mess for each other. years of pining and yearning had led to this moment.
you pulled away to breathe. he instantly helped you adjust your weight on his lap, both hands were on your sides.
"tell me this isn't your first kiss, anton." you bit your smile. you are a hundred percent convinced he kissed other people back in new york.
anton's head found your shoulder, his shyness evident in the way he hid his face to you. "it is." his voice was barely above a whisper.
a skeptical smile spread across your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to fully process the moment. no way.
"so, you're saying that-"
"yes. i waited years for this exact moment. so please, baby, let's continue where we left off." he rubbed the sides of your waist softly, in motions fueled by familiarity and desperation.
you chuckle. it was also your first, but for a guy who's hot and out of anyone's league like him, you still can't believe he waited years for a kiss, as if he was so sure this would happen soon.
every time your hips move against his thighs, anton's breath hitches, and your fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulders.
his hands slide up from your waist, a low growl escapes his throat, coming from a sound of pure, agonizing relief.
anton started to internally suffer the moment he felt you grind your hips down into his in a slow, torturous rhythm. you can feel the hardness of him through his jeans. you smirk during the kiss, as you thought to yourself that he had been holding back far too much. "you're hard."
"kiss my tattoo again and it'll grow bigger." he snickered.
"shut up."
he then started planting desperate kisses on your neck, resulting in him learning your weakest spot. then, he gasps against the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone.
this time, you were the one physically trembling now at the contact. you gasp his name, while tossing your head back.
anton's lips were back on yours upon the gasp of his name. the friction beneath both of you became a blur of heat and denim.
he hooks his hands under your thighs, pulling you even tighter and closer on his crotch, ensuring you can feel him. when you grind down on him in the perfectly aligned position, he lets out a jagged breath, "baby, please."
his self-restraint snapped. your shirt bunches up, and his hands slide underneath, his palms hot against your skin as his thumbs start to trace the underside of your chest. you moan at the sudden contact you felt next, and you were sure he smirked in between the ongoing kiss.
the friction was tortorous. your fingers moved to tangle in his hair, pulling his head to keep his mouth on yours.
then, it was time again to breathe. you needed something beyond this. when he finally met your eyes again, you sheepishly buried your face in the crook of his neck, while his breathing came in ragged. "i waited for you," you mumbled.
"i love you. so very much." anton gently tilted your chin up with his finger, his gaze filled with warmth.
"should i say it back now, or should i wait for a more appropriate moment?" you teased playfully, giving his cute, big nose a gentle boop.
"appropriate can wait, i suppose," he replied with a mischievous smile, and in a swift motion, he unbuttoned his shirt.
the man who swore to work harder than destiny has finally won.
when anton moved into his new apartment, the extra room caught your attention. it looked more than just a typical guest room. it was a room that had soft lighting from the window, with a view of the city, and a thought that reminded you of the type of bedroom you once mentioned wanting.
“this place looks like a jackpot for you,” you said.
"you like it here?" anton asked in confidence, making you look at him in confusion. "i mean, yes. it is a jackpot. i think i made the right choice."
more than the plans he had for himself that included you, he also has curated a life that had a permanent, person-shaped hole in it, trusting that eventually, you’d find your way back to fill it.
you definitely liked it there, and anton was certain of that. so, he has yet to figure out how to tell you that it was actually your room in his own place.
finally, spring came.
“happy birthday, chanyoung,” you murmured, the soft glow of the candle illuminating his face, and suddenly his new apartment was enveloped in a tranquil stillness because of this moment.
the dim lights created a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around both of you like a comforting embrace. you watched your boyfriend close his eyes and take his time before blowing out the flame.
"what did you wish for?"
he looked at you for a solid minute. "my wish already came true."
both of you beamed. he finally leaned in to hold you. "i'm not going anywhere this time." he kissed the top of your head. anton made a quiet pledge to himself at that moment that he would continue loving you like it was breathing.
it had been ten years. through high school, college, and adulthood, anton had waited. he didn't just believe in luck or coincidence. he believed more in the stubborn force of his own devotion.
and he would gladly do it all again in the next life, if it meant finding you over and over.
a love that once ended in the quiet passing of autumn had finally bloomed again in the spring.
Content — best friends to lovers, secret admirer, kind of slow burn, mutual pining, soft confession, boyfriend anton, fluff, kissing, soft hours, suggestive if you squint
Note — hi! this is my first fic i’ve written and published so i hope you guys like it! i’ve been wanting to put out something for my blog since forever and finally committed to it lol. lowkey nervous posting this, but i had a lot of fun writing it… i hope you enjoy <3 - blue 🪼
✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧
The first note showed up on a Tuesday, wedged right between the metal vents of your locker. You almost missed it as you were too busy trying to balance a half-empty iced coffee, your phone, your heavy backpack, and a textbook that was practically slipping out of your grip. A small, perfectly folded square of lined paper. You place your no longer needed textbook on the shelf of your locker and grabbed the folded note. You unfolded it expecting it to be a reminder from the library or maybe a joke from one of your friends.
You looked really tired today. I hope you get some rest. Don’t forget to drink water.
:)
There was no name. Just a tiny, hastily drawn smiley face in the bottom corner. You stared at it for a second, blinking. It was sweet, sure, but it was also just confusing. You were tired, you’d stayed up until 3 am finishing a paper, but you didn’t think it was that obvious.
“Hey.”
You jumped slightly, nearly dropping your coffee. Anton was standing right next to you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized hoodie. He had his headphones resting around his neck, the faint buzz of some song bleeding out.
“Hey,” you breathed out, recovering quickly. You shoved the note into your jeans pocket.
Anton’s eyes tracked the movement, just for a split second, before meeting yours. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low and soft.
“Nothing,” you shrugged, adjusting the strap of your backpack. “Just some trash someone stuck in my locker. Probably a flyer for the debate club or something.”
“Right,” Anton said quietly. He didn’t push it. He just fell into step beside you as you started walking toward your class. He naturally shifted to the side of the hallway where the crowd was thickest, acting as a subtle buffer between you and the rush of students. It was a habit you had stopped noticing years ago.
—
You didn’t think about the note again until Thursday.
This time, it was waiting for you after lunch. The weather had taken a sharp turn overnight, the crisp autumn air suddenly biting and bitter. You were shivering as you spun your locker combination, regretting your choice of a thin cardigan.
When you opened the door, the familiar folded square fluttered down.
The weather is getting colder. Make sure you wear a scarf tomorrow.
:)
You picked it up, your brow furrowing. Okay, so it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was purposefully leaving these for you. You looked up and down the hallway, trying to catch whoever was doing it. You looked for someone lingering, someone who might catch your eye and quickly look away, but it was just the usual crowd of people rushing to their next class.
“You’re shivering.”
Anton was leaning against the locker next to yours, watching you. He had a thick, dark green scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Without waiting for you to answer, he reached out and draped it over your shoulders. It was warm and it smelled exactly like him, clean laundry and a faint, woody cologne.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling the fabric closer to your chin. You held up the small square of paper. “Remember that ‘trash’ from Tuesday? It wasn’t trash. I guess someone is leaving me notes.”
You don’t catch the way Anton froze for a fraction of a second. His hand, which had been resting on the metal frame of your locker, dropped back to his side. “Notes?”
“Yeah.” You handed it to him. “Look.”
He took it carefully, his long fingers brushing against the paper. He stared at his own handwriting.
“It’s kind of weird, right?” you laughed, leaning against your locker. “It’s probably a prank or maybe someone lost a bet.”
Anton swallowed hard. He handed the note back to you. “It doesn’t sound like a prank,” he said. “Maybe they just… notice things about you.”
You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his as you both started walking. “Since when are you such a romantic, Lee Chanyoung?”
He let out a small, breathy laugh, ducking his head so his soft hair fell over his eyes. “I’m not. I’m just saying.”
He kept his hands shoved in his pockets for the rest of the walk, terrified that if he took them out, you would see how badly they were shaking.
—
You did really well on your presentation. You always speak so clearly, even when you’re nervous.
:)
Okay, so it really wasn’t a mistake. They were always written on the same lined paper, always folded into that exact same neat square. They never asked for anything, never demanded a reply. They were just observations.
The notes kept coming through the winter. They became this quiet constant in your life. You found yourself secretly looking forward to them, your heart doing a stupid little flip every time you saw that familiar folded square waiting for you. Of course, at the same time, you really wanted to know who was sending you these messages.
I wish I could take away whatever is making you sad today.
:)
You started analyzing the handwriting, trying to match it to the guys in your classes. You would sit cross-legged on the floor of Anton’s room, takeout containers scattered between you, your laptop open with half-finished assignments you were both ignoring.
“It has to be someone in econ,” you said one night, holding up a note. “They mentioned my presentation.”
Anton, sitting across from you.
“Maybe,” he said carefully.
“Or someone in the library,” you added. “Or, wait, what if it’s someone I don’t even know?”
Anton huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“Exactly,” you said, pointing at him like that proved your point.
But you didn’t notice the way it caught him of guard every time you mentioned the notes, or how he went quieter, more careful.
He watched you. Not in a creepy way of course. But he watched the way you chewed on the inside of your cheek when you were stressed, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about a movie you loved, the way you absentmindedly leaned into him when you were tired. He ached with this quiet, desperate longing that he didn’t know what to do with. How could he tell you straight up? You were his best friend. If he told you and you didn’t feel the same way, nothing would be the same. Things would get weird and Anton would rather swallow his feelings whole than risk losing you.
So, he kept writing them down instead.
—
It happened on a rainy Thursday in late December.
The weather had been bad all day, but by the time you got to Anton’s apartment, it was worse. The rain was steady and cold, soaking through your sleeves by the time you reached the door. You pulled your spare key out of your bag and unlocked it without thinking much about it. He had given it to you a while ago casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. In case you get there before me.
You stepped inside and kicked your shoes off by the door. It was warm and quiet, the faint smell of laundry detergent and something slightly woody lingering in the air. His place always smelled like him. You called out his name once, even though you already knew he wasn’t home, and when there was no answer, you walked further in and dropped your bag by the counter.
Your phone buzzed.
anton: running late. practice went over. you should start without me
You lightly chuckled and replied back that you were already inside. It wasn’t unusual. He was always late when he had swim practice.
You walked into his room, already planning to just sit there and wait. You’d been in there enough times that it didn’t feel weird anymore. His bed was unmade, the sheets slightly messy like he had rushed out that morning.
You places some of your things onto the desk.
That’s when you noticed the notebook sitting near the edge.
Black leather and lightly worn.
You paused for a second. He always had it with him. You’d seen him write in it all the time—during class, at lunch, even when you were just sitting together doing nothing. He never really let it out of his sight, and whenever you joked about it, he would just laugh and brush it off.
So it was weird that it was just sitting there.
You turned it in your hands for a second feeling the leather, then leaned forward to move it out of the way.
A piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.
You froze.
You stared at it for a second before crouching down to pick it up. It was just a piece of lined paper, folded once. Something about it made your chest feel tight.
You hesitated for a second, then unfolded it.
I wish I was brave enough to tell you.
You didn’t move.
You just stared at the words, your mind taking a second to catch up.
Because you knew the handwriting.
You had seen it before.
Your grip tightened slightly on the paper as everything started to connect. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the sound of the rain outside fading into a dull. Your mind was racing, piecing together the puzzle that had literally been right in front of you the entire time.
The quiet observations, the gentle reminders. The way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even before you did.
It was him. It had always been him.
Your phone buzzed again behind you, making you flinch slightly.
anton: almost there
You stayed where you were, still holding the paper, looking around his room like you were seeing it differently now. His desk, his clothes, everything felt more personal all of a sudden.
You heard the front door unlock followed by footsteps toward the room.
A second later, it opened.
“Hey- sorry, I-” Anton’s voice started, slightly out of breath. Then he stopped.
You turned around.
He was standing in the doorway, damp from the rain, his hair sticking slightly to his forehead. His hoodie was darker in places where it had gotten wet.
His eyes went straight to the paper in your hand, then to the notebook on the desk, then back to you.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Neither did you.
The room felt quiet in a different way now, heavier.
You swallowed. “Anton…”
He looked away almost right after, like he couldn’t hold eye contact for more than a second. “I didn’t mean for you to find it like that,” he said quietly.
You took a small step closer. “Then how?” you asked.
He just stood there for a second, shoulders tense, like he was trying to figure out what to say without making it worse.
“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said.
That made your chest tighten.
“Not at all?”
He shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want to mess things up.”
You hesitated for a second before asking, softer this time, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Anton let out a shaky breath, his jaw tightening slightly before he answered. “You’re my best friend,” he said your name softly, his voice still quiet but heavier now. “And I was terrified that if I told you, I would lose you.” He paused for a second, glancing up at you before looking away again. “And I would rather have you as my friend than not have you at all.”
The words hung there between you, and for a moment you didn’t say anything. You looked at him, at how tense he was, how careful, like one wrong move would ruin everything. Your grip tightened slightly around the paper in your hand.
“Anton,” you said.
He hesitated before finally looking up at you again.
“I liked them,” you said.
His expression shifted, just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “I mean, at first I thought it was kind of weird,” you admitted, letting out a small breath, “but then I started looking for them.”
He went still.
“It just became,” you added quietly. “Like… part of my day. I just didn’t know it was you.
For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy, like everything was settling at once.
“Would it have mattered?” he asked finally, his voice careful.
Maybe you should’ve said no, that it didn’t matter who the notes were from.
You looked at him, not looking away this time. “Yes,” you said softly.
He stilled.
“It would’ve,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “I think I would’ve liked them more… knowing they were from you.”
Something in his expression shifted at that, like he didn’t expect it, like he didn’t know what to do with it.
You took another small step closer, closing the space between you.
“You wouldn’t have messed anything up,” you said quietly. “And you can’t.”
He let out a small breath, like he had been holding it in for longer than he realized. “Really?” he asked.
You nodded. “Really.”
There was a pause. Like both of you were waiting to see what the other would do next.
His eyes flickered down to your hand for a second, then back up to your face. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. He shivered slightly, like he expected you to pull away, but you didn’t. You let your his rest there, feeling the warmth through the fabric.
For a second, it felt like he might say something else. His lips parted like he was about to, then he stopped.
Instead, he pulled you into him.
It wasn’t hesitant, like he had already thought about it too many times before. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing lightly against your back and the other coming up to your face, thumb brushing just under your cheekbone like he didn’t want to scare you away.
He was warm, even though he was still a little damp from the rain. You could feel his heartbeat, just as fast as yours.
You tilted your head up before you could think too much about it. For a second, neither of you moved.
He looked at you like he was waiting. Like he needed to know you weren’t going to pull away.
His hand shifted, cupping your face more fully now, thumb brushing your skin once, twice, like he was memorizing it.
He leaned in again, soft and careful.
Your lips brushed and he hesitated again, just for a second.
And then you leaned in a little more.
His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, like he didn’t want any space left between you. The kiss deepened like he finally let himself believe this was real.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, holding onto him without even realizing it.
His forehead rested against yours, his hand still on your face.
—
The next time you found a note in your locker, your heart still did that same quiet thing. Folded neatly, tucked between your books.
You smiled and rolled your eyes with a soft giggle before you even opened it.
You unfolded the paper slowly, already knowing what the handwriting would look like.
You looked really pretty today.
-yours
p.s i love you :)
Your lips pressed together to hide the way your smile kept growing anyway.
You slipped the note into your pocket like you always did, fingertips brushing over the crease once before you closed your locker.
He had swim practice all day since it was competition season.
His messages stayed short.
don’t wait up, eat without me
The kind of texts that felt normal, but still left a small, quiet gap where he usually was.
—
By the time you got home, it was already dark.
You dropped your bag by the door, changed, and let yourself fall onto your bed for a second, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time.
Your phone buzzed.
toni💌: love, are you home?
you: yeah
Then the doorbell rang.
You blinked, pushing yourself up as you walked toward the hallway.
It rang again.
Your heart did that same quiet thing again, only louder this time.
You moved quicker now, reaching for the door.
When you opened it, Anton was standing there with a boyish grin, slightly out of breath, like he had rushed to get here. His hair was a little messy, his hoodie half-zipped-
and in his hand-
flowers
Not a huge bouquet, nothing over the top.
Just a small bundle of lilies, wrapped loosely in paper, a little uneven like he’d picked them out himself instead of buying them arranged.
You blinked.
“Anton-”
He stepped a little closer, almost awkward, like he wasn’t entirely sure how to do this even now.
“I didn’t see you today,” he said it like it explained everything.
Your chest softened a little at that.
“I noticed,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.
He held the flowers out, not quite meeting your eyes. “I just-” he paused, exhaling softly, “I wanted to-”
You didn’t let him finish.
You reached up, grabbing lightly at the sides of his hoodie and pulling him down into a kiss.
But when he froze for a second, you almost pulled back-
until he kissed you back.
His hand, the one not holding the flowers, came up to your waist, pressing lightly against your lower back as he leaned into you.
You pulled away slowly, just enough to look at him.
He was still a little out of breath, looking at you like he was still deciding if you were real.
You took the flowers from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you did. Then you stepped aside, gently tugging him in with you.
“Come in,” you said quietly.
He followed without hesitation.
You set the flowers down on your desk, smoothing the paper a little even though it didn’t really need it.
“I saw your note,” you said.
He finally looked at you then,
“I love you too.”
The words came out simple, but they landed heavier than anything else you’d said.
For a second, he just looked at you.
Like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.
Your fingers slipped into his sleeve, finding his hand without really asking, lacing your fingers together.
He tightened his grip almost immediately.
Like he had been waiting to.
You leaned slightly into him.
“You know,” you said, glancing up at him, a small smile returning, “you could’ve just told me in person I looked pretty.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little. “I did.”
“On paper.”
“It counts.”
You smiled. “It does.”
There was a small pause.
Then he leaned down again, but this time, there was no hesitation.
You barely had time to react before his hand came up to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you again.
Like he wasn’t second-guessing himself anymore.
Your fingers tightened slightly around his sleeve, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he just held you closer, his other hand coming up to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he tilted your face toward him.
You melted into it without thinking.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.
His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still at your jaw, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the same small movement over your skin.
“I meant it,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “I know.”
He shook his head slightly, like that wasn’t enough. His grip on you tightened just a little.
“No,” he said, softer but more sure this time. “I really meant it.”
Your heart stuttered a little.
You didn’t even get a chance to respond before he leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips, quicker this time, but just as soft.
Then another.
And another.
Each one lingering just enough to make your chest feel tight.
You let out a small giggle against him, your hand sliding from his sleeve to the front of his hoodie, holding onto him a little more firmly now.
He huffed out a quiet laugh against your lips, like he couldn’t help it.
“I missed you today,” he murmured, brushing his nose lightly against yours before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“You saw me in the morning,” you said, breath a little uneven.
“Barely. It doesn’t count.”
He kissed you again.
His hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, not rough, just steady, keeping you close.
“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like it was just for you.
You smiled a little against him.
“I know,” you said softly.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand still at your waist, the other resting against your cheek.
“You’re not getting away with just that,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips now.
You let out a small laugh. “I already said it back.”
“Say it again.”
You looked at him for a second, then smiled.
“I love you.”
You don’t recall the moment he stopped hesitating. He kissed you again, rougher, longer, his thumb lingering at your cheek there like he didn’t want to stop touching you.
Like part of him still couldn’t believe you were his.
➺ word count: 23.6k
➺ genre: two bodies one soul au, enemies to begrudging roomies to lovers, acquaintances of extreme inconvenience, fluff, humor, some hurt/comfort, there’s some moments with probably more horny energy than is warranted (sungchan and reader r always bickering/squaring up and sometimes it gets physical and everyone’s just like… uhm… that’s not how ppl fight y’all…), not actually a soulmate au bc even tho reader and sungchan technically do share a soul it’s not an inherently romantic thing in this world
➺ warnings: FLAWED CHARACTERS, reader and sungchan r both kinda mean to each other at the beginning (see first genre tag please) for sympathetic(?) but also not great reasons, reader does something knowing it will inflict physical pain on sungchan (i once again refer u to the first genre tag), descriptions of physical pain and injury, blood/needle/hospital depictions
➺ author’s note: omg starlightkun hiatus over? i didn’t mean to be gone for so long but moving was crazy. anyway, i actually had like the first 19k of this written before i moved (feb-ish) and just had to write the last couple scenes to finish it up. this one was so much fun tho! i love the worldbuilding i did, and also rlly had a good time with reader and sungchan’s characters
“This isn’t fucking fair!”
“Tell me about it,” Sungchan muttered.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You yelled, slammed the door shut, and stormed off towards your house.
“I know!” He called after you derisively.
Soulbound. That was the diagnosis that your parents had been handed when you were just a few days old. It wasn’t that you had half a soul, you had a whole one, you just shared it with someone else. One Jung Sungchan, another baby born just down the hall. While two people being soulbound was rare enough, it almost always happened in the instance of multiple births (twins, triplets, etc.). It was practically unheard of to occur between strangers—your families had never met before, the only thing you had in common was physical proximity at your births. But apparently you both had started experiencing symptoms of soulsickness the first night your respective families took you home from the hospital, which resolved upon being rushed back to that very same emergency room. The astute pediatrician who examined both of you put two and two together, and from then on, you hadn’t gone a single day without seeing Sungchan.
Your families moved next door to each other, you were enrolled in the same schools and classes in grade school, tagged along to each other’s extracurriculars, took family vacations together, got your first jobs at the shoe store at the mall, and even had to compromise on what university to attend and coordinate your class schedules. It was an absolute nuisance at best and an obstacle that prevented you from doing anything and everything you wanted at worst. Your options in life were limited by what Sungchan wanted, friendships were difficult to maintain since you had to accommodate his schedule as well (and you were never invited to sleepovers with the other girls), and God knows you’d never been able to really date like this—who would want to date someone that came with an obligatory third wheel forever?
“I have a job interview tomorrow, by the way,” you stated from Sungchan’s passenger seat, eyes focused on the passing buildings. He had gone to the gym this morning—bright and fucking early as always—which meant that you unfortunately had to go as well, since his gym was just far enough away that if he went alone, the distance would start putting stress on your soul. Sometimes you walked on a treadmill, but usually you sat in a corner on your phone until he was done.
“First I’ve heard of it,” he snorted.
“It’s your day off, stop bitching.”
He rolled his eyes. “What time?”
“Two. You’ll have to dress professional.”
“Yeah, right. I’m not interviewing.”
“But if I have to have you walk in with me, you can’t look like a fucking slob,” you pointed out.
“I’ll just wait in the car. Where is it?”
“Inverness & Wildwood.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not going.”
“Yes, I am,” you insisted.
“No, you’re fucking not,” he retorted. “It’s the next city over.”
“I haven’t interviewed yet, I don’t know if I’d even get it.”
Sungchan pulled into his driveway, putting the car in park but not turning it off as he shot you a withering look, pointing to the house in front of him. “Y/N, we still live with our parents because we couldn’t agree on a dorm or apartment complex to move into in college.”
“So you’re going to force me to live with my parents for the rest of our lives?” You asked incredulously.
“You can’t force me to move somewhere!”
“I’m sorry I have career aspirations past the part-time job we got in high school!”
“You don’t even have to come to my job, but you’re expecting me to fucking move for yours!”
“I didn’t say that!” You were seeing red now. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”
Sungchan, meanwhile, looked like he was about to rip his own hair out. “It’s in another city, how exactly do you expect to work there without me and also without us fucking dying?”
“This isn’t fucking fair!” You grabbed the door handle and got out of the car.
Sungchan turned the car off and got out too. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You yelled, slammed the door shut, and stormed off towards your house.
“I know!” He called after you derisively.
Angry, hot tears burned your eyes and rolled down your cheeks as you fumbled to unlock your front door. You slammed that door shut too in your fury, ignoring your dad’s ‘good morning’ as you ran upstairs to your bedroom. This was so fucking unfair. Your whole life you were going to be stuck to a fucking underachiever who was apparently content with keeping the both of you living with your parents forever, never pursuing any dreams or aspirations beyond working at the place that you’d worked at since you were sixteen. What did you do to deserve this?
The car ride to the gym in the next morning was silent. You had your headphones in before you opened the car door, not even bothering to give Sungchan a ‘good morning’ or listen for if he said it to you. You stared out the passenger window with your arms crossed over your chest for the entire drive, wordlessly unbuckling and getting out once you arrived. After his workout, you followed him outside and got back in the car. Except he didn’t reverse out of the parking spot.
Finally, you looked over at Sungchan to find his eyes already on you, fixing you with an expecting look. He motioned for you to take an earbud out. Rolling your eyes, you did so, then waited for him to say whatever he wanted.
“Silent treatment?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow.
“It’s not like we’re friends,” you huffed, moving to put your earbud back in.
“Hey, wait,” he stopped you. “I’m sorry about your interview, alright?”
“Whatever, just forget about it.”
Sungchan buckled in and reversed out of the parking spot. “Isn’t there another firm like that in town? By the mall? You could see if they’re—”
“I said forget it, okay?” You snapped.
He held one of his hands up in surrender, and you put your earbud back in.
With one final adjustment of your blazer, you left your room, hurrying through your house. Your parents were at work, thankfully. You locked the front door behind you and walked right by your car parked out front. Sungchan’s was in his driveway, and you quickly turned down the sidewalk away from his house.
Halfway through your subway ride, you felt a twinge in your head, and grabbed the ibuprofen you had in your purse. You knocked back a couple tablets to keep the pain at bay. Your fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on your knee as you watched the electronic sign for your stop. You were on your feet before the doors opened, rushing out ahead of the other passengers.
A knot formed in your stomach when you emerged from the subway station into daylight, and not from nerves. You swallowed down the nausea, grabbing a ginger chew from your purse and continuing on.
Smiling at the older gentleman who held the door open for you on his way out of the building, you entered Inverness & Wildwood right as a sharp pain started up in your chest. You breathed through it, approaching the receptionist with a calm façade. You gave her your name and interview time, then followed her directions to the restroom that you had asked for.
After locking yourself in a stall, you rooted through your purse for the other pill bottle you had in there, for emergencies. Unfortunately, there was nothing to fully prevent soulsickness—aside from constantly being near Sungchan—but souLOXin could dull the symptoms for a little while. Shaking one of the red and black capsules out into your palm, you made a mental note to put in a refill later; you had less than a handful left. You swallowed it right as you got a text.
[sungchan 👎🍅: where are you?]
You turned your phone on silent and put it in your purse along with the pill bottle.
By the end of the interview, the pain in your abdomen had returned, and you gritted your teeth as you stood up to bow to the three interviewers and thanked them for the opportunity. One informed you they would let you know by the end of the week, and showed you to the elevator. As soon as the doors had closed and you were alone, you let out a groan, clutching your stomach and leaning against the wall for support. You composed yourself again when a ding! rang and you were let out into the lobby once more. Pressing on through your throbbing headache, you rushed down the sidewalks back to the subway, desperately taking another couple of ibuprofen tablets.
Standing on the platform waiting for the next train, you continued to take deep breaths, digging your nails into your clammy palms to distract yourself. Finally, it arrived, and you forced your way in as the doors were still opening. Dropping down into a seat, you let your head fall back against the window behind you and your eyes flutter shut.
Your guts finally started unwinding and the pounding in your head started dulling as you approached your stop. When the announcement was made, you got up, trudging off behind a few other passengers. Halfway back to your house, you were no longer nauseous, you just felt like you were getting over a bad cold—essentially, like shit.
Sungchan’s car wasn’t in the driveway, which you noted in the back of your mind as you walked into your own home and straight up to your bedroom. You eventually checked your phone after getting into your pajamas and crawling into bed.
Four missed calls from Sungchan and a dozen texts total.
[sungchan 👎🍅: y/n]
[sungchan 👎🍅: hello??? i can see your car]
Two calls in a row.
[sungchan 👎🍅: where the fuck are you]
[sungchan 👎🍅: don’t tell me you went to that fucking interview anyway]
Another call.
[sungchan 👎🍅: omfg y/n pick up]
[sungchan 👎🍅: im being so fucking fr rn pick up]
Another call.
[sungchan 👎🍅: im going to kill you if we die rn]
[sungchan 👎🍅: get the fuck back home right now im not kidding]
[sungchan 👎🍅: what the hell is wrong with you]
[sungchan 👎🍅: i just took my last poppys but if ur not back before it wears off im coming to get u idc]
Poppy—the nickname for souLOXin due to the coloring of the capsules. Sungchan always ran out first, the effects wearing off sooner for him than you for as long as the two of you had been taking it. According to the limited studies that had been done, there was some indication that men may metabolize it quicker than women, and of course the fact that he was a gym rat presumably did nothing to help in that department.
[sungchan 👎🍅: if u don’t call me in the next ten minutes im going]
[sungchan 👎🍅: ur the fucking worst that’s it im omw to inverness & wildwood. if u see this and ur somewhere else CALL ME]
He sent that last text six minutes ago. With a sigh, you reluctantly hit the phone icon next to his contact. The first ring didn’t even finish before he picked up.
“Where the fuck are you?” He demanded in lieu of a greeting.
“Home,” you deadpanned. “You can come back.”
“God, you are fucking impossible!” The sounds of screeching tires and car horns were audible in the background. “You went to the interview, didn’t you?”
You shrugged even though he couldn’t see it.
He must have taken your silence as a yes. “Fucking—Was it worth it? Huh?!”
“We lived, stop being so dramatic,” you scoffed. “Big tough guy can’t survive a little stomachache?”
“This time it was a stomachache. And what if I didn’t have any poppys?”
“That would’ve been your fault,” you snorted. “I’m not your mommy, you need to keep up on your own meds. Go get a refill since you’re already out.”
“They’re supposed to be for emergencies, Y/N, not when you want to just—”
Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you pulled it away from your ear to see that there was another call incoming. Just in time, too, you didn’t have it in you to get lectured by Sungchan right now.
“Sorry, I’m getting another call,” you interrupted whatever he was saying loudly, not even bothering to attempt to sound actually apologetic. “Bye!”
Hanging up, you quickly accepted the other call from an unsaved number. “Hello?”
“Ms. Y/L/N Y/N?” It was an older woman on the other end, the voice familiar, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up quite yet.
“This is she,” you confirmed, quickly adjusting your voice from the tone that you had been talking to Sungchan in to a polite and enthusiastic one.
“Hi, Ms. Y/L/N, this is Kwon Siyeon, from Inverness & Wildwood. How are you?”
“Well, I’m well.” You scrambled to your feet, now anxiously pacing your room. “How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you. I’ll make this short—Everyone loved you, and we’d like to offer you the job.”
You pumped your fist in the air, turning towards your window just in time to see Sungchan’s car pull into his driveway, immediately killing all your enthusiasm.
“Before I can accept, there is one thing you need to know about me,” you said regretfully.
The hiring manager prompted you hesitantly, “Which is…?”
Just rip the band-aid off.
“I’m soulbound. He will need to be somewhere in the building while I work. Honestly, we can just stick him in the broom closet if it’s too much trouble.”
Ms. Kwon chuckled, thankfully not seeming to take that as a genuine suggestion. “We can of course provide accommodations for your brother. And if he’s in need of a job as well, we may also be able to arrange something depending on his skills.”
“Oh, no, he’s not my brother,” you quickly clarified. “We’re not related, just… soulbound.”
“Oh…” She paused, obviously not expecting that. “Well, like I said before, we can provide accommodations, and if he’d like to submit his CV, we can see if we’ve got something for him too.”
“I will talk to him.” You nodded, staring down Sungchan’s bedroom window that faced yours, his blinds closed. “Thank you so much, Ms. Kwon.”
“Of course. We will see you both on Monday, then?”
“Bright and early,” you confirmed.
“Great. Goodbye, Ms. Y/L/N.”
“Goodbye.”
And now for the hard part.
Not even bothering to change back out of your pajamas, you shoved your feet into shoes and headed next door. You rang the doorbell and waited, bouncing from heel to toe. Sungchan’s groan was audible before he even opened the front door.
“If the first words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I’m sorry’, I swear to fucking God.” He was already scowling at you, a look that probably would’ve been terrifying if you hadn’t been on the receiving end thousands of times at this point in your life and survived. That was what was so frustrating about your relationship with Sungchan, the very thing that had you at each other’s throats constantly was also the only reason one of you hadn’t actually killed the other.
“I’m sorry.” You tried your hardest to sound and look sincere.
He stared you down, clearly unimpressed. “No, you’re not.”
You dropped your apologetic act but still tried to keep a light and friendly tone. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“What do you want?”
“You didn’t get your refill while you were out, did you?” You surmised from how quick he’d returned. Pushing the pill bottle you’d grabbed on your way out into his hand, you forced a smile on your face. “Here, take mine. I’ll pick up a refill while you’re at work tomorrow.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, but pocketed the bottle anyway. He repeated, “What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
Sungchan backed up, opening the door wider for you. You stepped inside, and he shut the door before pivoting on his heel and heading further into the house. Your families had bought two homes next door in a newly built subdivision right after your diagnosis as newborns. This meant that in addition to you two sharing a soul, your houses were literal mirror images of each other. While you would normally take a right from the kitchen to go upstairs to your bedroom, you now had to take a left to go up to Sungchan’s.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breath before just jumping right in.
“They offered me the job,” you said, bracing yourself for whatever reaction he would have. Anger, a rehashing of the fight you two had yesterday, a continuation of his ranting from today, all three in succession. His jaw clenched, but he surprisingly didn’t explode.
“…And?” He raised an eyebrow.
“And, I would like to accept it,” you stated the obvious, trying to keep your voice level and as non-venomous as possible. After all, you were asking for something big. “This could be the beginning of like, my dream career, so I would really appreciate it if you would consider doing this. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about the interview beforehand, or when I applied. I shouldn’t have just dropped it on you like that. It was unfair. This isn’t an excuse, but I didn’t really want to tell anybody since I didn’t think I would even get an interview, much less a job. But I should’ve told you, though, of all people. And what I did today was selfish and awful too.”
Sungchan sighed, the resentment dropping from his features. “Shit, you actually mean it.”
You nodded quickly, clasping your hands together in front of you, quite literally pleading now. “I do. And the job pays really good, I can totally cover your expenses for the move, too. Please.”
“Wait, we couldn’t even agree on a building to live in separately during undergrad, and now you’re seriously offering to pay for me to move with you?”
“Until you find a job. We may share a soul, but I’m not gonna let you also mooch off me forever,” you snorted, making him shake his head, albeit with a hint of a smile. “Inverness & Wildwood have even offered to consider you for a job too if you want.”
He tapped his finger on his arm as he mulled it over, eyeing you contemplatively. “I probably would’ve been cool with going to the interview with you if you had talked to me about it first, you know. Sooner than the day before.”
“Right. I’m sorry.”
“We won’t have our parents to mediate, if we do this,” he pointed out. “We’ll have to actually discuss things with each other.”
“You’re really considering?” You asked with wide eyes.
“My mom always said I was wasting my potential being assistant manager of a shoe store. Don’t know if being a copy boy or whatever is really a step up, but—” He finished his sentence with a shrug.
“Absolutely no dragging the other person around to stuff. Communication and compromise,” you confirmed excitedly.
“When would you start?”
“Monday. Obviously we’d commute until we found a place to live nearby and—”
“Monday?”
You winced. “I can see about a later start date…”
“Monday’s fine,” he relented. “I’ll put in my notice tomorrow.”
“You will? Ah, thank you! Thank you!” You did a couple little hops with excitement, in absolute disbelief that he was actually agreeing to this.
A voice called Sungchan’s name from the first floor, and he stood up from his bed. “That’s my mom, she—Huh?”
He’d been caught off-guard by you throwing your arms around his middle in your elation, still absolutely buzzing.
“Thank you, Sungchan.” You beamed up at him.
He sighed and loosely returned the embrace, patting the top of your head. “Yeah, you’re welcome. You better love this job.”
His mom called for him again, and you let him go to head downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, you spotted a familiar older woman bustling in from the garage with a bunch of bags of groceries.
“There’s a few more bags in the car, then I need you to help me put everything away,” she directed her son without even looking.
“Hi, Auntie,” you announced your presence quietly, making her whip around.
“Oh, Y/N!” Sungchan’s mom blinked at you, eyes going wide with surprise as she hurried to put all of it down on the kitchen counter and greet you. “It’s been a while, sweetie. How are you?”
Sungchan’s family had obviously watched you grow up, always being kind to you and treating you like one of their own. While your two sets of parents tried their best to foster a friendship between you as well as be equitable when it came to your joint schedule, there was no way they hadn’t noticed your obvious disdain for each other, especially when you got older and avoided the other as much as physically possible.
You accepted her hug, a soft smile on your face now. “I’m good, I’m good. I’ve actually got a job offer, which is what I came over here to talk to Sungchan about.”
She let you go to look between you two with curiosity. “A new job?”
“Y/N’s going to be a bigshot at Inverness & Wildwood,” Sungchan explained, leaning against the wall.
“That’s… far,” she said hesitantly.
“I’m going with her,” he ended the suspense quickly. “It’s a good opportunity for her, and I’m tired of selling shoes anyway.”
“They’re going to let me keep him in the supply closet while I’m at work,” you reassured her with a snicker.
She burst into laughter, wrapping her arms around you again and rubbing your back. “As long as you feed him.”
“I’ll let even him out for exercise.”
“I’m not a gerbil,” Sungchan grumbled.
“Ohh, I’m so proud of you, sweetie,” his mom sighed happily, entirely ignoring her son’s complaints.
“Thank you, Auntie,” you murmured sincerely.
Monday morning, you and Sungchan did arrive at Inverness & Wildwood bright and early as promised. You had gone out and gotten him a button up shirt and properly fitting slacks this weekend in preparation, and his less-than-one-week notice had been turned in at the shoe store. Taking a deep breath, you approached the reception desk.
“Hi, Y/L/N Y/N, today’s my first day,” you told the receptionist.
“Of course, welcome to Inverness & Wildwood.” She smiled at you, though her gaze trailed questioningly to Sungchan awkwardly standing a couple steps behind you.
“He’s with me, he’s uhm, he’s—we’re uhm—I’m soulbound, and he’s—”
“Ahh, yes, I do have a note here.” Her face lit up with recognition then eased, her focus returning to speak only to you. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll buzz Ms. Kwon to let her know that you’re here, Ms. Y/L/N.”
“Thank you.” You turned and went to sit on one of the chairs in the lobby, the elevator in your sights. Sungchan followed you, taking the seat opposite you.
“Smooth,” he snickered under his breath, slumping down and pulling his phone out.
“Shut up,” you hissed. “And sit up straight. Aren’t you trying to work here too?”
He had his résumé in his other hand, and while he rolled his eyes, he did straighten out his posture, scooting up in his chair. “Yeah, as like the gofer who gets everyone’s coffees.”
“Why don’t you have any real aspirations for your life?”
“Keeping everyone caffeinated is noble. Why do you turn your nose up at service workers?”
You gawped, caught off-guard at his biting question disguised as playful banter. “I don’t! It’s just that I know you can do more—”
“You’re still doing it.”
“Fine, new question—You were Dean’s List in college, graduated magna cum laude undergrad and summa in high school. Why don’t you want to do something in line with your studies?”
Sungchan tilted his head. “You paid that much attention to me?”
You lunged forward in your chair to lean as close to him as possible, dropping your voice to a whisper that only he could hear and jabbing your pointer finger against his chest indignantly. “Bitch, we’ve been attached at the soul for over two decades, I would’ve had to be braindead to not have retained some information about you. Don’t do this shit right now! I’m serious!”
“You always are.” He clicked his tongue.
At his silence that followed, you decided that you had won and backed away from him again. Keeping your chin up, you remained on the edge of your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs at the knee nervously. Finally, you heard the elevator ding, and looked away from that direction, not wanting to stare directly at whoever was approaching, the sounds of their heels getting closer. Instead, you let your gaze fall back to Sungchan, who arched an eyebrow at you.
“Ms. Y/L/N?” A woman called your name out, and your head snapped over to her, a smile coming to your face as you immediately recognized Ms. Kwon, the hiring manager who had been present at your interview.
You quickly stood, Sungchan following your lead as you walked over to greet her just past the reception desk. “Good morning, Ms. Kwon, it’s great to see you again.” You bowed your head.
“You too, we’re very happy you accepted our offer,” she said warmly. “Both of you.”
“Yes, right.” You cleared your throat, before starting introductions, gesturing to Sungchan. “Ms. Kwon, this is Jung Sungchan. Sungchan, this is Ms. Kwon Siyeon, she’s the hiring manager here at Inverness & Wildwood.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Sungchan said, shaking her hand that she had offered. “I appreciate you accommodating me.”
“Of course. It’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Jung. Is that your résumé there?”
“Yes.”
She delicately snatched it from his grasp with two fingers, then looked back to you with a smile. “So, ready for orientation?”
“Absolutely.”
“We can leave Mr. Jung anywhere in the building, correct?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine at that distance.”
“Great.”
Ms. Kwon showed you to your desk first, and the one next to it happened to currently be vacant, so Sungchan was allowed to wait there while you continued your orientation. After briefly indicating him the bathroom and breakroom—in case he wanted to help himself to some coffee—Ms. Kwon whisked you away to her office. You went through your new employee paperwork, a powerpoint and other instructional materials, then you were off again. She brought you to another office, this time with ‘Oh Jieun’ on the outside.
Ms. Oh was to be your team leader and start off your training. After doing introductions, Ms. Kwon headed for the door again.
“I’ll be reviewing Mr. Jung’s résumé now. Call me if you need anything.”
“Please, take a seat, Y/N.” Ms. Oh gestured to one of the two armchairs across form her desk. To your surprise, she took the other one instead of sitting behind her desk again. “And you can call me Jieun, if you’re comfortable with that. Our team is pretty familiar with each other like that.”
“Maybe not yet,” you chuckled nervously.
“I understand.” She smiled. “I like to get to know my people a little first. Ms. Kwon did inform me that you’re soulbound, I’m assuming that’s who ‘Mr. Jung’ is?”
“Yes, Sungchan, yeah,” you confirmed.
“You’re not related…”
“No, we’re not. It was uh, a big surprise for our parents. Just happened somehow.”
“That must have been nice, though, growing up. Built-in brother?”
You flashed another nervous smile, trying not to show your disdain on your face. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’m very grateful to him for coming with me when I received this opportunity. Which is why I also appreciate Ms. Kwon agreeing to look for a position for him here as well.”
“He quit his job?” She surmised.
“Yes, we’re from the next town over. Our workplaces would have been too far apart.”
She waved her hands in front of her. “I apologize, I know you’re more than being soulbound. What do you do in your free time, hm?”
It wasn’t until lunch that you left Ms. Oh’s office. She declared that she had a lunch meeting, and encouraged you to take your break now too. You walked back to your desk feeling a little overwhelmed and dazed already, lots of notes in your notebook that Ms. Kwon had given you. Sungchan was still at the desk next to yours, looking up from his phone with interest as you pulled out your chair and flopped down into it.
“So…? How’s work so far?” He asked.
“Good, good.” You sat up straight. “You uh, doing alright?”
He shrugged. “Checked out the breakroom. Played some solitaire.”
“I’m on lunch. Do you want to go somewhere? Stretch your legs?”
“You really weren’t kidding about taking me on walks, huh?” He snickered, standing up anyway. “Making sure I get fresh air?”
You grabbed your purse and started towards the elevator. Through gritted teeth, you said, “You’re lucky I’m treating you better than a bug in a jar.”
He laughed at that, not seeming to care when a couple of your coworkers looked over. “Going to put a magnifying glass over me and set me on fire next?”
The elevator arrived, and the two of you stepped in. Once the door shut and you were alone, you dug your elbow into his side. “Don’t give me any ideas. God, do you have to be so loud?”
“What are you talking about?” Sungchan easily fended off your limb. “I laughed. It’s a normal thing to do. Heard some other people doing it earlier. You’re not going to be exiled for being seen with a guy who laughed.”
You took a deep breath. “You’re right, sorry. I’m just freaked because it’s my first day.”
“I get it. And I promise I’m not going to do anything to intentionally get you fired. Seriously, I’ve been on my best behavior.”
“That was obvious, huh?”
“We’ve never been able to keep secrets from each other.”
“Yeah, not for very long.”
“Anyway, Ms. Kwon has been busy, I think. I haven’t seen her since this morning, so no updates on a job for me yet.”
The elevator arrived on the ground floor, and he let you step off first. “That’s okay, Sungchan. You just quit your job for me, some grace is definitely owed.”
You two stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building, Sungchan closing his eyes and reveling in the sunlight while you lifted your hand up to shield your eyes against the brightness and look around. Tsking, you said, “I think there’s a kebab place down the street?”
“Sounds good to me.”
As you walked, you looked up at the buildings around your new workplace. Some were other office buildings, while others were apartments.
“That looks like a nice place,” you pointed.
Sungchan made a non-committal sound.
“Or that one? Everything here is definitely close enough in case one of us is at work and the other is home.”
A shrug.
“Okay, I’m going to need a lot more from you,” you snorted. “We have to live somewhere eventually, remember? It’d be a good idea to start thinking about it.”
“Dishwasher.”
“What?”
“It should have a dishwasher. We’ll get tired of hand-washing dishes really fast,” he said. “And in-unit laundry.”
You nodded. “We’ll look at some listings online while we eat.”
When you returned to the office, Ms. Kwon and Ms. Oh found you two at your desks at the same time.
“Mr. Jung,” Ms. Kwon zeroed in on Sungchan. “Time for your interview.”
“Y/N, let’s meet the rest of the team.” Ms. Oh gestured for you to follow her.
Ms. Kwon had already started off towards her office, leaving Sungchan to catch up. “Wish me luck,” He whispered to you under his breath.
“Good luck,” you murmured, watching him take off after her through the maze of desks.
Ms. Oh was still waiting patiently, and you grabbed your notebook off your desk before turning to her, offering a smile.
At the end of the day, you were exhausted. And you still had to commute back home. Grabbing your purse from your desk, Sungchan immediately perked up.
“Done?” He asked hopefully.
“Mm-hm,” you confirmed, heading for the elevator with a few other employees from this floor.
Sungchan was right behind you, squeezing onto the elevator with everyone else. Out on the sidewalks, you two started towards the subway in silence. Other office workers were converging on the street too, the city beginning to change as the sun started setting.
As you sat down on the subway with Sungchan, you got déjà vu to this morning, and suddenly remembered something. “Oh! How’d it go with Ms. Kwon?”
He straightened his shoulders and jokingly puffed out his chest. “You’re looking at Inverness & Wildwood’s newest part-time office supply and personnel logistics assistant.”
You squinted at him.
“I’m a gofer.” He grinned and flopped back against his seat. “I’ll make copies, get coffee, run documents between departments, do inventory, whatever they ask me to. They already have another part-timer so they didn’t need me full-time.”
“Congrats,” you said dryly. “We should find a place close to work, so you don’t have to come in when you’re not scheduled.”
“Downtown will be expensive,” he commented.
“I don’t know what your pay as a gofer is, but I can afford it.”
“Actually, they’re paying me more than the shoe store.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, thanks for almost killing me to interview for your job,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.
“You’re such a baby.”
Two more weeks of commuting and looking at apartments on your lunch break, and you’d finally found one that was available now, only a block away from work, and met all of your and Sungchan’s personal qualifications. You didn’t have a lot of things to bring over from your childhood bedroom—mostly clothes, personal belongings, and the odd piece of sentimental décor. Even your bed was staying put, as your parents had never upgraded you from the twin bed that you’d had as a kid, expecting you to go to college and only ever come back for visits, not stick around as long as you had. The first week you had the apartment, you still commuted back home to sleep, until your new bedframe and mattress arrived.
That was when it really hit you. After spending your whole Saturday unpacking and building furniture, you grabbed your bag of toiletries to take with you into your bathroom for a shower later. Your bathroom. You’d really be living here.
You turned back to Sungchan, who you had called in to assist with some of the two-person steps on building your bedframe. “We’re really doing this.”
“Hm?” He looked up from where he had still been fiddling with a couple screws. “No, we’re done with the frame. Mattress should be easy, it’ll unroll and inflate on its own.”
“I meant—We’re really living here. Together. Without our parents.”
“Guess so.” He stood up. “I’ll grab your mattress.”
The mattress had arrived sometime during the week, and you had pulled it in by yourself. Meaning that the heavy box was dragged in and left by the front door.
Finished arranging your shower products, you stepped back out of your bathroom in time to watch Sungchan carry the mattress box into your room by himself and set it down with no further indication of exertion other than a small huff. Which also just could’ve been from annoyance at helping you.
“Glad to see all our time at the gym hasn’t been a waste,” you commented as he started opening the box.
“Only a waste for you,” he teased back.
“That would hurt if I had been going there willingly.”
“This place has got a gym,” he said. “Pretty nice one too.”
“Yeah, so now you can go without me.”
He pumped his fist victoriously, and you rolled your eyes despite this very much being a win-win situation. With the plastic off, he arranged the mattress on your bedframe to inflate the rest of the way on its own.
“There.”
“Thanks, Sungchan.”
He nodded, heading towards your door. “I’m scheduled for the morning tomorrow.”
“Then you can sign for my dresser. Should be coming in the afternoon.”
“Where else would I be?”
Coming home from work the next day, you were not looking forward to building a dresser. You stepped out of your shoes at the door, carrying them in your hands as the apartment was suspiciously void of Sungchan. Sure, he could’ve gone to anywhere else within a few blocks safely, but you two had already agreed to give each other a heads-up when doing that. Figuring he was probably in his room, you let your shoulders relax as you pushed your bedroom door open.
You stopped in the doorway, shoes dangling off your fingertips, to stare blankly at the scene in front of you. Sungchan on the floor of your bedroom with what looked to be your half-built dresser and various pieces sprawled out around him and his head entirely under your bed as he appeared to be searching for something.
“Uh, what are you doing?” You asked plainly.
“Fuck!” He swore as he startled and hit what sounded like both his head and shoulder on the underneath of your bed and bedframe, then swore again at the pain, “Shit! Ow!” Carefully pulling himself out, he said, “I’m building a dresser.”
You tiptoed around him, careful not to knock anything out of place, to access your suitcase for a change of clothes. “How long have you been doing that?”
He sat back on his feet, pointing at the furniture, “Spent fifteen minutes building the dresser,” then gestured around the expanse of your room, “And the past two hours looking for a screw.”
You carefully used a hand on his head to balance as you stepped over him and a bunch of wood panels to get to your adjoined bathroom.
“Let me get out of my work clothes, then I’ll help.”
Emerging from the bathroom in more relaxed loungewear, you eyed him curiously. “Why were you even building my dresser for me? I just asked you to sign for the package.”
“I was bored.”
“So bored that you’d rather get pissed off at this than stop?” You asked humorously.
He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Apparently.”
“So what exactly are we looking for?”
He showed a screw to you, about as long as your thumbnail. You didn’t hide your doubt.
“Hm.”
“Yeah.” He turned his phone flashlight on and stuck his head back under your bed.
Peering back out into the hallway, you saw something glinting from just inside Sungchan's ajar bedroom door, and walked over there. You picked it up, having secured a small screw between two fingers.
“Sungchan,” you said, entering your room again.
“Huh?” He thankfully didn’t hit his head again as he rolled out from under your bed.
You held the screw out to him on your palm. “Is this it?”
His jaw dropped as he took it from you. “Where the fuck was it?”
“Hallway.”
“Ugh, I wasn’t looking out there! How did it get out there?!” He whined, then immediately closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and his features became neutral again. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I wasted two hours of my life, but it’s fine.”
“Well, as long as it’s fine,” you replied skeptically.
Twenty minutes before the end of the workday, one of your team members whose desk was behind yours leaned his chair back to bridge the gap between you two. Mark whispered, “Hey, a few of us are getting drinks after work today. Want to come? We can celebrate your one-ish month. Three weeks?” His face screwed up as he was clearly trying to do the mental math on how long you had been there.
Truthfully, you were already beat from the work week, and still had more boxes waiting for you at the apartment. But you didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot when it came to establishing good relationships with your coworkers. One drink couldn’t hurt. But it wasn’t just your decision, unfortunately.
“I’ll have to ask Sungchan,” you replied, giving him an apologetic smile.
Mark squinted at you with confusion. “The… new stockroom guy?”
You hadn’t announced that you were soulbound to your entire team or anything, nor had it come up naturally yet. And it seems that Ms. Oh hadn’t mentioned it either, which you were both grateful for and also slightly annoyed by. Now you’d have to go through this with all of them until the whole building finally knew. Maybe a mass email would just be easier, actually.
“We’re soulbound. No, we’re not related, and we don’t know how or why it happened,” you rushed through the usual questions. “I don’t have to come, I know you weren’t expecting to have to invite him too—”
“No, of course he can come!” He reassured you easily. “I didn’t know that was possible, that’s all. We’re all meeting in the lobby in ten minutes or so, the bar’s just a couple blocks away.”
“I’ll ask him. Thanks, Mark.”
You had last spotted Sungchan heading for the breakroom, and checked there first. Your guess was right, he was, in fact, restocking the coffee station.
“Sungchan,” you called for his attention.
“Yes! Time to go home!” He cheered, putting the box of K-cups back in the bottom cabinet.
“Not quite,” you informed him, walking over to where he was on the opposite side of the breakroom from you. “Still got fifteen minutes.”
He groaned, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Then what are you doing here? Other than getting my hopes up just to crush them? Unless that’s the entire point?”
“I’m actually not here to fulfill my dark, evil purpose of killing all joy on Earth this time.”
Sungchan snickered a little. “Don’t tell me you’re getting caffeine now.”
“A few people from my team are going out for drinks. We were invited,” you said. “I let them know I would have to ask you before accepting.”
“We were invited, or you were invited?”
“I was invited, then the invitation was extended to you once I told them about our situation,” you answered truthfully. “I understand if you don’t want to go, they’re not your team, and we’ve still got stuff to unpack at the apartment after.”
“No, we should go,” he said firmly. “You’ve got to network or whatever, right?”
You blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Then we’ll go. Unless you don’t want to, and you were hoping I would say no so you could blame me?” He tilted his head. “Because you totally can, I don’t care what these people think of me. I’ll be the bad guy any day if you want to get out of something.”
You let out a sputtering laugh, caught off-guard by how genuine he seemed. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. And I am tired, but it’s important to have a good relationship with my team upfront, I think, then I can start skipping out on stuff later on. I was planning on staying for at least one drink if you said yes.”
Sungchan nodded. “Okay, one drink. And if they’re pressuring you to stay, signal me and I’ll start being a dick so we can leave.”
“Signal you how?”
“Kick me under the table or something.”
“You’re giving me permission to kick you?”
“You’re acting like you never have? Or can you only kick me when you don’t have my express permission?”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” You held your hands up, heading towards the breakroom exit again. “We’re all meeting in the lobby in a few minutes to head out.”
“I’ll meet you at your desk.”
Mark was standing behind his desk when you returned, his messenger bag strap slung across his front and computer turned off as he looked at you questioningly. You gave him a thumbs-up and a nod, receiving an enthusiastic fist-pump in return.
“You want me to wait up for you?” He offered.
“Nah, Sungchan and I will be right behind you,” you promised, saving your work.
“Cool.”
You had just started shutting your computer off when Sungchan approached your desk, a noticeable skip in his step at the workday being over. Shouldering your purse, you stood up, pushing your chair in. “Ready to go?”
“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving work early.” He shook his head in mock disapproval, following you to the elevator.
You pushed the down button and looked at the time on your phone. “By ten whole minutes. What’s become of me?”
“Slacker,” he said in a sing-song voice, stepping onto the empty elevator with you. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, hands resting casually to either side of him on the railing that went around the entire room. “If you’re not careful, you’ll become an underachiever like me, you know.”
“I never called you that.” You shot him a frank look over your shoulder as you hit the lobby button, then turned your gaze back to the screen to watch the number go down as the elevator descended.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Your subtext was pretty clear.”
“My subtext?”
“You’re not stupid Sungchan,” you sighed loudly. “I don’t know why you keep insisting on acting like you are, and in the process, like I’m stupid too, because that’s the only way I’d believe you were.”
“Have you considered that I am stupid, but you keep insisting that I’m smart because we share a soul, and if I’m stupid, then maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are?”
“Nice try, but we share a soul, not a brain.”
“Yeah, pretty sure you got the brain between us.” Sungchan startled you by suddenly pushing off the back wall and walking up behind you. You expected him to muss up your hair or push you around a little or something as the ground floor—and your waiting coworkers—approached. But he just stood next to you politely, also watching the numbers.
“Then you got the brawn.” You used your index finger to jab at where the material of his button-down shirt was straining slightly around the solid muscle of his shoulder.
He suddenly jokingly went to flex, and you immediately recoiled, turning away and covering your mouth as you made retching sounds.
“Ew! We’re at work! Have some self-respect!” You blindly smacked his arm as his laughter bounced around the elevator. “I swear to God, you better not be doing that in front of people or—”
“Or what?” He taunted. “I’m the brawn, remember?”
“I’ll smother you in your sleep, Jung Sungchan!” You finished your threat, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I know where you sleep, remember?”
He was still grinning breathlessly as he held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll hold off on embarrassing you at work until I get a deadbolt on the inside of my bedroom door.”
The elevator had made it to the ground floor then, and you composed yourself right before the doors opened with a ding! to announce your arrival. You immediately spotted the cluster of your coworkers by the front doors of the lobby, most of them seeming to be from your team, with a couple that you didn’t recognize.
Mark noticed you first, raising a hand to wave you over. “Yo! Y/N!”
“Hi,” you greeted everyone brightly. Clearing your throat, you decided to just rip the band-aid off. “This is Sungchan, by the way. We’re soulbound. No, we’re no related. And yes, he’s also the new part-time office supply guy.”
“Hey,” Sungchan said casually from behind you.
“Let’s go drink!” Mark interjected into the silence that had befallen the group as everyone seemed to be trying to process the information you’d just dropped on them. They all immediately burst into cheers and started towards the exit.
You ended up staying much later than you anticipated, and for more than one drink, through no sort of peer pressuring. You were actually having fun with your coworkers, and it was Friday night, so what was the problem, really?
The problem, you realized, only when it was too late. You’d lived with your parents during college, and because all of your socialization had depended on Sungchan in the past, you hadn’t really done much of it out as an adult. So your alcohol tolerance was non-existent. As soon as it hit you, you froze, stopping in the middle of your sentence, talking with Huang Renjun and Lee Donghyuck about… something that you’d completely forgotten about. You were now of a one-track mind that you were well on your way to be way too drunk to be around your coworkers, and you did not want to make an absolute fucking fool of yourself in front of them, even if this was technically “outside of work.”
“Y/N? You okay?” Renjun questioned.
Sungchan was also in the booth with you all, zoning in and out of conversation whenever it happened to veer into something he was actually interested in. He didn’t care if people saw him looking disinterested, scrolling on his phone and sometimes even leaning his head back and closing his eyes until he was actively engaged again.
You did the only thing you could think of and kicked Sungchan. Hard. Except he didn’t startle at all, still resting his eyes. Instead, it was Renjun that jumped and swore. “Ow! What the fuck was that for, Lee Donghyuck?! Come here, you little—”
He reached across the table to grab Donghyuck’s collar as the other man sputtered and flailed to push Renjun off him, laughing and whining that he didn’t know what Renjun was talking about. The commotion was enough to disturb Sungchan, who peeked one eye open, then the other as he seemed to appreciate the scene in front of him. He looked between your quarreling coworkers and you, raising one eyebrow in a silent ‘what did I miss?’
You leaned back, trying to very casually peer under the table just enough in order to direct your kick at the correct leg this time. With Renjun and Donghyuck scrambling around, it was pretty easy to tell the difference. You kicked Sungchan probably more times than was necessary, but you were fully panicking now that you had inadvertently started an almost-bar brawl.
Sungchan, to his credit, hardly reacted to your assault. He slowly nodded once and sat up straight before clearing his throat pointedly. “Y/N, let’s go,” he demanded loudly, making a big show of checking his phone. “We did your work thing, now it’s time for my thing.”
“Right, yeah,” you nodded, not trusting yourself to say any sentences longer than two or three words. “Time to-to go.”
Renjun released his hold on Donghyuck, and they each slid out of the ends of the booth seats they were occupying to let you both out. Sungchan smoothly got out first and helped you up with a hand on your arm that you hoped didn’t make it too apparent that you couldn’t stand on your own.
“Sucks you have to go early, Y/N,” Donghyuck lamented with a sigh. “But we do this once a month! You’ll totally have to come next time!”
“Both of you!” Renjun added, looking at Sungchan too. “Hopefully it’ll work better for both of you next time.”
“Oh, yeah, maybe.” You smiled and nodded, and before you could stop yourself, more words were falling out of your mouth, “I’m really sorry to-to leave like, uh, like this, it’s just that—”
“I’m going to be late, Y/N!” Sungchan interrupted you. “We already stayed an extra hour longer than you said. You know I’ve had this planned for months!”
“I’ll let you go,” Renjun whispered, patting your shoulder sympathetically before turning away from you.
You leaned into Sungchan as he guided you towards the exit of the bar. Halfway there, you realized you didn’t have your purse, and turned around to look to see if you left it in the booth. “Wait, my…”
“I’ve got your purse,” he murmured, and the familiar jangle of the zippers was audible from his other side.
“Oh.”
“You guys leaving?” A voice accosted you right before you were free, and you did your best to disguise your look of ‘oh shit!’ as you turned to face Mark.
“I’ve got a thing,” Sungchan took over explaining, keeping his tone curt. “And I’m not trying to be rude, Mark, but I’m already running late, so if we could get going…?”
“Oh, yeah, of course!” Mark started backing away apologetically. “It was good hanging with you guys! Night!”
And finally, you were outside, which was comparatively much quieter, colder, and fresher than the inside of the bar. You took a deep breath of air, already feeling better.
“Oh my god,” you groaned with relief. “Thank you, Sungchan.”
“Are you alright? Other than being drunk?” He asked, holding a hand out to hail a cab.
“What are you doing? We can walk home.”
“From work, yes. Not from some bar we’ve never been to, at night, when you’re drunk.”
“Don’t you have a maps app on your phone?”
“Don’t you have a self-preservation instinct?”
A cab pulled up then, and he helped you into the backseat before giving your address to the driver. You slumped against his shoulder as you watched the city lights pass by in a blur, letting your eyes unfocus.
“Did it hurt?” You mumbled.
“When I fell from heaven? Meh, a bit,” he replied humorously.
“No, when I kicked you.”
He laughed, and you felt his shoulder shake as he did so. “Yeah, I think I’ll have a bruise tomorrow.” He sounded oddly proud and even reached over to pat your head.
“Thanks for being an asshole tonight, Sungchan,” you said sincerely.
“Anytime. It was kind of fun, actually.”
Today fucking sucked. You pushed the front door open, fully ready to beeline for your bed and bury yourself under your covers and cry for the entire night. You were just hoping Sungchan was in his room and would leave you alone.
But no, he had apparently used his afternoon off to put the couch together, as he was reclined on that, watching something on your TV that was still on the ground (you hadn’t found a TV stand yet).
“Hey, I picked up some pizza from that place on the corner for dinner,” Sungchan said, standing up from the couch and gesturing to said pizza boxes sitting on your kitchen counter. “Get out of your work clothes then we can eat.”
You faltered, slowing to a stop. “You got it… for both of us?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too?”
“There’s nobody else here? Right?”
You couldn’t help it, all of the stress of the day finally snapping inside you and coming out as tears. Your shoulders jumped with each hiccupping sob, and you dropped your face into your hands as tears streamed from your eyes, soaking your cheeks and blazer cuffs.
“Woah, woah, hey.” He was clearly trying to swallow down his panic and keep his tone soft and comforting. “Do you not want pizza? I can go get something else. What do you want?”
“No, no, Sungchan, pizza is fine,” your words were choked and half-sobbed. You pulled your head back up to see him already with his keys in his hand. “It’s just—Ugh, I messed something up at work today. And nobody got mad at me or anything, and we were able to fix it, and I know I’m still new, but it’s still making me think like—What if I don’t actually belong here? What if I never get good at my job? What if I never figure it out? What if I never figure anything out?” You sniffled, your next words coming out as a wail as your eyes strayed over to the pizza boxes and your sobbing intensified again, “And then you got pizza for me and I thought you hated me.”
Sungchan’s keys clinked as he set them back down, soft footsteps of his sock-clad feet getting closer before you felt his hands gingerly land on your upper arms. When you didn’t immediately pull away, his grasp tightened, squeezing your shoulders as his thumbs smoothed over the area soothingly.
“Okay, first, I don’t hate you. It’ll be really hard to live together if we hate each other.”
“True,” you mumbled, gaze on your feet.
“Y/N, you’ve worked there for a month. Nobody expects you to know everything yet. Except you, apparently,” he continued. “Who cares about having things figured out anyway? If you know everything, you never get to learn anything new. Seems pretty boring to me.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed reluctantly. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you buried your face in his chest, adding a muffled, “Thanks, Sungchan.”
He hugged you back, holding you to him firmly. Sungchan let you stand there and keep crying for who knows how long, not complaining even as your tears definitely soaked through his shirt, or as the pizza had probably gone cold. He was pleasantly warm and sturdy, letting you lean almost your full weight against him. One of his large hands gently rubbed between your shoulder blades, eventually calming your hiccups down.
Finally, your feet and your legs hurt far too much from standing in one place, and you were really hungry. Letting him go, he took the cue and pulled away as well. You spotted the large wet patch of tears—and embarrassingly, shiny snot as well—on his shirt, and winced. “God, sorry. I’ll do laundry this weekend.”
“It’s fine,” he brushed off your apology, heading towards the hallway. “I’m doing laundry tomorrow anyway.”
You followed, needing to get out of your work clothes too. “What? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m off tomorrow. Put yours in the hall before you go in the morning and I’ll toss it in there too.” He smiled, stepping into his room and shutting the door.
It was still slightly ajar, though, you realized as you went to close your door. You paused as your eyes caught a flash of movement, realizing too late that it was Sungchan tugging his ruined shirt over his head by the collar. You slammed your door shut all the way, locking it behind you.
Reemerging in your pajamas, you found Sungchan in the kitchen, two paper plates out by the pizza boxes. You also hadn’t gotten dishes or silverware yet. After helping yourself to several slices of room temperature pizza, you sat cross-legged on your newly built couch, squinting at the TV screen.
“What are you watching?” You questioned.
“Video essay about some movie I’ve never seen,” he admitted. “I tried logging into my parents’ Netflix but it kicked me out.”
You laughed. “I guess we need to get our own account, huh?”
The next day, you had a marginally better time at work. Oddly enough, you found yourself wondering what Sungchan was doing at random times, but restrained your urge to text him. He’d let you know if he was going somewhere.
“Hey, Y/N,” Mark caught your attention.
You spun your chair around to face him. “Yeah?”
“Sungchan coming in today?”
“No, he’s off all day. I guess it’s Yushi’s day,” you referred to the other part-timer who fulfilled the same duties as Sungchan. Yushi was an undergraduate student at the nearby university who worked at the firm when he wasn’t in class, and you’d already spotted him scurrying around a couple times today.
“Where’d you guys end up moving in anyway?”
“Terrace 403.”
Mark whistled. “Nice. Close, too.”
“Yeah, we like it so far.” You shrugged. “What about you?”
“The Lofts at Park Place.”
“Oh, that has the indoor basketball court, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Sungchan liked the pictures on the website, but it was too far for us so we didn’t tour.”
He turned back to his computer. “Lunch?”
You checked the time too. “Sure. Cafeteria?”
“Might as well use the company meal credits.”
In the cafeteria, you and Mark spotted a couple of your other coworkers already eating, and joined them at a table by the windows.
“Just you today, Y/N?” Renjun inquired.
“Mark’s right there,” you quipped, pointing to the seat beside you.
“He meant your worse half,” Donghyuck informed you dryly.
“Uhm, Sungchan and Yushi alternate around Yushi’s class schedule,” you explained. “Sungchan’s off today.”
“Good for you.”
“What?” You tilted your head, a bit caught off-guard.
“He dragged you away when we went out for drinks! Did he even have something to do or did he just want to ruin your fun?”
“It was a bit…” Renjun seemed to be carefully choosing his words as he tepidly agreed with Donghyuck. “I didn’t like how he treated you. At least what I saw.”
“Being soulbound to someone you’re not related to—ugh, I can’t imagine. At least twins, it’s your brother or sister or whoever but this is just some random guy,” Donghyuck continued ranting on your behalf. “I feel so bad for you, seriously.”
Despite Sungchan already saying he didn’t care what your coworkers thought of him, you felt the need to stand up for him. After all, you wanted to leave the bar early, not him. And only you got to complain about Sungchan like that.
“Really, it was my fault. He was trying to get us to leave without everyone realizing that I had drank too much,” you insisted, having no problem coming clean now. “And Sungchan’s not some random guy—I mean, I’ve known him my whole life. He might as well be—He’s…”
You trailed off with a thoughtful frown, unable to even finish that sentence as you had no clue what to say next, how to articulate what Sungchan was to you. The bane of your existence, yes, but it was infinitely more complicated than that. More complicated than you’d ever told anybody, than you think anybody could comprehend, other than Sungchan.
“Of course, you guys have something we’re not going to be able to understand,” Mark said after your silence had gone on for too long. “Since we’re not soulbound.”
“Sorry,” Donghyuck mumbled.
When you got home, you did in fact hear the laundry machines going, so you announced your arrival in case Sungchan couldn’t hear the front door.
“I’m home!” You yelled out, stepping out of your shoes by the door and carrying them with you.
Sungchan walked out of his room. “Hey. How was work?”
“Fine. Better than yesterday, I guess.” You shrugged, opening your own bedroom door. “I’m going to shower.”
“Leftover pizza for dinner?”
“Sounds good to me.”
You took your time showering, still thinking about lunch. It shouldn’t bother you so much, what your coworkers said about Sungchan. But they were wrong. Yeah, he was an asshole sometimes, but he hadn’t actually been one that night, or really at all since you started this job. The water turning cold pushed you out of the shower, and you hadn’t even realized you’d been in there for so long. You went to grab fresh pajamas from your dresser that Sungchan had so kindly built for you.
Empty drawer. With a sigh, you wrapped your towel around yourself tighter and poked your head out of your room. “Sungchan?” You called out. “Is the dryer done?”
“Uhm, it’s got like ten minutes left,” he replied from the direction of the kitchen. “Why?”
“I don’t have a shirt to wear…” You admitted dejectedly.
“Oh, shit. I did your work clothes first…”
“Fuck.”
“No, it’s okay. You can wear one of mine,” he said, voice getting nearer until he had entered the hall as well. He went into his room, asking over his shoulder, “T-shirt or hoodie?”
“T-shirt’s fine.”
He came back out, holding a folded shirt out to you. “Here. Sorry about that.”
“S’okay.” You accepted the garment, keeping your towel up with one hand. “Thanks.”
Sungchan’s shirt smelled like the detergent that you both used, so it kind of smelled like your clothes, but as the collar passed by your nose, you inhaled a more distinct scent too. It just… smelled like Sungchan. Like when he’d let you cry into his chest just last night, or the countless hours you’d spent in his car over the years, or the times on co-family vacations as kids when you’d call a momentary truce at night to stay up late giggling and whispering ghost stories to each other under the covers, or when a huge storm would come through and both of you were too old to tell your parents you were scared, but not too old to squeeze onto Sungchan’s top bunk together for safety.
Walking back out, you saw Sungchan already in the kitchen.
“So what else did you do today?” You asked, leaning against one of the kitchen counters. “Other than laundry. I assume the gym?”
“Yeah, worked out, laundry, cleaned a bit, found some places I wanted to check out this weekend,” he talked as he opened the fridge and grabbed the pizza boxes.
“Too far away?” You surmised, taking the boxes from his hand to set them on the counter.
“Thanks. A couple of them, but—” He had shut the fridge and finally looked at you, pausing when he did.
“Hello? Sungchan?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Are you doing a system reboot or something?”
He suddenly whirred back to life, rushing to grab two paper plates from the cabinet (you still didn’t have dishes yet). “Nope, nope, I’m fine. What was I saying?”
You eyed him skeptically, but moved on anyway, “You found some places you wanted to check out this weekend, some of them were too far but…?”
“Right, some were too far, but some I figured you’d want to go too, so it can wait until the weekend.”
“Oh.” How… considerate. “Sure, yeah, sounds fun.”
The next day at work, you were looking around the building cafeteria for somewhere to sit for lunch. Your other work buddies had a prior lunch reservation but Sungchan was running a last-minute errand in the area for one of the executives, meaning that you two couldn’t join them. You told them to keep the reservation without you two—you’d manage. A woman at a nearby table caught your eye and waved, and you turned around to see if she could’ve been waving at anybody else. You were pretty sure you’d seen brief glimpses of her in the elevator or passing by in halls before, but you definitely didn’t know her. There was nobody else in your vicinity, and she waved you over more insistently.
You hesitantly walked towards her, looking down at her questioningly as you approached her table, still unsure of if she meant you. “Sorry, were you—?”
“Y/N, right?” She asked expectantly.
“Oh, uh, yes. I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Please, sit!” She gestured to the empty seat across from her.
Having nothing else to do, you obliged, setting your tray down in front of you. “Thank you.”
“Sorry, I’m Han Sooyoung,” she introduced herself. “We haven’t met, but I’ve heard about you. I’m soulbound too.”
“Oh, oh.” Your eyes widened as it hit you. “Really?”
“Yes.” Sooyoung quickly unlocked her phone to show you a photo of herself and another woman who was clearly her identical twin. “My sister, Soojin.”
“Does she work here too?”
“No, it’s not really her thing.” She laughed and shook her head. “She’s a freelance digital artist, so she works from home while I’m here.”
“I’m guessing you live close by then?”
“Villas on 5th.”
You were still staring at her in awe. “Sorry, this is my first time meeting someone else whose soulbound that’s not Sungchan.”
Sooyoung laughed again, “That’s okay, we didn’t meet another soulbound pair until Soojin and I went to college.”
“Have you—Have you met another pair like us? That’s not related? Uhm, Type 2?”
There were two types of soulbound connections, with three subtypes total. Type 1 was related multiple births—1A was identical twins/triplets/etc., 1B was fraternal. Type 2 was unrelated, like you and Sungchan. 1A was the most common, then 1B, with 2 in a distant, distant third.
“Once, yeah. But I’m sure you already know how rare that is.”
“Of course.”
You spent the rest of your lunch break with Sooyoung, eating and chatting. It was refreshing to be able to talk about things with someone who just… got it. Even when the conversation would veer into work, or the city, you found it easier to tell her the full story than your other non-soulbound coworkers. She just immediately understood everything.
Sooyoung had just finished telling you a story from when she and Soojin were in primary school, and stopped to take a sip of her water.
“I’m so glad we outgrew the emotional phase,” you said offhandedly with a chuckle, bringing another bite of food to your mouth. You were now reminiscing in your own childhood with Sungchan, a large portion of which was spent with you trying to push each other’s faces in the dirt, admittedly.
She set her glass down with a strange look on her face, head tilted. “What?”
You sat up a little straighter in your seat. You hadn’t told anybody else about this, but you figured that Sooyoung would get it—she understood everything else about your experience of being soulbound perfectly so far: poppys, scheduling conflicts, soulsickness. Surely she and Soojin went through the same thing. “When we were kids, there was like a weird year where we always knew when the other was upset. Like, if Sungchan skinned his knee, I’d start crying even though I was perfectly fine inside my house. Same thing vice versa. If I had a scary dream and woke up crying, my mom would get a call from Sungchan’s mom saying he was crying too but couldn’t tell her why. It stopped when we were six, I think? Our pediatrician said we probably just outgrew it.”
But she still had that same perturbed, concerned look on her face. She leaned forward, brows furrowed as she questioned you further, “You’ve never felt anything from Sungchan since then?”
“No…?” There was now a clammy, cold dread starting in your palms and quickly spreading past the backs of your arms and elbows throughout the rest of your body. Your heartbeat in your ears sounded like heavy footsteps coming down a hallway, like you were about to get in trouble for something, but you didn’t even know what you had done wrong.
“I’ve had that connection with my sister our whole lives,” Sooyoung said. “We feel almost all of the other’s emotions.”
“Seriously? Isn’t that… a bit much?” You blinked at her in surprise. “Like, invasive?”
“I suppose I’m used to it. I find it comforting, actually.” She placed a hand to the hollow of her throat, palm resting flat on her chest. “When I’m sitting at my desk bored, she could be watching her favorite show and I can feel how happy she is, which makes me happy knowing that she’s enjoying herself and makes it easier to do whatever task I’m doing.” The corner of her lips twitched. “And I see no point in keeping secrets from somebody that I share a soul with.”
“Maybe it’s because we’re Type 2?” You supplied a possible explanation for the difference.
Sooyoung still seemed troubled, shaking her head. “I mean, I have only met one other Type 2 pair, but they described very similar experiences to mine and my sister’s. I’ve never heard of a pair ‘outgrowing’ their connection like this.”
You pushed a piece of food around on your plate, unsure of what to say. You felt like you had completely ruined the mood, singled yourself out as a weirdo, exposed some secret you didn’t even know you had, and found out something was apparently very wrong with you and Sungchan that you thought had been typical your whole life. But if the connection that Sooyoung described having with Soojin was supposed to be normal, you weren’t sure if you even wanted to fix it—if that was possible. It sounded… uncomfortable.
“If your doctor wasn’t concerned, I shouldn’t be worrying you.” Sooyoung waved off the topic with a smile. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” you reassured her. Scrambling for something else to talk about, you asked, “So, how did you and Soojin manage college? Since I’m assuming you were different majors?”
As Sooyoung started telling you another story, you chewed on the bottom of your lip, no longer hungry for the rest of your food.
That weekend, you were so eager to finally get out of your apartment, you would’ve gone anywhere with Sungchan—the gym, a fish market, a dentist appointment, anything. This was your first proper time exploring the city now that you lived here. The initial few weekends you spent moving in, unpacking, and building furniture, only ever venturing out to get food or the bare necessities.
You could tell Sungchan was excited to be out too, as the list of locations he had in the notes app on his phone was so long, he had to scroll. You doubted you could go to all these places in one month, much less a day. But you figured you would be here for the foreseeable future, so you had the time.
“Okay, uhm, let’s see—” Sungchan suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk in front of your building, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked around, squinting down at his phone screen, then up and down the street. Other pedestrians pushed by you two, and you grabbed his arm to try to pull him to one side so you weren’t blocking the entire pathway.
“What?” You asked, peeking at his phone. He had his maps up.
“Which way’s east?”
You glanced around blankly. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Well…” He looked left, then right, before grabbing your wrist and taking off towards the left with you in tow. After several hurried strides, he clicked his tongue and turned around in place. “Nope. Other way.”
You chuckled, following his lead and spinning around to attach yourself to his other arm and keep pace in the rushed crowd. “We had a 50/50 chance.”
Apparently, Sungchan’s first location was the local library. You eyed him and the sign with mock surprise on your face. “Wait, you know how to read?”
“So I’m not allowed to call myself stupid, but you are?” He scoffed.
“Somebody’s got to keep your ego in check.”
“Oh you—” He caught you with an arm loosely around your neck to hold you in place while he went to grab your hat, presumably to take it off and then mess up your hair. “And who assigned you that job?”
“It’s a holy vow that I’ve taken on. Sort of like a nun, you kno—Ack!” Your banter got cut off by him applying just the slightest pressure to your throat, and you in turn made exaggerated choking sounds, smacking his arm zealously.
“For someone who’s supposedly the brains between us, you really have no survival instinct, huh?”
“See, I’m the brains because I know that you won’t actually kill me.”
“Then I simply have to assume that you keep doing this because you like when I rough you up a little.”
“Do you?” You taunted back, well aware that you were teetering right on the precipice of joking and something else. All the hours Sungchan had poured into the gym were now very apparent, your fingers clutching the well-defined muscles encircling your neck and your body pressed up against his. You gulped, feeling the bob of your throat push on his arm, then added, “Like it when I give you the chance to rough me up a bit?”
“There are families coming down the street,” he half-whispered, half-snickered, letting you go with a pat on the cheek. At his normal volume, he said, “Come on, I picked this one for you, not me. Since I can’t read.”
You clicked your tongue, taking off at a half-jog to keep up with his long legs and fast pace. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Channie. I’m sure we can find a really good picture book for you in here.”
“That’s it—”
You swerved out of his reach just in time as he had lunged for you again, cackling and laughing as you ran around the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and darted for the stairs, Sungchan chasing you the whole way towards the entrance of the library.
You and Sungchan had just stepped off the elevator one morning when you were immediately flagged down by Mark at your desk. Heading over, you set your own bag down on your chair with Sungchan in tow.
“Yo! Y/N! Sungchan!” He greeted you brightly as always. “Drinks tonight?”
“Has it been a month already?” You looked at the date on your computer lockscreen.
Sungchan hadn’t answered, looking down at you in a silent question. Neither of you had plans for tonight, so it was just up to you if you wanted to go or not.
“We’ll come out for a bit, yeah,” you half-committed.
“Yes!”
“Oh, hey, can I invite my friend Sooyoung?” You asked hopefully. “From Finance?”
Mark’s face screwed up in thought, and Sungchan also looked confused, before it seemed to dawn on your coworker. He replied hesitantly, “Ms. Han Sooyoung? The Director of Finance? You’re… friends?”
Your eyes widened, and Sungchan crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at you, but thankfully stayed silent at this revelation.
“I-I think so? I didn’t know! We get lunch sometimes, she said she works in Finance, she never said… her position…”
You felt a bit queasy now at the idea that you were so new and had been calling somebody so senior in the company so casually. You’d barely started calling your own team lead Jieun last week at the behest of the rest of your team. A Director was probably three or four levels above her in the office hierarchy.
“There isn’t another Han Sooyoung in the office that I know. Definitely not another in Finance,” Mark explained to you gently.
“So… definitely not inviting her for drinks…” You surmised sheepishly.
“No.”
“I’m going to get my coffee…” You walked off in a bit of a daze, vaguely aware of Sungchan following you.
In the breakroom, you started preparing your coffee, and Sungchan finally spoke.
“Your new friend is the Director of Finance?” He asked through a sputtering laugh, also beginning his morning restock of the coffee station.
“I didn’t know!” You insisted, well aware of whiny you sounded.
“How did you meet her again?”
“In the cafeteria! We ate lunch together one day, and just kept getting lunch sometimes. She calls me when she wants to get lunch, the phone just shows her name.”
“Her email would’ve shown her title.”
“I mean, I could tell she was a little older than us, but I didn’t think she was a Director! Seriously!”
He was clearly still relishing in the humor of the situation, putting sugar packets in the caddy as you plucked a couple out. “You totally would’ve killed the vibe inviting essentially everybody’s boss to drinks.”
“Good thing I didn’t, then,” you pointed out with an eyeroll, going to the fridge for the creamer.
“What do you even have in common with the Director of Finance?” He wondered aloud, grabbing the fridge door as you went to slam it shut, lifting each of the bottles of flavored creamers to feel how full they were.
“Obviously, that’s not really what we talk about! We talk about other stuff!” You huffed. “She’s soulbound too.”
“I’m assuming she’s soulbound to the head of Legal or something then, right?”
“Her sister works from home as a digital artist.”
“You know, you’ve never mentioned you met someone that’s soulbound.”
“I haven’t?” You echoed noncommittally, stirring everything into your coffee cup.
“First person we’ve ever met that’s soulbound and you forgot to tell me?” He said doubtfully. “I know you’re not stupid, Y/N.”
“Aw, thanks, Channie,” you snipped back sarcastically, putting the creamer away as he still had the fridge open, checking the sodas that were kept in there now.
“What’d she say?” Sungchan asked in the same casual tone of voice that he had been conducting the conversation the whole time. “That freaked you out so bad you didn’t want to tell me?”
You swallowed, then sighed. “Not now. Later, at home. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed easily. “After drinks tonight. If you’re not drunk again.”
“We need someone else to make it even,” Donghyuck declared, looking around the bar. He had been playing pool with Lee Jeno from the fifth floor and waved you over when he saw you awkwardly standing alone after Mark had left you to get another drink. You were still slowly, very slowly, working on your first one, which was honestly mostly melted ice at this point.
You also looked around, making eye contact with Sungchan sitting by himself at the end of the bar. He had excused himself to the restroom last you saw him, and was now freshly topped up with something.
“Sungchan’s back,” you suggested brightly, already starting to raise your hand to get his attention.
Donghyuck pivoted in front of you, blocking Sungchan from your view. “I was thinking somebody generally pleasant to be around. Like… literally any of our other coworkers.”
Jeno was across the pool table from you two, and having missed last month’s outing entirely, was not privy to the scene that Sungchan intentionally caused. He now tilted his head in confusion at the conversation unfolding before him. “What’s wrong with the new copy guy? He seems fine to me.”
“It was a misunderstanding, Donghyuck! I already told you!” You insisted. “He only did all that because I wanted to go home! He’ll be perfectly cool this time, I swear!”
“Ignore him. Go get your boyfriend, Y/N,” Jeno directed you in a reassuring tone.
“He’s not my—What?! Sungchan’s not my boyfriend. We’re soulbound.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He held his hands up. “I just—”
“It’s fine, Jeno, you didn’t know,” you brushed off his apology, veering around Donghyuck and beelining for the bar.
Sungchan was still in the same seat, sipping on his drink as he was preoccupied on his phone. He looked up as you stopped to lean next to him. “Oh, hey. What was that?”
“Two things—No, three things, actually,” you said, holding up three fingers. “One, we’ve got to start telling everybody we ever talk to at work that we’re soulbound. Lee Jeno just called you my boyfriend because he didn’t know.”
“You want to date Lee Jeno?”
You blinked at him. “When did I say that?”
“You’re upset that he thought we were dating.”
“No, the problem isn’t that he thought that, it’s that anybody thought that. Because it’s not true and—!”
“So the problem is that it’s not true?”
“Are you drunk? Do we need to go home?” You grabbed his glass and sniffed it. It didn’t even have the faintest smell of alcohol, just the sugary sweet fizzle of soda.
“It’s soda,” he drawled, watching you taste test from the rim just in case. “You’re just being paranoid about your coworkers’ perception of you again.”
Definitely soda. You put his glass down, and he pulled it back over to himself to take a long swig from the straw. Opting to just move on, you said, “Whatever. Two, we need a fourth person to play pool. Do you want to?”
“Sure.” He nodded, then added knowingly, “I have a feeling I’m not on Donghyuck’s team.”
“That’s what three is about—I know you don’t care what any of these people think about you, and I really wish I could be like you in that way, but unfortunately, I’m not. And not only do I care what they think of me, but I care what they think of you. And because of the nice thing that you did for me last time, now they all think you’re a huge asshole,” you rambled in a hurry, feeling the impending clock ticking of Donghyuck and Jeno waiting for you. Squeezing Sungchan’s forearm, you pleaded, “So can you please be like, the coolest and chillest that you’ve ever been in your whole life during this pool game?”
Sungchan immediately burst into chuckles, an amused but oddly soft smile on his features as he keeled forward a little and patted your hand that was on his arm. “Alright, alright. You make it sound so life-or-death, you know? Fine, I’ll make them like me since it’s apparently causing you so much agony.”
He stood up, grabbing his soda and nudging you back in the direction of the pool tables. You whispered a ‘thank you!’ under your breath before taking off, knowing that he’d be right behind you.
“Got him!” You announced brightly as you returned to the pool table, stopping by where you had left your drink on a coaster on the edge. “Donghyuck, you remember Sungchan. Sungchan, this is Lee Jeno, from the fifth floor.”
“Hey, man, nice to meet you,” Sungchan offered his hand to Jeno with a wide, charismatic smile. “Y/N and I are soulbound, by the way. Always like to uh, get that out of the way. Since we’re still new, we never know who at the company knows and who doesn’t.”
Jeno nodded slowly as he shook Sungchan’s hand. “I heard, yeah. Crazy stuff. It’s nice to meet you too, Sungchan. I’ve seen you around, running errands, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked.”
“No, I don’t think so.” He turned to Donghyuck next, also offering a hand out for a handshake. “Good to see you again, Donghyuck.”
“Yeah, you too,” Donghyuck accepted it with a poorly disguised air of suspicion.
Sungchan clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, and you quickly bit your small plastic stirring straws in your drink to avoid laughing at Donghyuck’s alarmed look. He clearly thought he was getting pranked, or the world was ending, or Sungchan was on something.
“So, how do we want to do teams?” Jeno asked, passing out pool cues. “Has anybody not played before?”
“I haven’t played since I was… What, ten?” You scrunched your nose thoughtfully, turning to Sungchan with your question. “Was that when your family got rid of the pool table?”
“I banned you from using it when we were ten,” Sungchan reminded you. “We didn’t actually get rid of it until we were twelve.”
“Oh yeah, because I accidentally shot a pool ball into your eye and gave you a black eye.”
“You’re still claiming it was an accident?”
“It was! How could I have purposefully angled a pool cue to hit it in such a way that it would have flown up off the table directly into your eye? You think I was that good at physics at ten?”
“Fair point, you’ve never been that good at physics or pool.”
“That would hurt if I prided myself on either of those things, which I don’t,” you said smugly, pointing your pool cue at him.
He covered the end of your pool cue with his hand, pushing it away from his face as the corner of his lips curled with amusement. “Careful with that thing. I don’t want to lose my eye for real this time.”
Someone cleared their throat, and you suddenly remembered that two of your coworkers were there too. Jeno said, “Hyuck’s about as good as a ten-year-old too. So if you’re not bad, Sungchan, we can split them between us.”
“Yeah, I’ll take Y/N,” Sungchan agreed.
Sungchan, it turned out, wasn’t much better at pool than you. It seemed as though he hadn’t played since his family got rid of their pool table in the basement when you all were twelve. But you were having fun, and thankfully, were doing better to keep the pool balls on the table as opposed to accidentally launching them up at people’s faces.
Jeno and Donghyuck won, on no part of Donghyuck’s, but he was still celebrating heartily, high-fiving both of Jeno’s hands in rapid succession. “I’ll get us all the next round!” He announced, already walking backwards towards the bar.
You went to open your mouth to let him know that you didn’t want another drink, but Sungchan spoke up first.
“I’ll come with,” he offered, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as he went to follow your coworker.
Donghyuck didn’t protest, and the two of them sauntered up to the bar together. Jeno started taking the pool balls back out of the pockets, and you went to help him, digging into the one closest to you first.
“Switch teams this time?” Jeno suggested, rolling a yellow out into the center.
“I think you could beat the three of us with your eyes closed,” you snorted. “Do you hustle people in your off time?”
“You can be on my team.”
“I’m listening.”
Hyuck and Sungchan returned then, each with two drinks in hand. Sungchan gave you yours before reaching around you to set his down on his coaster. As he leaned in near you, he murmured, “It’s just soda water and cranberry juice.”
“Thanks, Sungchan,” you smiled up at him genuinely, lifting the glass to your mouth to take a sip.
Donghyuck rubbed his hands together excitedly. “So, rematch? Or—”
“I’m on Jeno’s team!” You declared loudly, sauntering over to the other side of the pool table with your drink and cue.
“Wait, hold on—”
“Y/N’s on my team this round,” Jeno confirmed, pushing Donghyuck out of the way to rack up. “We’re solids.”
Giving your coworkers all one final wave by the front door, you and Sungchan ducked out into the night. You didn’t argue when he went to hail a taxi for you two, happily humming the song that had been playing over the speakers when you left the bar to yourself as you waited. One finally pulled over, and you climbed into the backseat together.
“I think that was a success,” Sungchan said after giving the driver your address. “What do you think? Do they like me?”
“Donghyuck didn’t want you to go after pool,” you giggled as you remembered the way that the slightly tipsy man had clung onto Sungchan’s arm when you all started your goodbyes. “And Mark’s always liked you.”
“Mark’s always been nice to me, because he’s just like that,” Sungchan corrected you.
“Okay, fair. But I think he likes you now,” you reassured him. “Jeno too. And Renjun.”
“Are you happy now that my reputation has been restored? You’re no longer soulbound to the biggest asshole in the office.”
You frowned. “That’s not what bothered me. Everyone thought you were an asshole, but you’re not. You only acted like that in the first place to help me. It wasn’t true.”
“Whatever weird reason you had for it, I had fun tonight.”
“Me too,” you agreed. “Even though we made an awful pool team.”
“Yeah, we were terrible,” he snickered.
At your apartment, you stopped in the entryway past the door, preparing to take your shoes off as you always did. Sungchan stopping next to you gave you pause, however.
“You can go on without me,” you waved him off. “I know how to get to my room; I only had one drink.”
He stuck his arm out wordlessly, looking between you and your shoes. Usually, you just leaned against the wall to not topple over when doing this coming home alone after work.
“Oh, thanks.” You grabbed his arm for stability, easily pulling off your first shoe, then the other.
“Don’t forget,” he said from behind you as the two of you headed for your rooms. “You’re supposed to tell me about whatever Han Sooyoung said to you.”
“I know, I know.” You leaned back against your closed door, letting your head loll to one side lazily. “Can I at least get out of my work clothes that smell like the bar first? And maybe shower or something?”
Sungchan sighed, “If you’re tired—”
“I didn’t say that. I asked if I could get out of my yucky bar clothes and shower. Don’t you want to de-yuckify too? Or did you plan on sleeping like that?”
“Actually, you’re right, you should go shower.” He wrinkled his nose before pretending to plug it. “I can smell you from here.”
“Dick,” you hissed, smacking his arm. “Remember that summer you refused to pay to get the A/C in your car fixed and I still had to go to the gym with you six days a week? I deserve financial compensation for that, honestly.”
“We could’ve taken your car.”
“I had fabric seats! Your gym sweat would have permanently seeped into my car!”
Sungchan dropped his hand from his nose and pushed his hair out of his face as he started laughing. “We got into the stupidest fucking fights.”
“Yeah, we did,” you agreed quietly.
“Go shower.” He shooed you with one hand as the other reached for his doorhandle. “We both should. We stink.”
“I know you do,” you teased, slipping into your room.
Freshened up, you found Sungchan already in the living room, reclined in the middle of the couch with his head tipped back against the cushions, eyes shut and arms stretched out along the back of the furniture.
“Alright, make some room,” you announced your arrival, lightly swatting at one of his spread-out thighs. The two of you didn’t have an armchair or another piece of furniture to sit on yet, not even a coffee table.
Sungchan grumbled, but nevertheless scooted further towards one corner to open up the other half for you to sit down on as well. He opened his eyes to settle his gaze on you, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Well?”
“I wasn’t hiding Sooyoung from you on purpose—I think—I don’t know, maybe I was.” Your preface quickly fell apart. You folded your arms across your chest, pressing yourself as far back into the arm of the couch as you could, propping your legs up in between you as well. You needed space as you sorted through your muddied thoughts on the subject. “She and Soojin are Type 1A.”
“Makes sense.” He turned his body around towards you, mirroring your position but a lot more open, elbows resting on his knees and fingers laced loosely between his legs.
“She approached me in the cafeteria because she heard that we were soulbound.” You took a deep breath. “Anyway, we were talking about soulbound stuff and I mentioned when we used to be able to feel the same stuff. Remember that? You would scrape your knee or something and I’d start crying too.”
He nodded. “Dr. Park said it was a phase.”
“I know. But Sooyoung said…” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you tried to gauge his reaction so far. His expression hadn’t changed at all, calmly listening to everything. “She and Soojin have apparently always felt each other’s emotions like that. They never outgrew it.”
“Yeah, but we’re not—”
“That’s what I said—We’re Type 2. But Sooyoung’s met another Type 2 pair and they were still like her and Soojin. She said she’s never heard of a pair of any type ‘outgrowing’ it.”
Sungchan’s eyes closed again as he slowly nodded, taking his time to absorb what you said. He squinted his eyes back open one at a time before asking, “Remember when we were convinced we had superpowers as kids because we were Type 2?”
“Ha, yeah,” you chuckled lightly, rubbing your upper arms.
“We were just guessing, right?” He pointed out. “Dr. Park was just guessing when she said it was a phase, and Sooyoung’s just guessing that it’s not supposed to be a phase. Soulbound people are barely studied as-is, and all of it’s been done on Type 1s, there’s no way to know what we’re supposed to be like. We’re lucky souLOXin even works for us.”
“Good point,” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck.
“If not being able to feel each other’s emotions was going to kill us, I think it would’ve happened when we were six.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” you sighed. “I just… The look on Sooyoung’s face when I said it freaked me out. Like, we’re already weird for being soulbound, then even more weird because we’re Type 2, then it turns out there’s something even weirder about us?”
“I keep telling you—” He poked your shin with his foot, and you wrinkled your nose at him. “You worry about what other people think of you way too much.”
“But if I listened to you, wouldn’t I still be worrying about what other people think of me? Since I’d be worrying about what you think of me?”
Sungchan clicked his tongue. “I’m the one person you should worry about. Forget everyone else.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. Guaranteed.”
You laughed. “That’s true. One problem with that, Sungchan.”
“Hm?”
“You’re the one person whose opinion I’ve never cared about,” you grinned, poking him back with your foot.
“Yeah, I know,” he scoffed, catching your ankle and yanking you towards him.
You yelped as you were suddenly flat on your back on the couch. Pushing your other foot flat against Sungchan’s chest to keep him away was futile as he just grabbed that ankle too and knocked it out of his way. He had a smirk on his face as he got up on his knees on the couch cushions. You were giggling as you tried to fight back with your hands instead, only succeeding in getting both of them trapped in the grasp of one of his. He let out a sharp laugh as he swung a knee over to straddle your thighs and keep you from trying to kick him again. You were still squirming a little, though your squeals were quickly fading as you looked up at him looming over you.
He had a breathless, cocky smile on his face as he shamelessly appraised the visage of you beneath him, another airy chuckle escaping his lips. “You totally like this.”
“So do you,” you breathed out.
“You should see the dopey grin on your face right now.”
“I must be looking in a mirror then.”
Sungchan cocked his head. “Why did it bother you so much that Jeno thought we were dating?”
“You’re asking that now?” You indicated to your current positions, a bit flabbergasted. You reminded him with a huff, “Also, I already told you.”
“Yeah, because it’s not true.” He frowned down at you, all playfulness gone from his features now. “Do you still hate me?”
“What?” You tried to sit up, but Sungchan didn’t budge, so you just flopped right back down. “I must hate you because I don’t want our coworkers to think we’re dating? Which we aren’t?”
“It was just a misunderstanding, but you were acting like the sky was falling.”
“Like you are now?”
“I don’t get it.”
“And I don’t get you,” you retorted. “Why do you even care? You never care about what people think of you.”
“I care about what you think,” he said, not a hint of sarcasm, teasing, or malice in his voice.
“Wh…” You trailed off, staring up at Sungchan, at an utter loss for words. “Since when?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. College maybe, or after, maybe when you almost killed me to get a job.”
“Channie—”
Then, all at once, Sungchan climbed off of you, standing up from the couch and stretching. “It’s late and we both drank tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.”
You rubbed your wrists that he had just let go of, pushing yourself up on your elbow as you stared at him incredulously. “Okay…”
“Night, Y/N.” He ruffled your hair, though the gesture felt oddly hollow because his touch was fleeting, not trying to muss it up as much as he usually would have. He let out a very loud yawn as he headed for the hallway. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Night, Sungchan…” You muttered back, watching him disappear into his room, still trying to process all the sharp turns tonight had taken.
Monday morning you were sifting through your email when your desk phone rang. Han Sooyoung.
“This is Y/N,” you answered, tapping an anxious rhythm on your mouse.
“Morning!” Sooyoung chirped on the other end of the line. “Lunch today?”
“Oh, uhm…” You looked around, unsure of what to say. It felt hard to outright decline a director now, but also extremely inappropriate to continue such a casual relationship with one.
“Is everything okay?” She asked. “If you’re too busy, that’s totally fine, we can do a raincheck.”
The words came out before you could stop them. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re the Director of Finance?”
“Oh.” She paused. “I guess… it didn’t seem important. That wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
You let out a half-sigh, half-groan, rubbing your forehead.
“Are you mad at me?”
You laughed cynically. “No. It’s really the least of my problems right now.”
“Well… do you want to talk about all those other problems over lunch?” She proposed. “My treat?”
“I’m going out to lunch,” you said in lieu of greeting when you encountered Sungchan in the copy room later that morning. “It’s just around the corner, so you should be fine here.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, shutting the first paper drawer of the copier he had been refilling. “Have fun, then.”
“I would’ve invited you, but Sooyoung’s paying and that would be bad form, right?”
Sungchan shook his head, but there was an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Have you told her you know her real identity?”
“Yeah. I’m over it, for the most part.”
“Speaking of plans—” He paused to rip open another pack of paper. “Mark invited us to play basketball at his place after work Wednesday.”
“Us?”
“Mm-hm. That’s what I said, right?”
You arched an eyebrow as you continued watching him fill the copy machine. “I’m just trying to remember when I’ve talked to Mark about my undying love for basketball.”
“Okay, so the invite’s mainly for me, but obviously—”
“Wait, since when are you friends with Mark?”
“I work here too?”
“Yeah but…”
“But what?”
“But you’re…” You trailed off as you tried to both talk and assimilate this new information at the same time.
He crumpled the paper wrapper into a ball and pegged it into the wastebasket next to the copier before standing up straight. “I’m… what? Just a gofer?”
“No, Sungchan, that’s not what I meant!” You immediately defended yourself against his jibe.
“An extension of you? Only got a job so they could hire you?” He continued his snippy taunts.
“Stop it! You know that’s not what I was going to say!”
“Well you can’t seem to say it, so I’m just trying to help.”
“God, can you stop being so defensive for five seconds so we can have a fucking conversation?” You were seeing red, balling your hands into fists down by your side as it took every shred of self-control to keep your voice quiet enough that hopefully the entire floor couldn’t hear you yelling at Sungchan right now. “I was trying to say you’re always so busy running around doing things when you’re here, I didn’t realize you and Mark were like, office buddies or whatever. God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Sungchan faltered, all coarse, biting sarcasm falling from his face as his jaw dropped. “Y/N—”
“You keep saying we can’t hate each other anymore, but you won’t let me! It’s like you’re allowed to grow and change but I’m not, and I’m fucking sick of it!” You weren’t done, and you definitely didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say next. “So no! I don’t want to go to basketball! Might as well embrace being the cold-hearted bitch you’ve pigeonholed me as!”
You stormed out of the copy room. A quick glance at your computer told you that it was almost time for your team meeting. You snatched up your notebook and folder, heading off towards the conference room.
“Oh! Before I forget—” Sooyoung perked up from across the booth table. “Soojin and I are hosting a little get-together for all the soulbound people we know in a couple months. It’ll be at our place, just a casual, potluck thing. You and Sungchan are invited, obviously. We don’t have an exact date yet, but just to put it on your radar!”
You couldn’t even muster up a fake thank-you and smile, instead groaning and dropping your face into your hands at the mention of Sungchan, and being soulbound, and specifically being soulbound to Sungchan.
“I just stumbled into all your other problems, didn’t I?” She asked knowingly.
“Yeah,” you mumbled, nodding your head in your hands.
“Well, come on, tell me,” she encouraged you. “I’m all ears.”
You tried to explain your current predicament as articulately as possible, while also not taking up your entire lunch break. Sooyoung listened attentively, sipping on her drink and nodding.
“I just don’t know what he wants from me,” you finished with a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and plopping back against the booth.
Your friend leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and folding her arms delicately over each other. “What do you want from him?”
“I—Uhm…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “That other Type 2 pair that you know—What are they like? Are they kinda like you and Soojin? Or are they like best friends or something?”
“They’re soulbound. I don’t think they really call it anything else.” She took another drink. “Sungchan’s being a bit of a dick, but he’s right about one thing; you worry a lot about what other people think.”
You gestured to her empty ring finger. “You’re not married.”
“No, I’m not,” she agreed placidly. “We both know that dating when you’re soulbound has… unique challenges.”
“Everyone used to say we fought like siblings, or assumed that we must be like siblings because we were soulbound. But Sungchan’s never felt like my brother. He’s always just been Sungchan.” You shrugged. “An inevitable fact of my life. Nobody knows me better than him, and vice versa. For better and for worse. And for most of our lives, it’s been for worse.”
“But lately, it’s been better? Until today, of course.”
“Yeah, it really has been. He’s been great, but at the same time it feels like he still sort of expects the worst of me.”
“Like he hasn’t completely let go of how you used to treat each other.”
“I guess,” you huffed, dropping your cheek to your chin. “He’ll be all cool and fun and thoughtful to me, but then he can never let me be nice to him. And I just seriously don’t know what he wants from me.”
The waiter came by with your food then, and after taking your first few bites, Sooyoung spoke up again. “You still haven’t told me… What do you want from him?”
“I—” You cut yourself off with a disbelieving chuckle. “I was about to say, ‘I want more.’ But we already literally share a soul; how much more is there?”
Sooyoung’s lips twitched with amusement too, but she seemed to understand you nevertheless. “You want something different.”
“Yeah, that’s one word for it.” You took another bite of your food, and to your relief, she didn’t push you on the topic any further. Instead, your conversation veered into other subjects, work, books she had read recently, a show you were watching, easy things.
At the end of the day, you briefly contemplated pretending to have work in order to stay late and not walk home with Sungchan, but also that would involve staying at work late, which sounded marginally worse in that moment. So with a sigh, you saved the document on your screen and logged out of your computer. You didn’t have to go looking for Sungchan, he was already heading towards your desk as you pushed your chair in and shouldered your purse.
He was silent in the elevator with your other coworkers, as he held the lobby door open for you, throughout the entire walk home, and in the elevator with some of your neighbors. It was as soon as your front door shut that he opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
You rolled your eyes as you leaned against the wall to pull your boots off, knowing that he couldn’t see it from behind you. “For?”
“What I said in the copy room earlier.”
You turned around, holding your opposite arm with one hand, your shoes in your free hand that was hanging down by your side. “Have other people said that about you? At work?”
“No.”
“Then… Is that really how you see me? That I-I think those things about you? Or could think those things about anybody?”
“No! No!” His eyes widened, panicked, hands waving in front of him hurriedly as he took a step forward. You took a step back. He stopped in his tracks, pulling his hands back closer to himself. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
“I don’t believe you,” you said quietly. “Leave me alone tonight, okay?”
“I—Okay.” He watched you walk away, then after a beat, called out shakily, “Am I still making dinner?”
“I have leftovers.”
“Right. Okay.”
Sungchan wasn’t working the next day, and you were glad when he kept himself scarce in the morning while you were getting ready. Unfortunately, however, that was possibly the only good thing about that morning. You had turned off your alarm in your sleep, woke up with barely enough time to take a much-needed shower, were so disoriented while you were taking the aforementioned shower that you did your routine completely out of order and kept dropping all the bottles on your toes, and stumbled off the elevator into work almost twenty minutes late. As you were leaving the apartment, you hardly registered the note on the whiteboard on the front door that Sungchan was at the gym.
Being twenty minutes late gave you just enough time to grab your materials for your meeting that was in ten minutes and hustle across the entire building to the opposite side of the floor to the conference room—no time for your morning coffee. After that, you had back-to-back meetings and couldn’t even think about opening your email until noon, where you were of course greeted by an onslaught of urgent issues that needed to be dealt with ASAP. You waved off the invite to lunch from your coworkers, mindlessly lifting your blessed first cup of coffee to your lips, not even tasting it as you were focused on your computer screen.
The first time you swore you breathed was when the coffee cup was drained, and everything was no longer on fire in your inbox. You were contemplating whether to pop down to the cafeteria to grab something to bring back to your desk, or just get another cup of coffee and power through when the elevator dinged and someone stepped off, heading towards your desk. Figuring that it was Mark and the others back from lunch already, you glanced over, doing a double-take at who it actually was.
“You’re not scheduled today,” you told Sungchan plainly, eyeing his casual outfit of a hoodie, jeans, and backwards baseball cap. Very clearly off-the-clock attire.
“Lunch?” He suggested, and despite his casual posture with his hands stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the waver in his voice and the way he squinted one eye belied his nerves. Obviously you two were on… uncertain terms at best right now.
You pursed your lips and gestured to your computer. “I’ve got so much to do—”
“I figured, Mark told me you didn’t go to lunch with them.” Sungchan shrugged off a bag that you hadn’t even noticed he had slung over one shoulder. “That’s why I brought you food.”
“Oh, Channie…” You breathed out as he handed you a lunchbox from inside the bag.
He shouldered it again, turning to leave. “See you at home.”
“Wait, I can take ten minutes to eat.” You offered. “If you want to stay.”
He beamed. “Of course.”
The two of you went to the rooftop, where a lounge area for employees had been set up with tables, chairs, and various greenery around. You eagerly dug into the bento that Sungchan had prepared for you, much hungrier than you had realized. Sungchan had no meal of his own, obviously not planning on you inviting him to stay with you, but he seemed quite content to sit across the table from you and silently watch the city.
When you were no longer completely starving, you finally slowed down enough to talk. “Thanks, Sungchan.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.” He belatedly accepted your thanks, pulling his gaze back and turning his head over to you, as if he weren’t even expecting you to speak to him.
“Do I take it too far sometimes? When I tease you?” You asked, brows furrowed together tightly.
“What? No, never,” he assured you adamantly. “You were right, I-I was using you to focus my own insecurity. I told myself that you probably thought all that stuff, but it was all coming from me, not you.”
“I wish the me in your head would be kinder to you,” you said, blinking away the tears in your waterline that you told yourself were thanks to the wind. “When I think about you when you’re not here, I think about what we’re going to have for dinner, or try to guess what you’re doing at the moment, or about wherever we’re going this weekend.”
Sungchan looked down guiltily, picking at the skin around his nails. “I’m afraid—I don’t want you to be stuck to a-a loser for your whole life, you know? You’re so smart, and you have all these ambitions, and you’ve started your dream career. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Sungchan.” You set your utensils down, squaring your shoulders. “You quit your job, uprooted your entire life, and moved to a new city for my dream career. How could you possibly think you’re holding me back in any way? And stop calling yourself a loser! Or just a gofer! Or anything else! I’ve literally never seen you sit down at work, and when you’re not at work, you do everything at our apartment. I don’t think I even know how to operate our laundry machines!”
“I have the time…”
“Do you know how quickly I’d get burnt out if I was doing all the work I did here and all the stuff that you do at home by myself? Without you?” You continued. “You are not holding me back. You’re why I can do this at all, okay? And not just because we’re soulbound and I physically need you nearby, but you make everything else easier.”
He smiled softly, a little bittersweet, and dropped his hands to his lap. “I’m sorry, Y/N. So, so sorry.”
“I forgive you.” You pick your utensils back up and start gathering your next bite of food to look away from him, to break the heavy moment. Clearing your throat, you asked lightly, “So, basketball is tomorrow?”
“I mean, I already told Mark we weren’t going to make it—”
“Tell him our plans changed and see if the offer’s still on,” you encouraged him. “I did tell your mom I’d let you out for exercise.”
“Kind of feels like you’re arranging a playdate for me right now.”
You reached across the table to teasingly tweak his cheek as you cooed, “You need to make friends, sweetie. I’m worried about you.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I bite.”
“Promise?”
“We’re at work,” he snickered, in the same tone as when you were outside the library.
“You offered,” you tutted, withdrawing your hand and picking up your utensil again.
The indoor basketball court at Mark’s place was nice, just like the pictures you and Sungchan had looked at before. You sat on the small set of bleachers pushed up against one wall of the court as they played, grunts, shouts, and sneaker squeaks echoing around while your attention was on your phone.
A cacophony of shouts of your name and presumably the word ‘duck!’ caught your attention, and your head snapped up just in time to spot a basketball headed straight for your face. You hit the deck, pitching yourself to the floor between the seats of the stands as the ball flew right over where you had been sitting and bounced off the wall behind you.
“Shit, Y/N, you alright?” Sungchan leaned down over where you were still lying between the bleachers.
“Busted my elbow I think,” you groaned, accepting his hand up and maneuvering back up into a sitting position to inspect the wounded area. “I’ll live, thanks.”
“Nice reflexes!” Zhong Chenle, one of Mark’s neighbors that had joined the game, called from the far end of the court with a big thumbs up.
“Sorry, Y/N!” Mark yelled as he was still chasing down the basketball.
Sungchan took your arm and turned it over. Despite the awkward angle that it put your shoulder at, you let him. He inspected the area, and presumably upon seeing no split skin or blood, he clicked his tongue and nodded. “You’ll live.”
“Thank God. I really did see the light at the end of the tunnel for a second there.”
“Want to learn how to shoot?”
You cocked your head as you looked up at him strangely. “Aren’t you like… in the middle of something right now?”
“We’re taking a break.” He grabbed his water bottle from his bag by your feet, taking a swig.
It was then that you took stock of the court and realized that quite a few of the other players were missing, while others were getting water and chatting by their own bags.
“I mean, from what I’ve heard, I don’t think I should really be learning from you…”
“I actually get 100% better when I’m showing off, you know.” He crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. “The fact that you’ve been focusing on your phone has really been hurting my game.”
“A hundred times zero is still zero,” you teased, but stood up nevertheless, looking at him expectantly.
He rolled his eyes as he turned on his heel, leading the way onto the court. The ball had been left in the middle, and he picked it up, guiding you towards the hoop devoid of your coworkers. Sungchan talked through the basics of shooting a free throw, finishing off his explanation by doing one himself. You watched the orange ball leave his fingertips and move in a smooth arc through the air, swishing cleanly through the net.
You clapped politely for him as he fetched the ball at a light jog. “Wow, Channie. You really do get better when you’re showing off.”
He shrugged and smirked cockily, stopping in front of you to deposit the basketball into your hands. “Your turn.”
When he still hadn’t moved after a beat, very much blocking your view of the net, you bumped him in the chest with the ball. “You mind?”
He circled around behind you, and before you could even begin positioning yourself how he had instructed, he clicked his tongue. “Wrong.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Yeah, but I know you were about to do it wrong,” he snickered, and was suddenly much closer. Both of his large hands came around to adjust exactly where your fingers were resting on the seams of the ball. “Right… there…” Sungchan murmured, breath washing over the shell of your ear as his fingertips lingered on the back of your hands.
“I don’t think you actually care very much about how well I shoot this ball,” you stated, turning your head towards him, very aware now of how close he was.
“Mm, of course I do.” His hands fell to your hips. “Bend here, and at your knees too.”
“If you teach me how to shoot a basketball, do I have to teach you how to read?”
“Might be too ambitious. You have to make this basket first.”
“Not confident in your teaching abilities?”
A throat was cleared from much further behind you, overlapped by a voice that definitely wasn’t Sungchan. “Uh, you guys know there’s other people here, right?”
Despite the white-hot embarrassment churning in your stomach, you kept your face calmly neutral as you slowly spun around to face—yep, all of your coworkers, who had been standing around watching and waiting to continue to their game for God knows how long. You were pretty sure it had been Jeno who cleared his throat while Donghyuck actually spoke.
Sungchan took the basketball back from you, innocently asking, “Water break over?”
“I can’t do lunch today by the way. Sorry,” you informed Sungchan as you reached around him to grab the toast that had just popped up. He was off today, so the two of you would usually meet up for lunch, either at a restaurant, work, or home.
Sungchan handed you the plate of eggs he’d just dished up. “That’s okay. Other lunch plans come up?”
“I’ve got a last-minute presentation to prepare for. I’m just going to have to get something from the cafeteria and eat it at my desk.” You didn’t even sit down, grabbing a fork and shoveling food into your mouth as you eyed the time on the stove clock.
“Alright, well good luck with that.” He took his own breakfast to the kitchen table. “We’re dogsitting for the Chois for the next two weeks, so I’ll probably take Apple around the block a few times and feed her.”
“The old couple in 801?” At his nod, you cocked your head questioningly. “When did we agree to that?”
“Mrs. Choi cornered me in the elevator coming home from work yesterday. Apparently, their daughter-in-law just had their first grandbaby so they’re staying with them to help out.”
“Huh.” You dropped your plate in the sink. “I’ll wash that when I get home.”
“I’ll get it.”
“Thanks Channie. Have fun with Apple!” You bent down to give him a fleeting hug as you ran out of the kitchen.
“Have fun with your presentation!” He called after you.
Truthfully, the reason why you were in such a rush to get into the office early this morning was so you could take an extra-long lunch break—not because you weren’t taking one at all. Saving your work, you slung your purse over your shoulder and hurried out of the building. Sungchan’s self-assigned birthday was this weekend, and you wanted to do something extra special.
Ever since you were kids, you and Sungchan hated having to share your birthday with each other, because you also shared classmates and friends who could only go to one party at a time if they were on the same day. Joint parties were out of the question after the age of three, leading you to also fight about which of you would get to have your party on the actual day of your birthday each year. It had become such a vitriolic topic that the only solution your parents could come up with was for neither of you to get your real birthday—each of you picking a new day in a completely different month to celebrate your own birthdays on.
Since you’d never really done anything nice for Sungchan on any of his birthdays before (without being forced to by your parents), going out of your way to do something was already astronomically kind by those metrics. But this time, you wanted to find him a really nice present. After everything he’d done for you lately, you finally had a chance to do something for him.
You knew that technically, for both your safety, you should be telling Sungchan that you were leaving work and where you were going. But this felt like a pretty safe bet to you. He’d already told you he was just going around your apartment’s block with Apple, and the shopping district you had in mind to look around in would be just on the outer edges of the safe radius for you two. And this was supposed to be a surprise, after all. Telling him that you were going to a shopping district just a few days before his birthday? That would completely give it away.
The train zipped away from the station, the city buildings rushing by the window. You smiled down at your phone as you looked once more at the pictures that Sungchan had sent you with Apple that morning. Apple was a tiny dog with curly brown fur, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth as Sungchan had clearly walked her for more than a just few laps around the block. Sungchan was grinning at the camera, holding Apple up with one hand to get her in frame. You’d been too busy to reply earlier, and did so now.
[you: don’t tell me you made poor apple do a marathon, there’s no way the chois take her further than the cornerstore]
[channie: we went around the block as promised]
[you: how many times?]
[channie: normal amount]
[channie: so what’s for lunch?]
[you: salad. you?]
A thunderclap of pain suddenly exploded through your head, and you threw a hand up to clutch your forehead as it seemed to be splitting open. At the same time, it felt like someone had reached into your abdomen, grabbed your insides, and twisted them. You couldn’t catch your breath through the sharp pressure constricting around your chest, desperately rooting around in your purse for your bottle of poppys. The longer your fruitless search went, the more panicked you became, until a horrifying realization struck you. You’d given your bottle of souLOXin to Sungchan after your interview—and you hadn’t gotten a refill since moving. Your hands were shaking as you had enough of a mind to take your phone that was in your hand, your texts with Sungchan still up on the screen, and press the call button next to his name.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady beeping of a machine woke you up. A faint, dull, persistent ache permeated your body, settled deep below your skin. You let out a sigh that turned into a guttural groan as you tried to move your limbs, immediately feeling the heaviness. You tried to open your eyes instead, having better success at that.
It took several slow blinks to clear out your blurry vision, but you finally started piecing together the scene in front of you. Your gaze landed on Sungchan first, sat in a chair next to the bed you were in—Not your bed, a hospital bed. You were in a hospital room, though it was dim, presumably nighttime.
Sungchan finally spoke, “Did you know we have the same blood type?”
That drew your attention to where his arm was laid out on the armrest of his chair, an IV taped down at his vein, the tubing looping up into a machine, coming back out and ending in your own arm. You allowed yourself a moment to process this, how serious the soulsickness must have been to require a direct blood transfusion. Then you answered Sungchan’s question with another question, “We share a soul and you’re surprised we have the same blood type?”
“Fair point.” He fidgeted with the tape over his IV, smoothing down a corner that had curled up. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit, but I’ll be fine. How-How about you?”
“I had my poppys, so it wasn’t so bad. Or, I had your poppys, actually.”
“We should be better about getting refills, huh?”
“We’re together all the time, I completely forgot…”
You squinted upon noticing a bouquet of yellow and pink carnations on a side table. “Please tell me those are from somebody else and that you did not stop to get me fucking flowers while I was dying.”
“They are from me butbutbut,” he held his hands up defensively, “I had already gotten them by the time you called. As soon as I knew what was happening, I came straight here. Promise.”
“Mm, alright,” you hummed in amusement.
“You should rest some more—”
“Wait, why were you getting flowers? For the apartment?”
He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands as he leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, Y/N.”
“No, Channie, you didn’t—”
“Yeah, I did,” he insisted, his voice clearly pained and angry with himself. “I… lied this morning, when I said that I was just going to stay around the block. When you said you’d be stuck at work all day, I wanted to do something nice to surprise you, so I left without telling you. God, it was so stupid, I thought I was close enough, I’m so sorry—”
“You got those for me?” You asked.
“Yeah, I was going to get something from that bakery you really like before it closed, too. I shouldn’t have—”
“Sungchan.”
“—on the other side of town, why did I—”
“Channie!” You clapped your hands loudly to get his attention. When he finally looked at you, eyes wide with surprise, you burst into laughter. “I lied too. I didn’t have a presentation. I was out getting you a present.”
“For… what?”
“Your birthday?”
“Oh! Fuck! With everything that happened, I completely forgot!” He ran a hand through his hair, face finally cracking into a smile.
“And it’s extra my fault for not refilling my poppys,” you added. “Really, I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“No, Y/N, it’s okay,” Sungchan reassured you, scooting his chair up closer to your bedside. “I’m just glad you’re alright. But no more surprises. For either of us.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” you chuckled. “You’ll just have to close your eyes when you come shopping with me for your birthday present then.”
“And how will I navigate the store? Echolocation?”
“As much as I’d love to see you do that, this might work better.” You slipped your hand into his.
Sungchan’s hand immediately wrapped around yours, squeezing tightly. “Maybe this year we can celebrate our real birthday? Together?”
“After all the trouble I went through trying to get you a present?” You joked, punctuated by a cough.
“All this and you didn’t even get one.” He shook his head in feigned disappointment.
“How about we celebrate all three? Your birthday, my birthday, our birthday.”
“Three parties?”
“Hell yeah. And twice the presents for each of us.”
He laughed softly. “Sounds good to me.”
You watched him fondly, the crinkle of his eyes, the curl of his lip as he smiled, the way his hair fell in his face before he reached up to push it out of the way. “I’m glad it’s you,” you admitted. “That I’m soulbound to.”
He pressed his cheek against the back of your hand. “Me too. I’m glad it wasn’t some other dumb baby in that hospital…”
“Yeah, I just got this dumb baby,” you snickered, patting his head.
“That’s right.”
A yawn escaped your mouth, and you settled back against the pillows. “Mm… I think I’m going to sleep again.”
“Okay.” He laid his head on your leg. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Of course.” You smiled as your eyes fluttered shut. “Night, Channie.”
You were released in the morning, and took the rest of the week off from work to recover fully. Much to your chagrin, Sungchan had already informed both your families of the incident. Your assurances that you were fine fell on deaf ears, as they insisted on needing to see you themselves, with the tacked-on excuse of also celebrating Sungchan’s birthday while you were all together again. That visit wasn’t until the weekend, to give you a few days’ rest and in hopes that there would be nicer weather.
A storm had been raging outside all day, the cold sheets of rain not letting up even into the evening and nighttime after dinner. The two of you had already taken poor little Apple out twice today, which is how you knew that the rain was freezing cold.
“Can’t believe we’re going back again,” you commented, scrolling through your phone as you laid on top of Sungchan’s covers, and he folded his clean clothes that were taking up the other half of the bed.
“Are you excited? Despite being pissed at the fact that I told them what happened,” he asked.
“I was more-so pissed because I know my mom is going to start nagging me about my meds again,” you huffed. “I finally got her off my back when we moved.”
“Maybe she was justified in her nagging.”
“Don’t even joke like that around her.” You pointed at him threateningly. “We both just picked up fresh refills yesterday, it’s fine.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I think it’s going to be weird.”
“What do you mean? It’s literally just our parents.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think they’re going to know what to do with us now that we’re getting along.”
“Hmm, yeah, you’re probably right.” You turned your phone off as you mulled this over. “My mom still doesn’t seem to get that we go places together instead of one of us forcing the other to come with. Like, I mentioned that we went to that farmer’s market last month to her, and she asked me what you were doing while I was at the market. I mean, we were obviously shopping together?”
“She thought you had dropped me off at daycare or something?” He snickered.
“Or left you in the car with the windows cracked? I don’t even know,” you huffed. “They’ll get over it. We’ve always been soulbound, it shouldn’t be that weird that we like each other.”
Sungchan looked over at you as he went to shut a drawer, his open mouth as he went to say something instead screwing up in pain at the same time a dull thunk was audible.
“Fuck!” You both cursed in unison. Your right index finger was throbbing, and you immediately dropped your phone to inspect it.
“What? What happened to you?” He asked as he shook out his right hand.
“My finger…” You pouted, seeing no injury to your own skin. Suddenly, you heard another drawer slam shut a split-second before pain shot through your other pointer finger. “Ow!”
“Left hand this time?” Sungchan questioned, extracting his left hand from one of his dresser drawers with a wince.
“Yes. I’m literally just sitting here, I don’t—”
“That’s what I thought.” He groaned a little as he picked up another shirt and went back to folding. “We’re feeling each other’s pain again.”
“So you purposefully slammed your finger in a drawer to test that?” You reached over to smack his arm, maybe a little too hard as you felt the sting on your own skin. “What is your problem?”
“Bit hypocritical coming from the person who went to a job interview knowing it could’ve killed me.”
You didn’t have a good rebuttal in the moment, so you just hit his arm again. He shook you off with a smirk, picking up the last article of clothing to fold. You flopped down in the middle of the wide-open bed, crossing your arms and openly glaring at him.
Sungchan put the final pair of pants away, and upon turning around to see you, held up both of his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Now come on, make some room or get squished.”
You wordlessly rolled back over to one side, staring up at the ceiling as Sungchan flopped onto his bed as well. When the sounds of him readjusting and getting comfortable under his covers had faded out into just the sounds of your breathing, you asked into the quiet, “Why now? Why do you think it came back?”
“I don’t know.” He breathed out, then added jokingly, “Want to go see Dr. Park while we’re home?”
“I’m sure she’d just say it was another phase,” you snickered. “But this better be it, I don’t want whatever Type Ones have got going on.”
“It does sound like it’d be overwhelming.”
A flash of lightning illuminated the edges of the curtains, followed closely by a crack of thunder so loud you jumped a little.
“Need to hide under the covers again?” Sungchan asked through barely concealed laughter, holding up the blankets next to him.
“If I recall correctly, you were the one who couldn’t sleep alone during those storms,” you argued, but slipped under the blankets anyway.
Sungchan did, in fact, pull them over your heads, swallowing you up in darkness. “Yeah, because I could tell you were scared and I knew you wouldn’t ask—”
“Oh, you’re such a liar!” You blindly reached out to push on his chest indignantly, pretty much hitting your target.
He laughed as he used his free hand to try to grab your hands, his other still preoccupied with holding the covers up off your faces. He successfully secured one, “Alright, hold on. Doctor hasn’t cleared you for rough-housing yet.”
“That just means you can’t fight back.” Your eyes were adjusting to the light, and you aimed for his side this time to tickle him.
The sheets were dropped as he went to protect his sides, and you were momentarily sightless again as the cloth entirely obscured your vision. Sungchan took advantage of your incapacitation to (gently) wrestle you off of him and back to your side. You were laughing too much to fight back now, half-heartedly hitting his hands or arms as he grabbed you. He was laughing too, the light, breathy sounds mixing with your own.
“Channie,” you went to get his attention as the playful moment subsided. You couldn’t tell who was holding whose hands at this point, one of his legs half on top of yours as if he were preparing to hold you down at a moment’s notice.
“Hm?” He hummed back inquisitively.
“When you picture your life in ten years, what does it look like?”
“Well… You’re there…” He paused to think for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m with you. The rest… I don’t know. Depends on how this career thing goes for you. Maybe you’ll have gotten a really good promotion by then and we’ll be in an even nicer place. Or maybe you’ll have an early midlife crisis and we’ll become farmers or something.”
“I want something different,” you blurted out, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that his words brought.
“I mean, I guess we could do something else. Beekeeping?”
“No, not in our hypothetical life after I have an early midlife crisis.” You swallowed down the lump growing in your throat. “Now. I mean, I know we’re soulbound, so there’s not much more we can be, but I want this to be different.”
“Different how…?” He asked lowly.
You took one of his hands that you were already holding and pulled it to your cheek. “I’m not kidding this time, Sungchan.”
“I never was,” he murmured, thumb running over your cheekbone gently.
Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, deliberate kiss. Everything from your head to your toes was buzzing, and you melted into him immediately. Sungchan kept the kiss short, eyes scanning your face as soon as he broke it.
You couldn’t help but snicker a little. “That’s it? After all that talk?”
Sungchan narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re a menace,” he declared before claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. Using the leg that was already over yours as leverage, he flipped you onto your back, holding you in place with a knee on either side of you.
“Your menace,” you laughed into his mouth, twisting the hair at the nape of his neck around your finger. “Forever.”
The smile on his face as he looked down at you was far from annoyed, overly fond and tender as he laced his fingers with yours. “Yeah, I know.”
⇢ word count: 12.0k
⇢ genre & warnings: christmas and new year’s-themed, boarding school au, gym teacher!sungchan & history teacher!reader, fluff, some hurt/comfort, coworkers to lovers, almost everyone’s family is dead and/or sucks sorry
⇢ synopsis: in which you and sungchan are tasked with watching over the three students at moorehead prep who aren’t going home for the month-long winter break. while the two of you work together to try to make the best of it for the kids, you can’t help but get even closer than expected
⇢ extra info: this is part of my 2025 hallmark movie marathon, four short, unrelated fics starring sungchan all with cheesy hallmark christmas movie-esque premises. there’s no continuing plotline between fics in this series, they’re all standalone fics
⇢ author’s note: stole the title from the movie with the same premise
⇢ 2025 hallmark movie marathon
“Okay, I definitely feel a lot better knowing I’m not doing this with another rookie.”
“I’ll take you under my wing. Promise.” He grinned, and oddly enough, his confidence actually did calm your anxiety about the whole thing.
“Bye, Ms. Y/L/N!” Your student gave you a cheery wave and goodbye as he climbed into his parents’ car. You fondly waved back to him and his family, watching until the vehicle was out of sight far beyond the school's drive.
Moorehead Prep, the boarding school that you worked and lived at, had released their students for the winter holidays, and he was the last one to be picked up. Almost all of the other staff who lived on-campus had already left as well. Only those who would be staying for the duration of the break remained. You were staying with one other staff member to watch over the handful of students who were not going home.
The empty, silent halls were eerie; you were used to them being filled with the boisterous raucous of young boys. Even on the weekends during term when they were at extracurriculars, playing outside, or visiting nearby family, it was never this quiet. Large swaths of the building had been shut off completely to make it more manageable for you to keep an eye on the children. As you walked by the one common room left open, you spotted two of your three charges reading by the fireplace.
Leaning in the doorway, you watched them for a moment fondly. The eldest, thirteen-year-old Dogyun, was sprawled across an armchair with his favorite graphic novel in hand. He fidgeted with a bandage on his left earlobe from where he’d tried to pierce his own ears just a couple days ago with a sewing needle pocketed from home economics class. Sungmin appeared to be trying to get ahead on the assigned reading for your class for next term, his history textbook propped up against the bricks marking the outer edge of the fireplace and his feet kicked up behind him as he laid on his stomach on the plush rug. Sungmin was also new to the school like you, three grades below Dogyun but four years younger, a bit small for his age and with big eyes that only served to make him look even younger.
“Sungmin,” you announced your presence, walking over towards the boys. Their heads snapped up towards you, and Sungmin gave you a sheepish look as you kneeled down next to him to gesture to his book. “We are officially on break now. This can wait.”
“I tried to tell him,” Dogyun huffed, flipping a page.
“Sorry, Ms. Y/L/N,” Sungmin muttered.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” you assured him. “I just want you to be able to enjoy your time off school, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Also, I know the headmaster said that anytime you’re on school grounds, you have to be in uniform, even on break…” You eyed the tidy uniforms that they were still wearing—although Dogyun’s tie was a little askew as usual. “But I say don’t worry about it for now. It’ll be our little secret, hm?”
Huge grins broke out on both their faces.
“Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N!” “Thanks!”
You glanced around. “Either of you know where Junhyuk is?”
Junhyuk was your third and final student that you were responsible for over the break, a twelve-year-old honor roll student and Dogyun’s roommate and best friend. They were typically fused at the hip and causing trouble, so it was a bit unusual to see them apart unless something like class schedules mandated it. Sungmin’s dorm was in the portion of the school that was closed down for break, so he was temporarily moved into the older boys’ room, taking the vacant bed of one of their dormmates who went home.
“He’s helping Coach Jung put stuff away in the gym,” Sungmin answered.
“Yeah, he said he only needed one person to help,” Dogyun added.
“Thanks.” You got to your feet and brushed off your knees. “You two need anything else from me?”
“Nope!”
“Alright, I’m going to the gym for a minute if you do. Dinner’s at the normal time.”
“Wait!” Dogyun suddenly halted your departure. “Can you tell Junhyuk that we’re gonna play Switch in our room? So whenever’s he’s done helping.”
“I’ll pass the message.”
Each step of your boots clicked and echoed around you, and as you turned down the hallway that led to the gymnasium, you took the opportunity to stop and peer into the trophy cases that lined it. Dazzling trophies and plaques of all shapes and sizes glinted, reflecting your face back at you. The dates stretched back well over a century.
One of the doors to the gym was latched open, and when you couldn’t spot either Coach Jung nor Junhyuk, you ventured in further. Your ears finally picked up distant shuffling sounds, so you followed them down a hall behind the bleachers on the opposite side of the gymnasium where a storage room door was held ajar by a chair. You grabbed the edge of the door to pull it open all the way and step around the chair.
Junhyuk was dutifully restacking cones of various sizes in one corner while Coach Jung seemed to be doing an inspection on a shelf containing every kind of sports ball known to man. He was currently turning a soccer ball over in his hands, carefully eyeing the threads and wear of the material in some areas.
“Hi, Ms. Y/L/N!” Junhyuk greeted you cheerfully.
At the boy’s words, Coach Jung looked up at you attentively, a friendly smile coming to his features. “Oh, hey. What can we do for you?”
“Just wanted to let you know that everyone’s been picked up,” you smiled back hesitantly. Turning to the boy, you continued, “Also, Dogyun asked me to tell you that, once you’re done helping Coach Jung, the other two will be playing Switch in your room if you’d like to join.”
Junhyuk focused wide, hopeful eyes on Coach Jung. “I finished the cones! What else do you need help with, sir?”
“That was the last thing, Junhyuk,” Coach Jung chuckled. “You can go.”
“Thank you!”
You stepped back so he could dart around you out of the room. Leaving just you and Coach Jung. He dropped the soccer ball at his feet, nudged it over to a pile of them that seemed in a similar rough condition, then grabbed another off the shelf to continue his inspection, while you suffered awkwardly in the silence, watching him.
You didn’t know Coach Jung very well. This was your first year at the school, not to mention your classroom was on the opposite side of the school from the gymnasium, and while you both technically lived on the school grounds, only male teachers lived in the dormitories with the students. Female staff had a separate living quarters, so you never crossed paths with him outside typical school hours either. You had only met him in passing at the beginning of the year with the rest of the teachers, and last week in the brief meeting with the headmaster in preparation for your staying through Winter Break. But you’d heard plenty about him. He was beloved by the students both as their physical education teacher and as the coach of several school sports teams. And he was also a regular topic of gossip around the female staff dorms. While you were the youngest in the women’s quarters by at least two decades, the older ladies still enjoyed a good piece of eye candy when he’d lead the running club on a jog around the grounds before breakfast, or help one of them carry something heavy. The delighted tittering when they found out that it would just be you and Coach Jung here for Winter Break was ceaseless until the last of your housemates finally left.
“Did you need something else, Ms. Y/L/N?” Coach Jung asked.
“Oh, I got our keys from the secretary.” You held up the two sets of keys that you’d been given which would grant you access to all the necessary facilities for the next month. “Do you want me to leave your set in your office, or…?”
“I’ll take them now, thanks.” He stepped towards you, hand outstretched.
You dropped the keyring into his palm with a light clink, and he pocketed them. “Also, I uh, I already told the boys they didn’t have to worry about uniform code for the next month. Hope that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, pff, yeah.” He waved a dismissive hand, eyes focused once more on the equipment. “The least of my concerns on any given day is whether or not they’re wearing the right kind of sock, much less on Christmas.”
“That was my thinking!”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“And, uhm—” You coughed, looking around at anything but him. “You can just call me Y/N when we’re not around the kids.”
He let out an airy chuckle, “Will do. You can call me Sungchan.”
“Oh, right.” You bit your lip to stop from laughing but your nerves still made words pour out, “Please don’t be too offended but I kind of forgot your name. I’m pretty sure you introduced yourself at the beginning of the year all-staff meeting but since then, I’ve really only heard people call you Coach Jung…”
Sungchan laughed loudly, nodding in agreement. “As soon as you came in here, I realized I couldn’t remember your name. I was going to look it up in the staff directory after you left.”
“So we’re really on the same page,” you chuckled. “Is it your first year, too?”
“No, fifth.”
“Okay, I definitely feel a lot better knowing I’m not doing this with another rookie.”
“I’ll take you under my wing. Promise.” He grinned, and oddly enough, his confidence actually did calm your anxiety about the whole thing.
“Well how about, between us, no stupid questions?” You proposed hesitantly. “Instead of looking names up in the staff directory behind each other’s backs or whatever, we just ask? I think it’ll make the next month go much easier, right?”
“I think so too,” he agreed easily. “Just ask.”
“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” You gestured vaguely to the storage room. “I’m going to check on the boys and then probably be in the library until dinner.”
“One more thing before you go.” Sungchan brought out his cell phone from his pocket. “Probably be a good idea to have each other’s numbers.”
The kitchen staff were also gone for the holiday break, but had prepared refrigerated and frozen meals. A stipend was also left that could be spent on groceries or off-campus meals if you wanted. The dining hall felt far too large for just the five of you, so you took your reheated food to the common room to eat instead.
“So, what do you boys want to do on break?” You asked as you were all sat around one table together. “Within reason. Give us some ideas, and Coach Jung and I will see what we can do.”
“Right now, we’re looking at one or two off-campus activities a week,” Sungchan added from his seat beside you. “And bringing some fun here if we can.”
“You don’t have to answer now. Think about it.”
“Can we go skating on the pond?” Junhyuk requested.
“Ooh, what about sledding?” Dogyun said.
“We should build igloos on the soccer field!”
“And sleep in them!”
“I bet the Willow Hill is tall enough to ski from!”
“My uncle took me ice fishing one time! Coach Jung, do you think Mr. Suh would mind if we took some tools from woodshop to carve a hole into the pond?”
Both you and Sungchan chuckled, your coworker taking the lead in answering, “He’d probably be more upset that you cut a hole in the pond ice without him.”
“What about you, Sungmin?” You prompted the youngest, who hadn’t joined in the discussion yet.
He looked up from his food, big eyes getting a little bigger. “I thought you said we could think about it…”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you apologized, patting his head fondly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. Take your time.”
Upon returning to the female staff dorms, you immediately noticed that something was wrong. You weren’t embraced by warm air after the cold, arduous journey from the main building. The difference in temperature was barely noticeable. Investigating the thermostat, you found that it was set to what should’ve been a toasty temperature.
With a sigh, you dialed the after-hours maintenance line for the school. After three calls going to voicemail, you let out a huff of frustration, which came out as a white cloud in the chilly air. Begrudgingly, you threw a few necessities into a bag, then trudged back to the main building once more.
Spotting light streaming out from under a door at the end of the dorm hall you were in, you shuffled over and knocked. You’ve only been in the dorm halls twice, once on an informal tour during your interview, and the second on a brief tour during your orientation. From what you remembered, the teachers’ rooms were at the beginning and end of each hall.
“Hold on!” Sungchan’s voice called out from within, and after a few moments, he opened the door. He clearly hadn’t been expecting you, blinking down at you. “Y/N. Thought you were one of the boys. Is everything okay?”
“The heat’s out in my dorm,” you explained. “Nobody picked up when I called maintenance.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, so I was just gonna—”
“Oh, yeah, come on in.” He stepped back and opened the door wider.
You slowly pointed over your shoulder. “—sleep in the common room… on the couch.”
“Right.” He coughed. “I mean, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ve got an extra bed since Shotaro’s out. Or actually, you can stay in here and I’ll sleep in the common room.”
He was already reaching to grab a blanket off a bed, holding the door open with his foot.
“I didn’t come to take over your room,” you stopped him with a laugh. “You think Shotaro would mind?”
“Nah, I’ll take his bed.” Sungchan threw the blanket back and once again moved out of the doorway for you to go in.
You hesitated in the hallway, however. “Wait—Do you think this is okay? I’m not supposed to even be in your room.”
“Actually, I’m not supposed to be in your room,” he informed you with a grin. “There’s technically no rule against you being here.”
“What? Why wouldn’t they make it the same?”
He shrugged. “They forgot? Figured it’d be harder to have hookups with kids knocking down your door every night? I don’t know.”
“Thanks, Sungchan.” You smiled, ducking into the room. As he closed the door behind you, you took stock of the room. It was a little larger than the student rooms, with an attached bathroom and two beds in opposite corners. Each of them also had a nightstand, desk, chair, and dresser. Sungchan’s roommate was Shotaro, the dance teacher, and you spotted a couple pictures of him and his family on one of the desks.
He fetched a couple more blankets from his under-bed storage and handed them to you. “Just washed these yesterday.”
“I feel so special,” you joked, waiting for him to take the bedding off his bed and toss it onto Shotaro’s.
“Who do you room with?” He made conversation as you settled in, toeing off your winter boots and setting your bag down.
“Oh, nobody. We have individual rooms.”
“Lucky,” he huffed.
“Only two showers, though.”
“In the whole building?”
“Yeah, well, it’s just one of the old headmasters’ houses that they renovated.” You sat down on the edge of the mattress. Pulling out your phone and charging cable, you plugged it into an outlet next to the nightstand. “Ms. Hyesoo is very strict about the shower schedule so nobody uses up all the hot water. When you first start at the school, she times all your showers until she thinks you can be trusted.”
“Wait, seriously?!” Sungchan’s mouth was agape.
“Yup. And if you’re not new and she suspects you’re taking too long, she’ll start timing you again.”
“Who made her president of the shower?”
“I’m pretty sure she did,” you chuckled, scooting up towards the headboard and draping the blanket over your lap. “I mean, I think it is important that nobody hogs all the hot water so everyone can use it. And she’s technically like, in charge of the female staff dorms so I guess if she thinks this is necessary…”
“Okay, well for the next month, take as long as you want,” he scoffed.
You laid down on your side, pulling the blanket up over your shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
He reached up for the lightswitch by the door. “Lights out?”
“Ready.”
With a flick of his fingers, the room was plunged into darkness. You could hear Sungchan settling in on his side of the room. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you called out softly, “Sungchan?”
“Yeah?”
“Seriously, thanks for doing this with me. I already told you it’s my first year here, but it’s also my first year teaching at all. I took all these extra online certification courses, even after they told me I got the job. I just want to be the best for the kids, you know?”
“You know much about Mr. Shin? He used to teach your class.”
“Bits and pieces. He retired, right?”
“Yeah. And this is the first year I actually hear kids excited to go to their history classes. Telling me about the cool stuff they’re learning.”
You smiled to yourself, rubbing your socked feet together under the covers. “Aw, yay.”
“You’ll keep learning. The fact that you want to do all that for them already gives you a good start,” he added.
“Thanks, Sungchan.”
“Anytime.” He yawned, “Mm, goodnight.”
“Night,” you replied, shutting your eyes.
It wasn’t until Monday that you heard back from anybody regarding the heat in the women’s building. The head groundskeeper finally called you back, apologetically informing you that the heat in that building was scheduled to shut off for every winter break and he hadn’t been informed to keep it on this year. He offered to drive in to turn it back on for you, letting you know that it wouldn’t be until this afternoon since he lived several hours away, and you gratefully declined his offer. He was on break, too, and it seemed like far too big of an inconvenience at this point. You would just tough it out in the main building for the month.
The boys had asked to go sledding for their first winter activity, which was an easy enough request. Sungchan dug out a few old snow sleds from an equipment shed on the grounds while you inspected the boys’ gear and gave them a thorough safety lecture before even letting them step foot out of their dorm room. Now, you and Sungchan watched them take off from the top of the Willow Hill, sleds careening down through the snow before skidding to a stop nearby. Then they’d leap to their feet and run all the way back up, dragging the sleds behind them.
“Looks fun,” you commented as the three kids all piled onto one sled together, Sungmin sandwiched between the two older boys.
“You want to go?” Sungchan offered, gesturing to the other two sleds forgotten at the bottom of the hill.
“Last time I was in charge of my own sled, I knocked both my front teeth out,” you admitted sheepishly.
“Ouch,” he chuckled. “How about I drive, then? If you’re cool with that.”
“When’s the last time you drove a sled, exactly?”
“Last winter. Why do you think we have them on campus? We use them for Winter Field Day in January.”
You held up your hands in deference. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have doubted your skills.”
Despite your offer to help, Sungchan hauled the bright orange sled uphill by himself. Willow Hill was named for a willow tree that used to sit at the top of it. All that was left of the tree was a short stump that was now almost completely buried in snow.
“What happened to it?” You questioned, staring at the stump. “The willow?”
“Oh, uhm, it died. They had to cut it down,” he replied, lips pursing in a thoughtful frown. “Can’t remember why it died, though. It was way before I worked here.”
“Huh. I’ll ask Ms. Hyesoo after break. I bet she knows.”
“If anybody is going to know, it’s her or the headmaster,” he agreed with a chuckle. Switching trains of thought, he dropped the sled onto the ground and gestured to it, “So, you’ll be in front and hold onto the tie. Lean when I lean. I’ll tell you which way, okay?”
You nodded. “Seems easy enough.”
He held the sled in place while you got settled into the front, then climbed into the back himself. His long legs stretched forward on either side of you, his chest was nearly flush to your back, and he readjusted to be able to properly see over you.
“Good?” He checked in with you.
“Mhm.” You held on tightly to the rope anchored to the front of the sled.
“Y/N—Sorry—You’ve got to lean back on me. If you’re sitting forward like that and we hit a rock you’re going to go flying.”
“Shit, okay, when you put it like that,” you laughed and did as he instructed. Now fully reclined on him, you looked over your shoulder to ask, “That better?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Much uh, safer.”
“Can you see?”
“Yeah, more than—more than before.”
“Oh, good.”
“Good.”
“So, are we ready to go?”
“What?”
“Go down the hill? Sled?”
Sungchan smiled a little. “Yeah, of course. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” you determined. “Do I get a countdown?”
“Are you holding onto the tie?”
“Well, yeah.”
“One—” And with a great shove, he launched your sled off the top of the hill. The cold air bit at your cheeks and nose as you sped downhill, white flurries of snow flew up on either side of the sled, and abundant, uncontrollable laughter tumbled from your mouth. When you felt one particularly large bump under the sled bottom, you let out a half-yelp half-giggle and clutched Sungchan’s leg, your other hand keeping a death grip on the rope. He let go of his handrail on that side of the sled to hold you down by your arm.
“Left!” He called out, and you could hear the giddiness in his own tone with the command. Both of you leaned left, and the sled successfully veered left away from a small log.
At the bottom of the hill, the sled eventually came to a stop, and you let out a sigh of relief.
“There. Made it in one piece,” Sungchan teased, patting the top of your head.
“That was a lot of fun,” you said through breathless sputters, starting to sit up to get ready to climb up out of the sled.
“Want to go again?”
Before you could answer, Dogyun and Junhyuk swarmed you, clambering trying to call dibs as to who would ride with Sungchan next.
“Hold on, let Ms. Y/L/N and me get up first, okay?” He shooed them back. The coach hauled himself out of the sled, and you suddenly were scrambling to stay upright without him behind you. He didn’t leave you floundering for long, offering two hands to help you up, making sure you were steady on your feet before turning to the boys. “Alright, now, one at a time—”
Having already noticed the distinct lack of Sungmin with the others, you turned around in place, scanning the snowy hills for him. Thankfully he wasn’t very far, at the top of Willow Hill, sitting on the stump and seemingly watching the rest of you at the foot. Dogyun was holding a red sled, and Junhyuk a purple one, so you knew Sungmin didn’t have one. You waved at him. He waved back.
Hiking your way back up, you approached the boy curiously. “Hey.”
“Hi, Ms. Y/L/N,” he peered up at you from under the brim of his beanie.
“You forgot your sled. Unless you were planning on rolling down like a log.” You tucked your arms into your chest and mimicked doing so.
He giggled at you before shaking his head. “No, I just wanted to sit up here.”
“You can see a lot up here,” you commented, appreciating the sports fields, pond, and school buildings all laid out around you. “Mind if I sit with you?”
“You can.” Sungmin scooted over on the wide stump to make room for you.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been thinking about what I want to do on break. Can we go to a movie theater?”
There was a small town nearby that school personnel would sometimes make trips to, but you didn’t know off the top of your head whether or not it had a movie theater. If it didn’t, the next biggest town was much, much further. But you weren’t going to write off his request so hastily. “I’ll look into it, Sungmin. What kind of movie do you want to see?”
“Mmm… I don’t know. I like all kinds of movies.”
You chuckled a little. “Good point. Movies are cool. I’ll see what our options are. Any other ideas?”
“No. Did you know some fish hibernate?”
“I did not know that.”
He pointed to the pond. “I asked Mr. Lee what happens to the fish when the water freezes and he told me.”
“Very interesting. Thanks for telling me.”
“Did you know that some fish hibernate?”
Sungchan poked his head out of the bathroom to affix you with a confused look, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Huh?”
“When lakes and stuff freeze over, some fish will hibernate,” you reiterated seriously from where you were sitting cross-legged on your bed.
He finished brushing, spat out his toothpaste, and rinsed his toothbrush before shutting the lights off. Lumbering back into the bedroom, he stopped next to your bed, arms folded over his chest, head cocked, and face absolutely bewildered as he asked, “What?”
“Sungmin was telling me about it today.” You typed away on your laptop.
“Okay, that makes more sense now.”
“He wants to go to a movie theater, but the closest one is like five hours away,” you huffed.
“…To see a movie about fish hibernation?”
“What? No. I mean, he’d probably like that, but I doubt there’s actually a movie like that showing.”
“Of course, my bad.”
“He said he’d see any movie, but there’s no movie theater in town. Look.” You pushed your laptop to the side, off one leg.
He took the cue and sat down next to you on the mattress, taking your computer into his lap. Two of his long fingers swiped and tapped across the trackpad. He alternated pursing his lips and rolling the bottom one between his teeth as he also evaluated the lack of cinema options in your area. Finally, he clicked his tongue against the back of his front teeth.
“Damn, the Cineplex must have closed down since last year,” he sighed. “There used to be this tiny chain cinema like, an hour from here. Mrs. Kang organized field trips there every semester.”
The mention of Mrs. Kang, the film teacher, gave you an idea. You might not be able to bring the kids to the movies, but you could try your best to bring the experience of the movies to them.
“Hold on—There’s projectors in every classroom,” you started explaining your plan to Sungchan. “Take out the desks and chairs, bring in some pillows and blankets, get some popcorn… We’ve got our own movie theater right here.”
“Yes, that’s perfect!” He held a hand up for you to high-five.
“My classroom is in one of the wings that’s locked up right now, so we’ll need to borrow someone else’s…”
“We can use mine.”
“Wait, you have a classroom?”
“Physical education has a classroom, yes,” he chuckled. “We’ve got pencils and everything.”
You sheepishly tried to backpedal, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Y/N,” he reassured you, knocking his knee against yours. “It’s in a random hallway in the gym. Nobody knows it’s there. But it has a projector.”
“Okay, if I take the boys to the store to pick out snacks and stuff, would that be enough time for you to set up your classroom? Or do you need my help?”
“Nah. I’ve got set-up, you’re on snacks.”
The next night, you got back from your short trip into town with all three boys in tow and bags of snacks in hand. You took the snacks with you as you sent them to get changed out of their heavy winter clothes. As you headed off towards your own temporary quarters, you texted Sungchan.
[you: just got back. is everything ready?]
You set the bags of snacks down on your bed before pulling your parka off to hang up. The bathroom door opened then, and your friendly greeting got stuck in your throat. Humid air came out along with Sungchan, a towel tied around his waist and damp hair hanging over his forehead.
He skidded to a stop just past the threshold, alarmed. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come back.”
“No, it’s fine, I didn’t hear you either, sorry,” you apologized, trying to keep your eyes on anything except the beads of water tracing the contours of his bare chest as they rolled down, down, down, and disappeared into the towel.
“I uh, forgot pants,” he pointed to the dresser on his side of the room—the one you were currently occupying—shuffling his way over there.
Keeping one hand where the towel was tied, he flipped his wet hair out of his eyes with the other before opening a drawer and rifling through it. With him turned away from you, you took the opportunity to look a little more directly at him, at the way his back and shoulders subtly flexed and shifted with every movement. When he righted himself, clothing secured in his hand, you hastily looked away, back down at the bags of snacks as if you had been attending to something important with them the whole time.
Sungchan reemerged from the bathroom fully dressed, toweling off his hair, “Everything go okay when you were out?”
“Yeah, the boys were great,” you told him. “Your room all set up?”
“Yep. You ready?”
“Ready.”
He tilted his head. “…In your snow boots?”
You shook your head, embarrassed. “Right. Uhm, give me a minute to change.”
“I’ll grab the boys and meet you in the hall.”
Sungchan’s classroom was, in fact, in a random hallway in the gymnasium. The hallway outside contained the desks and chairs that used to be inside, and sleeping mats were now spread out on the floor of the small room, pillows and blankets piled up on top of them. You had all each brought your own blankets and other various items for comfort, but this looked plenty cozy on its own. While the kids immediately jumped on the mound of blankets and pillows, you went with Sungchan over to his laptop that was hooked up to the projector.
“You did good,” you complimented him, fondly watching the boys paying around and wrestling. “This is perfect.”
“It was your good idea.” He bumped your hip with his. “I just executed it.”
“This was better than I imagined. A-plus execution.”
“We’re a pretty good team, huh?” Sungchan grinned, pulling up the first movie.
With the first movie started, everyone started actually settling in. You were readjusting pillows and blankets while Sungchan took it upon himself to begin distributing the snacks. “Sungmin…” he held the chocolate covered pretzels out.
“Thanks, Coach Jung,” Sungmin accepted the bag.
“Who got the sour gummy worms?”
“Me!” Dogyun called out. Sungchan tossed them to him.
“Mini peanut butter cups?”
“Me!” Junhyuk answered.
“And these are mine, so this must be yours.” He passed out the final two snacks, his pick and yours.
You accepted it from him graciously. “Thank you.”
Your students all quieted down as the movie started, splitting their snacks between them in quiet agreement. As they readjusted and got comfortable during the course of the movie, you scooted around as well to give them more room. But when you accidentally knocked your hand against Sungchan’s under a blanket, you realized that you had slowly been scooting closer into his personal space in the process.
“Sorry,” you whispered, taking your hand back and preparing to move away.
“It’s fine,” he replied quietly. “You’re fine there, don’t worry.”
Trying to ignore the heat rising on your cheeks, you stared at the screen in front of you, staying put and letting your leg fall and relax against his.
“Hey, you boys almost ready?” You asked into the open door of the boys’ dorm room. Junhyuk and Dogyun were inside lacing up their snowboots.
Junhyuk handed you a pair of small gloves. “Minnie forgot these, can you go give them to him? Dogyun takes forever to get ready.”
“Yeah, because you were hogging—”
“I’ll give them to him,” you cut off the beginnings of their bickering. “Thanks, Junhyuk.”
Snow soccer was on the schedule today—what exactly that entailed, you still weren’t sure, but the boys would apparently explain everything once you started. So you began the trek out to the soccer fields. Fresh snow was beginning to fall, and you wondered if this would benefit or ruin the snow soccer plans. Two others were already there, Sungchan and Sungmin. You had just raised your hand, preparing to wave, when you realized that something was wrong. It sounded like Sungmin was yelling, upset. Your friendly greeting died in your throat as you dropped your hand and picked up your pace.
“I just want you to leave me alone!” He seemed to be yelling at Sungchan, little, bare hands balled into fists at his side. Sungchan, for his part, wasn’t engaging. He didn’t seem to be reacting at all, still as a statue and mouth dropped open. “I never want to talk to you ever again! You’re always doing this! You’re-You’re such a—such a asshole!”
“Jung Sungmin!” You finally stopped him, stepping in between the two. Keeping your voice level but stern, you told him, “That’s enough. Go to your dorm and take a breather. Don’t leave your room until you and I have talked, okay?”
The boy’s face was completely pink, tears welling up in his eyes. But more than anything, he was angry. You’d never seen him more than annoyed, never say anything harsher than ‘dumb,’ so this entire situation was leagues out of your comprehension.
Sungmin didn’t say anything more, turning on his heel and storming off towards the building. You watched him for another minute to make sure he made it inside before pivoting on the adult still with you.
“That’s your idea of deescalation and conflict resolution, Sungchan?” You questioned, eyes wide.
Sungchan was still frozen to the spot, eyes glued to where Sungmin had just been standing. “He…”
Utterly flabbergasted, you looked between Sungchan and the school building. “Sungmin’s the sweetest kid ever, I can’t imagine anything getting him that worked up.”
“It’s my fault.”
“What?”
“It’s his first Christmas without his mom.” He offered an explanation, his voice hollow. “He doesn’t want to be here.”
“He wants to be home with her,” you said softly. Your heart broke with the realization. While the reasons the three students were staying over break hadn’t been disclosed to you, you knew they weren’t going to be good. “No other family?”
Sungchan gestured to himself, the defeat apparent on his face. “You’re looking at it. He’s my nephew.”
That did catch you off-guard. While you were aware they shared a surname, it wasn’t a terribly uncommon one, and definitely not enough to suspect any sort of relation between them. Especially since neither had ever alluded to it. “Why did you stay here with him instead of going home?”
“I don’t have anywhere to take him. I live here during the school year, and I used to stay with my sister and Sungmin for the couple months during the summer in between.”
You nodded, noticing the redness around Sungchan’s eyes too. While there was more that you wanted to say, Dogyun and Junhyuk were coming out of the school building, and you still had to talk to Sungmin. Patting his shoulder, you said, “I’m going to check on Sungmin.”
“Thanks,” he sighed, sniffing and trying to quickly compose himself.
Passing by the older boys, you saw the solemn looks on their faces and figured they had encountered Sungmin. You shook the snow off you as you walked through the empty, quiet halls. The light poured out of the open door to the boys’ dorm room, and you stopped at the threshold. Sungmin was sitting on the bottom bunk of one of the two bunk beds, staring at his feet that were dangling over the edge.
“Hey, Sungmin,” you greeted him calmly. “Are you ready to talk? Or do you need a few more minutes?”
“You can come in,” he mumbled.
“Thank you.” You stepped into the room. “May I sit with you?”
He shrugged, and you took that as a yes, positioning yourself at the foot of his bed. The boy huffed, refusing to meet your eyes as he suddenly began rambling, “I shouldn’t have yelled at him, or said a bad word. He’s my teacher, I should be respectful, I know. I’ll apologize.”
“That’s all true,” you acquiesced. “Are you okay?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” He messed with a loose thread on his sweater. “About my mom… That she…”
“He did. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Sungmin’s shoulders jumped as he hiccupped, and you could see that tears had finally begun falling down his cheeks, wetting his lap. You stayed put, not wanting to crowd or overwhelm him.
“Where do you feel it? The sadness?” You asked him quietly.
He pointed to the middle of his chest. “H-Here.”
“Good job,” you praised him quietly. Breathing in, you asked, “Can I tell you something?”
He nodded.
“It’s my first Christmas without my mom, too,” you admitted. Sungmin finally looked up at you, his tear-stained face giving you a sinking feeling of déjà vu in the pit of your stomach. You continued, “I miss her all the time. It’s okay to miss her, and feel sad, and all sorts of stuff. It hurts, right?”
“A lot. Right here,” his voice trembled as he patted himself on the chest once more. Then, he curled both of his hands into fists in his lap. “I want it to stop.”
“I know, Sungmin, I know. When you hurt inside, you should talk about it, not try to make somebody else hurt more than you.” You felt for him, terribly. “It won’t make it stop immediately, but it makes it easier.”
“I-I’m also mad. A lot,” he confessed, eyes seeking your face. “A-At him.”
“At Coach Jung?” You were careful to only address Sungchan the way that you’ve heard Sungmin address him.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, like, I was mad because he told me to go back inside and get my gloves but like, I wasn’t really mad because he told me to get my gloves. My hands were cold. I think… maybe I was mad he was telling me what to do. Like he really cares.”
You tilted your head thoughtfully. “You think he doesn’t care about you?”
“…No, I don’t think that,” Sungmin huffed, his shoulders deflating. He was no longer actively sobbing, the odd stray tear slipping down his cheek. “I’m just being mean again.”
“It takes practice.”
“What does? Not being mean?”
“Being a person. You’ll be practicing your whole life,” you informed him. “Everyone else is too. It’s everyone’s first time being a person.”
“He’s my uncle.” Sungmin got up, shuffling over to where a suitcase was sitting atop one of the dressers, opening one of the front pockets. He sat down right next to you to show them to you. They were custom Christmas cards that a family would mass-order every year to send out to their entire address book, each one featuring a big picture of Sungmin, Sungchan, and a woman—Sungmin’s mom. Sungmin pointed to Sungchan in the picture from last year. “Coach Jung. Well, he’s really my Uncle Sungchan. I-I didn’t want anybody to know at school, so I stopped calling him Uncle Sungchan. During the summer he always came and lived with us—me and my mom. He told me stories about the cool school where he worked, and I used to beg Mom to send me here…” His voice cracked, and he snapped his head up to you, eyes wide with panic. “You don’t think that’s why…?”
You couldn’t imagine what came next. “Why what?”
“Because I wanted to come here? And now I am? I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”
“Oh, Sungmin, no, no. Of course not,” you quickly reassured him, rubbing his back to soothe his breathing that had quickened again. “I know sometimes we want to find reasons to blame bad things on ourselves, because it makes it easier to understand, or because then we think maybe we could stop something like it in the future. But this isn’t your fault.”
He visibly relaxed again, but kept staring at the pictures on the cards pensively. As he flipped through them, you saw they went back to his first Christmas, an infant in a candy-cane printed onesie in his mom’s arms as Sungchan happily wrapped an arm around them both, beaming at the camera. It wasn’t professionally taken like the more recent ones, just a selfie taken on a couch.
With an idea forming in your mind, you said, “Every Christmas, I used to help my mom bake cookies to give out to our neighbors. Do you want to make some with me this year?”
Finally, something other than sorrow—interest—flashed across Sungmin’s face. He nodded.
“Perfect, thank you,” you smiled. “I need a taste tester, after all.”
He giggled a little at this.
“Since you’re helping me, is there something you and your mom used to do every Christmas that we can do?”
Sungmin sniffled and nodded. “We-We made Christmas cookies, and would put like, sprinkles and stuff on them.”
“I can totally make that happen,” you promised.
“Junhyuk and Dogyun will want to do it too.” After a beat, he added, “Uncle Sungchan, too.”
“Absolutely. All five of us.”
He rested his head on your shoulder, looking at his pictures again. “Yeah.”
“Yeah…” You echoed, squeezing his shoulder tight, to remind him you were there. Your other hand brought out his gloves that were still in your pocket, handing them over to him, “Your friends wanted to make sure you had these.”
“I’m not ready for snow soccer yet, Ms. Y/L/N.”
“Snow soccer can wait for whenever you’re ready. They’ll understand.”
When Sungmin finally felt ready, he tucked his pictures away again, and the two of you set back off outside. The snow hadn’t let up while you were inside, and way out on the soccer field, you saw Junhyuk and Dogyun throwing a soccer ball back and forth while Sungchan watched on from further away.
“Hey!” Sungmin waved a gloved hand at them, jumping up and down.
“Minnie!” Junhyuk waved back.
Sungmin ran ahead of you to his friends, and you made your way over to Sungchan. He watched the kids interacting, and you knew he was desperately looking for any hint as to Sungmin’s mental state.
“He’s okay,” you told him. “I’ll tell you about it after dinner?”
“Good idea.” He nodded. Moving his gaze to you, he added genuinely, “Thanks, Y/N.”
“Let’s play snow soccer!” Dogyun announced loudly, to the cheers of the other two. “We need you guys, too!”
Locking eyes with Sungchan, both of you smiled, before you agreed enthusiastically, “Alright, let’s play snow soccer!”
Snow soccer, it turns out, was soccer that you played in the snow. The biggest difference, perhaps, was that it was harder to kick the ball through the layer of freshly fallen snow, and that the lines on the field were rendered entirely useless by the fact that you couldn’t see them under said snow. But it was fun anyway, the five of you running around until the sun was going down and the lights over the field clicked on. Your nose was frozen off by the time hunger finally pulled the boys off the field and inside. They spent all dinner exchanging ideas about what other sports could be better played in the snow, then it was bedtime.
As soon as the door to your room was shut, the air grew heavy. Sungchan plopped down on his bed—his real one, the one that you had been using. You sat next to him.
“I’m sorry about your sister, Sungchan,” you broached the subject head-on. So far, all of the focus had been on Sungmin’s loss, you wondered if Sungchan had even stopped and let himself grieve too.
“Thanks,” he whispered, wringing his hands together. Clearing his throat, he asked, “You said Sungmin’s good?”
“We talked about how he’s feeling. He showed me pictures of his mom—your Christmas cards.”
“When our parents found out she was pregnant, they disowned her. She wasn’t married.”
“That’s horrible…”
“I was the only one in our whole family who kept talking to her. That’s how he ended up with me. I didn’t think bringing him around to family Christmas now would help any. They’re strangers to him.” His voice was tight, and he let out a shaky breath. Rubbing his face, he continued, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wanted to do all this stuff—She was so smart.”
“Sungmin’s really bright,” you commented lightly.
“Yeah, he is.” He smiled faintly. “He called me ‘Uncle Sungchan’ again, just now when we were saying goodnight. Thank you for whatever you said to him. All those online certificates seem to have paid off.”
“Wasn’t exactly in the online trainings…” You confessed hesitantly. “I told him this was my first Christmas without my mom too.”
“Shit, Y/N…” Sungchan breathed out, the bittersweet smile immediately falling from his face. He hugged you. “I’m so sorry.”
“My dad passed when I was a baby. It was just me and my mom for my whole life. Now it’s just me,” you muttered against his shoulder, tears beginning to eke out the corners of your eyes. With a cynical chuckle, you said, “I haven’t told anybody else this, but the reason I volunteered to stay here over break is so I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all,” he reassured you, hand cradling the back of your head. “Honestly, I probably could’ve taken him somewhere—rented a place for the month, I don’t know—but I was afraid of it being just the two of us on Christmas. Thought the other boys would give him something else to do than be sad, you know?”
“They’ve kept us pretty busy,” you giggled.
“For sure,” he agreed humorously.
“Sungmin told me that every Christmas, they used to make and decorate cookies. I promised we would all do that.”
“It’s a good idea. Thanks, Y/N.”
You and Sungchan were still hugging each other, and with your tears subsiding, you began pulling away to dab at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “You’re doing really good, Sungchan,” you sniffled, and patted his forearm. “With Sungmin. You’ll keep learning.”
He turned his hand over, catching yours and holding it. “You’re good with them too. All of them.”
Your chest was suddenly too tight around your heart, and you couldn’t say anything, so you squeezed his hand back instead.
“I’m here if you need me, for whatever. Even after break,” he said as he began standing up, still holding onto your hand.
“Of course. You took me under your wing, remember?” You choked out a joke.
He smiled fondly. “Of course.”
Letting your hand slip from his, he crossed over to the other bed and pulled the covers back to get under them. You were oddly cold as you went to sleep that night, blankets tight around you, thinking again about how warm Sungchan’s arms were around you.
The five of you were in the dining hall for the first time that break. The long tables afforded plenty of space to spread out the many, many cookie decorating supplies you’d procured especially for today. Yesterday, you and Sungmin had baked batches and batches of cookies—five people was simply too many to have in the kitchen helping out at once, so you sent the other three to find something to do. Now that the cookies were all cool, it was time to decorate them.
“How’d you do that?” Sungmin gasped, staring at one of Junhyuk’s cookies, which had gel food colorings swirled through the white frosting.
“Here, I’ll show you, Minnie,” Junhyuk offered, putting the cookie he was currently working on down.
You smiled to yourself, continuing to carefully place snowflake sprinkles on your cookie. Sungchan peered over at your work. “What’s going on there?”
“It’s Apollo 8, the first manned mission to the moon.” You gestured to your surprisingly legible rocketship piped on with gel icing, then at the pearl sprinkle you’d put next to it. “That’s the moon.”
He laughed, pointing to the snowflake sprinkles that you were still dutifully adding. “I’m not the science teacher, but I don’t think it snows in space.”
“Neither am I.” You wrinkled your nose at him in jest. “I took creative liberties. It entered orbit around the moon on Christmas Eve.”
“Well when you’re done, I need those sprinkles.” He nudged his work over towards you for you to look. You could parse out a shaky stick figure, and another circle next to one of its feet. “My snow soccer is missing some snow.”
“That looks like a volleyball to me.”
“You’re right, hold on.” He picked the black icing back up, adding a few dots inside the empty white circle. “Better?”
“Much.” You pushed the container of sprinkles over to him. “All yours.”
“You guys made a lot of cookies,” he commented, eyeing the other containers of treats that you still hadn’t decorated. “There’s only five of us.”
“Got a bit carried away,” you admitted sheepishly. “But they’re really good!”
“Ooh, I haven’t tried one yet, hold on.” He grabbed an undecorated cookie and bit into it. His eyebrows shot up, and he nodded appreciatively as he wolfed down the rest of it. “Mm, I don’t think we’ll have any problem finishing these, actually.”
“You’ve got crumbs all over your face now.”
“Oops.” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You missed some.” You tsked, grabbing a clean napkin and brushing the rest off his cheek.
He beamed. “Thanks.”
With a flutter in your chest, you returned to decorating cookies.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and Dogyun was heading home. This had always been part of the plan, in your briefing from the headmaster. While he was staying at the school for Winter Break as a whole, he’d be with his family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. They lived in the nearby town and were driving over to pick him up soon.
As you watched over the boy haphazardly throwing things into an overnight bag, you couldn’t help your curiosity, and cautiously asked, “Were they out of town? Your family?”
“Nah,” Dogyun answered bluntly. “We live right there.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Junhyuk’s dad made him stay here, so I asked my parents to stay too,” he expounded as he dug around in his dresser, occasionally sniff-testing garments of clothing before shoving them in. “They said I could, but I had to come home for Christmas. I wanted him to just stay at our house, since my parents are on his emergency card, but then we heard that Minnie would be here too. Me ‘n Junhyuk.”
You smiled proudly at the boy. “That’s all very nice of you to do for your friends, Dogyun.”
“Why’re you here, Ms. Y/L/N? On Christmas?” Dogyun questioned. “What about your parents?”
“My parents have uhm—they’ve passed.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay,” you reassured him calmly. “I’m glad I’m spending Christmas—and this whole break—with you guys.”
Dogyun zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Hey, can you check on Junhyuk before lights-out? I know you always come say goodnight to us, but look after him a little extra right now? I’m not here, so however much you look after me, give it to him.”
“I’ll look after him double.”
“Thanks, Ms. Y/L/N.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Dogyun’s family was already in the drive when you got outside. His parents immediately hugged him, to which he rolled his eyes, but hugged them back nevertheless. You gave all of them your holidays wishes, and waved one final time to your student as he climbed into the car.
That night, before lights-out, you checked on the boys as promised. Sungmin had climbed into Junhyuk’s bottom bunk, watching the older boy play a game on his Switch. You hovered in the doorway for a few moments, just observing them fondly. When it looked like he was between levels, you softly knocked on the open door to announce your presence.
Both of them looked up from the screen, Junhyuk setting the device down on his lap. “Hi, Ms. Y/L/N.”
“Hey, guys. How are you?”
“Junhyuk was showing me a really hard level in this game! He’s really good!” Sungmin told you enthusiastically.
“Is it lights-out?” Junhyuk asked.
“No, not yet. Just popping in to say goodnight.”
Sungmin threw the blankets off him to scurry over to you, throwing his arms around your waist. “Goodnight.”
You patted the top of his head. “Night, Sungmin.”
“Can I go see my uncle for a minute?”
“Of course.”
He zipped down the hall, leaving you with the older boy. Junhyuk turned his device off and set it down. After a moment of silence, he hesitantly asked, “Can I hug you too?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” You opened your arms for him, letting him approach you uncertainly, hugging you with much more caution than Sungmin had. You squeezed him tight, patting his back, and felt him relax in your arms. “You know me and Coach Jung are right there if you need anything, right?”
He nodded, retracting from the hug as slow as he’d initiated. You offered one more reassuring smile, already hearing the hurried footsteps of Sungmin returning. The nine-year-old squeezed into the room, launching himself back onto Junhyuk’s mattress.
“One more level, Jun?” He pleaded.
Junhyuk chuckled and started gently pushing him over. “Not if you’re hogging my whole bed, Minnie. Make some room.”
Back in your room, you slowly got ready for bed, Junhyuk’s situation still weighing heavy on your mind. Emerging from the bathroom, you stopped at the foot of Sungchan’s temporary bed, where he was propped up against the pillows reading something.
“Do you know why Junhyuk’s here?” You asked.
Sungchan sighed and nodded. “Yeah, his dad’s shitty. I know we’re not supposed to talk like that about them—”
“I won’t tell.”
“—Absolutely fucking evil son of a bitch,” he groaned, snapping his book shut and mimicking like he was strangling somebody. “He’s leaving Junhyuk here over break to teach him a lesson.”
Your jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Because he wore the wrong color tie to some event.”
“What?!”
“Junhyuk told me the first day, when he was helping me with the equipment. The really sad thing is, he believes that he deserves it.”
“No…”
“Yeah,” Sungchan confirmed. “Poor kid.”
You blood boiled over in record time. “That’s not a fitting punishment at all! Doesn’t even deserve a punishment! That guy’s a dick! He doesn’t even deserve a kid as good as Junhyuk. Oh my god, he shouldn’t even fucking be a parent!”
“I told him that. Well, the first part.” He watched you pace angrily. “Junhyuk say something to you?”
“Dogyun seemed worried about him while he was gone, asked me to take extra care of him. Didn’t say why.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Dogyun’s a good kid. Despite the…”
“Stealing sewing needles to pierce his own ears?”
“I was going to say general disregard for rules and authority that he doesn’t deem worth his time, but that too,” you chuckled.
“Same thing.”
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were remarkably quiet. Junhyuk and Sungmin mainly kept busy with indoor activities—video games, reading, and playing in the gym. As you bit into a cookie Christmas night, you thought about your mom, letting a few bittersweet tears fall.
Dogyun’s return made the school feel full again, despite the distinct lack of all other students. There was more laughter, more smiles, and more energy. He brought with him extra presents for Junhyuk and Sungmin from his family, as well as an invite for them to stay over at his family’s house for New Year’s Eve. Dogyun’s parents were one of Junhyuk’s emergency contacts alongside his own, meaning that they had pre-approved permission to sign him out. Sungchan gave his permission for Sungmin to go as well. But in the week before New Year’s, they were still yours to entertain.
“Yeti! Mountain! Yeti! Mountain!” The three boys chanted in the backseat as you passed under the sign out front of the amusement park.
Today, the five of you had woken up rather early to make the long trek to Yeti Mountain, a seasonal theme park several towns over. With the cold, dreary weather outside, you were hoping that the lines wouldn’t be too long, despite the fact that it was now just a few days from Christmas, meaning that lots of families would also be looking for something to keep their own children entertained.
“Okay, buddy system,” you reminded everyone as Sungchan passed out tickets out front of the gate. “Nobody goes off by themselves. You’re either with Coach Jung, me, or each other.”
“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N!” They agreed in unison.
The crowd was about as bad as you had imagined, and you were grateful that you had insisted they all wore their school-issued coats today, as it was easier to spot the three little blobs in matching white and maroon striped puffers among the throng of blobs in black puffers.
“Ooh! Let’s do the Polar Plunge!” Dogyun pointed ahead to a ride, and you watched as it took the strapped-in riders straight up in the air, tilted them face-down, let them dangle, then dropped them back down, slowing down just in time to not actually impact.
“Polar Plunge!” Junhyuk cheered, grabbing his friend’s hand. He turned to the other boy. “You’re coming, right, Minnie?”
“Yeah!” He nodded excitedly. “Polar Plunge!”
Junhyuk grabbed his hand too, and they all ran off towards the ride.
“You want to go?” Sungchan asked you, the two of you slowly trailing after the kids.
You wrinkled your nose and shook your head. “Nah. I like rollercoasters. Not that shit.”
“Sensible,” he snickered. “Mind holding my phone?”
Taking your hand out of your pocket, you held it out palm-up expectantly, and he plopped his phone down.
“Thanks!”
You nodded ahead at where the boys had already raced to the back of the line. “I’ll wait in line with you guys.”
“Yes! You guys are riding it too!” Junhyuk pumped his fist in the air.
“Just Coach Jung,” you informed them. “I don’t like this kind of ride.”
“We’re splitting the rides,” Sungchan added. “So if you ever don’t want to go, you’ll have one of us down here. Don’t worry about saying no, okay?”
You squeezed his arm appreciatively at the idea, and he smiled back at you.
The line slowly shuffled forward until it was finally your group’s turn to board. Promising that you’d be watching, you had just started walking away when Sungchan called your name. Turning back around, you saw that Sungmin was being taken aside to have his height measured, and despite stretching his neck out as much as possible, it was clear he wasn’t going to make the height minimum. Sungchan said a couple more words to him, and the other boys patted his back before letting him walk over to you alone, shoulders slumped.
“I wasn’t tall enough,” Sungmin informed you glumly, watching as the other three got on.
“Aw, that’s a bummer,” you led him over to a portion of the fence that surrounded the ride. “There’s more rides, this is just the first one.”
Sungchan, Dogyun, and Junhyuk were seated on the side facing you, and all waved fervently at you and Sungmin as the ride went up and up. The two of you waved back, until they were tilted forwards and could no longer see you. Your boys’ screams were distinct among the chorus of yells when it dropped, and both you and Sungmin laughed at just how loud they were.
The next ride they wanted to go on was a teacup ride modified to look like icebergs. The carts only fit four people, so you sent the kids off in one while you and Sungchan took another. You easily spotted the car with your students in it, Junhyuk and Dogyun doing their best to make it spin as fast as possible while Sungmin was squashed in between them, face absolutely lit up.
“I’m getting sick just watching them,” you snorted, maintaining the lazy pace you had started with the wheel.
“Oh, so you don’t want to…” Sungchan gripped the wheel with two hands, mischievous glint in his eyes.
“No, wait!” You squealed as he whipped the controls around, speeding up your teacup as well. While you were pushed back in your seat, Sungchan apparently hadn’t braced himself for his own act, getting thrown to the side and stumbling into you.
You were laughing as you elbowed him, “Instant punishment.”
He dropped back into the seat where he was, giggling, letting his arm that he’d used to catch himself on the seat back naturally fall to your shoulders. “My bad,” he grinned.
After a few more rides, you stopped at a food stall to get everyone snacks to eat under covered picnic benches. As the boys were engaged in their own chatter about a video game, you happily took a bite of your fresh mini-donut, still warm. Sungchan chuckled and set down the cup of hot chocolate he’d been sipping on.
“Hold on, you’ve got—” He bit the finger of his glove and pulled it off. Gently, he brushed at the corners of your mouth and chin with his fingertips, finishing his sentence, “—powdered sugar all over your face.”
“Oops,” you mumbled, looking away from his eyes, a bit too afraid what you might do if you actually met his gaze right now.
By the end of the day, you were tuckered out, fully ready to utilize the car trip back home to sleep. As your group made your way to the exit, however, you were stopped by the park employee saying goodbye to everyone.
“Hey, you folks drive in from out of town?” He asked.
“Yes, why?” Sungchan responded.
“Avalanche blocked the only road out of here. Afraid it won’t be cleared until tomorrow,” he explained. “We’re offering complimentary accommodations at the resort hotel to ticketholders who can’t leave.”
Sungchan turned to the rest of you, clapping his hands together. “Well, looks like we’re staying, then.”
At the front desk, you kept an eye on the boys as they looked around at the themed hotel decorations in awe, checking out the Christmas tree with ornaments of the titular yeti character and his many wintery friends, pictures of them on many adventures hung around, and general icicle and snow motifs. You were only half-listening to the conversation that Sungchan was having with the desk attendant as he checked you all in.
Then Sungchan was tapping your elbow. “Is that alright, Y/N?”
“Hm?” you lifted your eyebrows questioningly, looking away from your kids for a moment.
“They have two rooms left, one with two queen beds, the other is just a king,” he filled you in. “The boys will need the two beds, are you okay with us in the other room?”
You blinked maybe a little too fast, throwing on a smile and nodding. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
Emerging from your bathroom decked out head to toe in brand-new Yeti Mountain merch courtesy of the lobby gift shop, you immediately burst into laughter upon locking eyes with Sungchan, in a very similar outfit.
“We look like the biggest Yeti Mountain fans ever,” he snickered from his spot reclined on the bed, one leg crossed over the other and an arm behind his head.
“We look like that family with annual passes who take their kids here every day its open,” you snorted, walking over to the window to peer out at the theme park in the distance. Pulling the curtain aside fully, there was a small ledge with a cushion for sitting.
“We probably got married at Yeti Mountain.” Sungchan joined you at your spot, staring outside with you. His limbs were a bit long for both of you to be sharing the nook, but you didn’t complain, letting him squeeze on with you, shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee.
You laughed. “Do they even do weddings?”
“They should. A wedding reception in the Yeti Cave would be kind of sick.”
“With a disco ball and everything.”
“Now you’re talking.” He look over at you with a grin, and your breath caught in your throat.
Sure, you’d been rooming with Sungchan for almost a month now, but this was different, closer. No ocean of floor between your heads. His hair fell in his eyes, and you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Even the silly Yeti Mountain branded t-shirt he was in seemed to fit him remarkably well, longsleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins that criss-crossed his skin from his hands and up into the sleeves.
Pressure was building up in your head, it was hard to think past the white noise in your ears. You habitually wet your lips, and you didn’t miss how his eyes followed the movement. Then you were kissing him, and he was kissing you back, hand on your waist as yours was carding through his hair.
Sungchan smiled against your lips, breaking the kiss with a chuckle. He covered his face with one hand, then dropped his cheek into his palm, fixing you with a sheepish and tender smile. “Ah, I was trying to wait until spring semester started to ask you out.”
You tilted your head and arched an eyebrow, absolutely bemused at this revelation. “Wait, you were going to specifically wait until we weren’t sharing a room, and everybody in the school was back, to ask me out?”
“Yes, because I’m a gentleman like that.” He was pouting a little bit now.
You giggled, brushing his hair back from his face before cupping his cheek. “Yeah, you kind of are.”
Sungchan leaned forward, bumping your nose with his affectionately. You closed the gap, connecting your mouths once more.
“What are we going to do without them?” You sighed, getting back in the car after dropping the boys off at Dogyun’s family’s house. It was New Year’s Eve, so you would be without them for a whole twenty-four hours, and you honestly didn’t know how you’d fill your time now.
Sungchan started the car, a smirk on his face. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a surprise.”
You couldn’t help but smile as well. “I’ll just wait and see, then.”
“Why are we going to the gym right now?” You questioned as Sungchan led you down the hall of trophies by the hand.
“What? Late-night one-on-one basketball match wasn’t what you were hoping for?” He teased, bumping your shoulder with his.
“In our pajamas?”
“Just wait,” he hummed, continuing to pull you across the gymnasium, towards another set of double doors.
The two of you ended up outside his classroom, which you hadn’t been in since you set it up for movies with the kids a couple weeks ago. All of the classroom furniture that you swore he, Junhyuk, and Dogyun were supposed to be putting back in the classroom while you and Sungmin baked cookies, was still in the hallway. You gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing further, letting him open the door for you.
The sleeping mats, pillows, and blankets were set up on the floor, illuminated by the blank projector screen and strings of rainbow lights hung from the ceiling. You turned back to Sungchan, jaw dropped in delight.
“So sweet,” you gave your approval, throwing your arms around his neck.
“This time we don’t have to watch a bunch of kids movies,” he chuckled, strong arms holding you tight to him. “It’s just us.”
As you went to settle into the pillows and blanket, you gazed up at the lights thoughtfully. “Did you take these off the Christmas tree in the dining hall?”
“I technically didn’t,” he replied pointedly.
“Dogyun,” you immediately surmised.
“They’ve requested anonymity.”
“Wait, is this what you three were doing while we baked cookies?”
He held his hands up, even as he was smiling mischievously. “I can neither confirm nor deny when the alleged theft took place.”
You shook your head and laughed, pecking his cheek. “Thank you, Sungchan. And your little elves.”
Later on, you didn’t even realize that midnight had already come and gone until Sungchan was switching between movies, and you happened to glance at the time on his laptop, nearly one in the morning.
“Happy late New Year’s,” you snickered, pointing to the clock.
“Happy New Year’s.” He beamed, swooping in to capture your lips with his.
The staff and students began returning to the Moorehead Prep campus on Saturday, and the heat was turned back on in the female staff dorms, meaning that you finally got to go back to your own room. Several ladies were in your room, asking about your break while you folded your laundry that you had done ahead of everyone’s return this morning.
“It was great, the boys didn’t cause us any trouble,” you answered, well aware of what they actually wanted to know. “We went sledding, and baked cookies. We even took them to Yeti Mountain one day.”
“Oh, okay,” one of the ladies sighed, not hiding her disappointment. “Sounds nice, Y/N.”
There was a knock at the front door, and another one of your colleagues peeked out of your second-story window. She gasped and turned back to you with wide eyes. “Coach Jung is here!”
You continued folding your clothes, even as you heard Sungchan’s voice at the front door, then footsteps running up the stairs. Ms. Hyesoo didn’t even bother knocking on your wide-open door, suspicious gaze landing on you as she announced knowingly, “Coach Jung is looking for you.”
“Thanks, Ms. Hyesoo. I’ll be down in a second.”
Ignoring the clamoring around you, you tucked your final article of clothing in your drawer, and grabbed your gloves off your nightstand. You gave them all a goodbye as you hurried down the stairs. Sungchan was waiting for you on the porch, smiling down at you as you shut the door behind you.
He wordlessly took off the scarf that he was wearing, looping it around your own bare neck for you. “Ready for lunch?”
⇢ word count: 4.1k
⇢ genre & warnings: long-lost childhood friends to lovers au, fluff, groomsman!sungchan & bridesmaid!reader, new year’s themed, sungchan is soooo whipped, honestly they’re both just absolutely smitten
⇢ synopsis: in which you agree to fill in last-minute as a bridesmaid at your coworker’s new year’s eve wedding, not expecting to be reunited with your childhood friend (and very first boyfriend) jung sungchan
⇢ extra info: this is part of my 2025 hallmark movie marathon, four short, unrelated fics starring sungchan all with cheesy hallmark christmas movie-esque premises. there’s no continuing plotline between fics in this series, they’re all standalone fics
⇢ author’s note: im lowkey obsessed w these two actually
⇢ 2025 hallmark movie marathon
“Come on, I’m not twelve anymore,” he chuckled breathily, picking up your hand and kissing your knuckles, then the inside of your wrist. “Have some faith in me that my flirting skills have grown up too.”
The reception hall was filled with tinsel, baubles, and buzzing wedding goers helping to set up for the rehearsal dinner. But you were looking for just one person. You finally spotted Jieun with her fiancé over by the empty drink tables. You gently grabbed her elbow as you walked up from behind her, “Jieun, hey.”
She spun around, a breathless smile coming to her face when she saw you. “Oh, Y/N, there you are. You remember my fiancé Minhyun.”
“Hey, good to see you,” he greeted you kindly. You had only met Minhyun at a couple work mixers—you liked him just fine, but you ostensibly hadn’t even known Jieun that long, so you were by no means close with her fiancé either. Honestly, the whirlwind of events that ended with you here at the ski resort that they had fully booked out for the occasion, all your expenses paid for, the day before New Year’s Eve, was still baffling to you.
“You too.” You nodded to him politely, then went back to your original mission, “Sooyoung told me to come get you, the makeup artist—”
“Minhyun, the chairs are all done!” Another man had approached the groom-to-be.
Minhyun clapped him on the back. “Perfect, thanks, Sungchan.”
An odd feeling pricked at the back of your mind, and you found yourself looking up at the tall man, entirely diverting your focus from your task. He was wearing most of a suit—notably missing the jacket and tie—and his shaggy, dark hair almost blended into his black dress shirt. You almost couldn’t place him, it had been quite a few years, his youthful features long gone, and you weren’t used to having to crane your neck to look up at him. Then the last piece fell into place: he moved away, to the very same city you just moved to. Of course he did.
“Jung Sungchan?” You still phrased it as a question, just in case.
“So that was you, Y/N,” he laughed and it sounded just like you remembered, and he immediately pulled you in for a quick hug. When you drew back, you were still holding each other by the arm, looking the other from head to toe in disbelief. He shook his head and chuckled, “Wow, you look the same.”
You smacked his arm lightheartedly. “Rude.”
“I didn’t mean it like—” Sungchan was cut off by another sudden giggle. “I meant even after all these years it’s still you.”
Jieun and Minhyun had been standing there watching the two of you silently, with matching bemused looks on their faces. Deciding to save your politely confused friends, you explained, “Sungchan and I went to school together for years when we were kids.”
“Then I moved up here,” Sungchan continued.
Jieun’s eyes widened, and she gasped in delight, “Oh my gosh! That’s so cute!”
“What are you doing here?” Sungchan asked you.
“Moved here a few months ago for work and now I’m a last-minute bridesmaid,” you gestured to Jieun at the end.
“Speaking of, I’m so sorry to cut your reunion short, but did you need me for something, Y/N?” Jieun asked you, the pained regret plain on her face.
“Right, yes, makeup artist.” You nodded hastily. Squeezing Sungchan’s forearm, you gave him a hurried goodbye as you started ushering Jieun away, “It was good to see you again, Sungchan. We’ll have to catch up later.”
“Totally, yeah…” Sungchan agreed, watching you go.
The wedding party were all milling around in the staging area outside of the hall where the actual rehearsal dinner was to be held when Sungchan found you again.
He sidled up next to you, suit jacket and tie on now, informing you, “We’re paired up.”
“Oh, good,” you breathed out a sigh of relief. “I feel a lot better doing this with someone I know.”
After a few too many beats of silence, you glanced up at Sungchan and realized he’d been staring down at you this whole time. You looked around awkwardly, “What? Is there something on my face?”
“No, you’re beautiful,” he reassured you. “I’m just… Wow, it’s been how long? Twelve years?”
“Sounds about right,” you confirmed. Skin prickling under his unwavering gaze, you looked around expectantly. “So what are we doing? The wedding planner explained it to me when I got here but I’ve gotten a lot of information in the past hour.”
“We’ll walk in third, just match my pace. Then when we get to the end, you go left, I’ll go right. Watch the other bridesmaids before you to see how fast to do it. Then you stand still while they say some stuff, then follow the other bridesmaids out. I’ll see you again back out here.”
“I think I can do that.”
“So how did you end up doing this?”
“I work with Jieun.”
“I meant why did you have to fill in at all?”
You looked around warily, eyes wide, and shook your head. Dropping your voice, you leaned in towards him to murmur, “Not here. Later.”
He nodded and quickly changed the subject, “So you work with Jieun?”
“Yeah, different departments but she set up my IT stuff on my first day and just never stopped coming by my desk. She’s been great. How do you know them?”
“Minhyun and I have been friends since college. Intramural soccer.”
“Oh, you still play?”
“I’m in an amateur league now. I coach at a youth league at the same complex too.”
“Really? What age?”
“Girls 6 and under this year. I’ve been with the same group since they were four, though.” He had a fond smile on his face as he held his hand at knee height palm-down. “My niece is one of my players.”
“Niece?!” You gawped. Sungchan’s little brother was two years your junior, which meant that if he had a daughter who was six…
Sungchan nodded his head with a resigned shrug, though he clearly seemed amused at your reaction. “Yeah, Bibi wasn’t planned. But Yoosung has really stepped up and done pretty good at the whole coparenting thing.”
“I can’t believe String Bean has a baby. I mean, in my head he’s still a baby!” You could only conjure up the image of the cute little boy who would attach himself to you whenever you went over to their house, which Sungchan always loudly complained about until their mother would finally intervene and get Yoosung to leave the two of you alone for an hour or two.
He fished out his phone to show you pictures of his family, particularly his brother and niece. “It’s been a while, Y/N. He’s grown up.”
“Oh my god…” You gasped, covering your mouth in shock upon seeing pictures of a young man who was definitely not your little String Bean anymore. “Aw, she looks just like him. Well, except her nose. She get that from her mom?”
“Yep.” Next was a group photo of the whole girls’ soccer team, Sungchan standing behind them with a huge, proud smile. “This was last year.”
“Look at that!” You zoomed in on Sungchan at the back, laughing as you took in the visor and whistle he was wearing, clipboard in his hand. “Got the clipboard and everything.”
“Hey, I didn’t get a ‘Best Coach Uncle’ mug for nothing.”
“Phones away, please!” The loud, annoyed voice of the wedding planner rang out through the staging area. Despite the general phrasing of her statement, her tone and eyes being laser-focused on Sungchan made it clear that it was for one specific person.
Sheepishly ducking his head, he turned his phone back off and tucked it away into his suit pocket again. You snickered and patted his chest. “Oops.”
“Ah, worth it.”
The doors to the reception area opened, and a hush fell over the wedding party. You squeezed Sungchan’s arm tighter nervously. He immediately flashed you a reassuring smile, patting your hand.
“It’s just practice,” he reminded you quietly. “I’ve got you.” The couples ahead of you began moving, and he nodded slightly, indicatively. “Let’s go,” he said, stepping forward as well.
You were pretty sure you blacked out until you saw the first pair ahead of you stop and split apart, taking their places on either end of the ‘aisle.’ Then, your attention was laser-focused on watching the second pair do the same thing, memorizing it because you were next. Stopping when Sungchan stopped, your nervous smile became genuine when he mouthed ‘see you soon’ before turning you around by the hand towards where the other two bridesmaids had lined up. You consciously controlled your pace to not run over to them while also not take too long, filing in third. While everyone’s gaze turned back to where the next couples were coming in, your eyes flitted over to the groomsmen, of course meeting Sungchan’s. He nodded just the tiniest bit, eyes blinking slowly, warmly.
By the time you were back in the staging area, your breathing had pretty much returned to normal. You were clustered up with the other bridesmaids, listening to them go over the details of the rehearsal again, when Sungchan found you as promised.
“Hey, good job.” He offered you a high-five.
You half-heartedly tapped your palm to his, still feeling a bit frazzled. “Thanks, Sungchan. Almost ate shit on my way out.”
“That wasn’t your fault!” Heejin, the bridesmaid who had been directly behind you when exiting, protested immediately. “The carpeting wasn’t stuck down properly there!”
“And it’s already fixed, so don’t sweat it,” Sooyoung, the maid-of-honor, reminded you from where she was straightening up stray pieces of hair for Heejin.
“Let’s eat!” Minhyun announced, ushering everyone into the main banquet hall.
The wedding party were all at one table, and after the obligatory speeches, the rest of the dinner was a casual affair of eating, drinking, dancing, and chatting. Once your plates and glasses were empty, you and Sungchan ended up on the edges of the dance floor.
“I don’t care for this at all, by the way.” You wagged your finger at him disapprovingly.
“What?” He chuckled and cocked his head in confusion.
“This whole ‘you being taller than me’ thing. It’s unnatural.”
He laughed and patted your head. “Oh, come on. We always knew it’d end up this way, you just hit your growth spurts first.”
“Don’t tell me String Bean is taller than me. I might just die.”
“I won’t tell you then.”
At the end of the night, Sungchan walked you back to your room (admittedly, his was just down the hall). Outside your door, he made a big show of glancing down one end of the hall, then the other conspiratorially. He stooped down to get closer to your height and dropped his voice to ask, “So, what happened?”
You lifted your chin up slightly, looking up at him in confusion, “Hm?”
“With the other bridesmaid that you’re replacing?”
“Oh, god, right,” you sighed, leaning back against your door. Sungchan followed you to not leave too much empty space, wedging his shoulder in between yours and the corner of the doorframe, rapt attention on you as you explained in a whisper, “She tried to make a pass at Minhyun right in front of Jieun.”
“Woah,” he breathed out, eyes comically wide. “Evil and stupid.”
“Stupid either way,” you scoffed. “Minhyun would’ve told Jieun even if she had tried it when Jieun wasn’t around. Just saved everyone time doing it in front of her.”
“Good point.”
“They’d already paid for her room and everything and it was too late to get a refund and there would’ve been odd numbers in the wedding party, so Jieun asked me to fill in.”
“I wasn’t paired up with her,” Sungchan hummed, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly. “The other bridesmaid. I asked your real partner to switch.”
“Well, thanks.” You patted his arm and let your hand linger there. “Like I said, I feel a lot better having you with me.”
“Do you want to eat breakfast together tomorrow?”
“I wish, but the bridal party are all doing brunch.”
“Of course, my bad.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t the groomsmen doing something with Minhyun?”
“Shit, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Completely forgot.”
“Mm, before tomorrow gets crazy and I forget, can I get your number?” You requested, fishing your phone out of your clutch. “Don’t want to lose you again after this.”
“Of course.”
As he recited it, you typed in the digits into a new contact, then snorted halfway through as an old contact name popped up. “Wow. I apparently have never cleaned out my contacts when transferring my stuff to new phones. I still have you in here.” You turned your screen around to show him.
“That’s a lot of hearts,” he teased, his eyes crinkling.
Looking back down at the name, you laughed lightly, “Yeah…”
“I won’t hold you up anymore, we’ll both need all the sleep we can get before tomorrow.” Sungchan pushed off your door.
“It was really good seeing you again, Channie.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the huge grin on your face as you did so. “Night.”
The years you had spent apart were even more apparent as Sungchan squeezed you tight with a strength he didn’t used to have, the firm planes of muscles that you could feel under his clothes and large, warm hands that rested on your back also new. He made a small, happy sound in the back of his throat, hugging you just a bit closer. “Night, Y/N.”
As you closed the door to your hotel room behind you, your cheeks hurt.
All of the bridesmaids were gathered in Jieun’s bridal suite for brunch, sprawled around the large canopy bed, plush couches, and armchairs in your fluffy hotel bathrobes. Jieun had specifically requested that the conversation stay away from the upcoming ceremony, or else she’d be too nervous to even eat.
“So, Y/N, I thought you said you didn’t know anybody here except Jieun,” Heejin nudged your knee with hers. She had been right next to you and Sungchan at the rehearsal dinner, it made sense that she might have noticed how well you got along for supposed strangers.
“That’s what I thought until I got here,” you chuckled, still a bit in disbelief. “Sungchan and I were friends when we were kids. We lost touch when he moved away.”
She grinned knowingly. “You were inseparable yesterday.”
“Oh, making up for lost time?” Sooyoung, the maid of honor, asked teasingly.
“I was paired up with him originally, you know? Then he asked if I would be okay switching so he could help you,” Ahrin gushed. She immediately went to reassure you and the rest of the circle, “I didn’t care, of course. He’s all yours, Y/N.”
Under all of their imploring gazes, you divulged, “Okay, so technically, he was my first boyfriend—”
“Knew it!” Heejin clapped victoriously.
“So cute!” Yeeun squealed.
“When we were like… twelve,” you clarified. “Literally all we did was hold hands for like, three months. Then he moved.”
“Aww!” “Oh my god!” “Cute!”
Jieun finally spoke up, leaning forward and pointing her fork at you. “And now you’re not twelve. So you can do a lot more than hold hands.”
You smiled down at your food. “Yeah…”
“Ooh, she’s thinking about it!” Sooyoung cheered.
“Do it!” “Get it!” “Hell yeah, girl!”
“Wait!” Heejin gasped and rounded on the bride. “He’s single, right, Jieun?”
“Like Ahrin said,” your friend grinned. “He’s all yours, Y/N.”
A knock on the bridal suite came ahead of the ceremony, and you rushed to go get it. That had been your assigned task for the afternoon—minding the door. Your hair and makeup was done first, and you were dressed first, so you were taking care of anybody who tried to come in while Jieun and the others got ready, sending away anybody unimportant, taking care of minor problems, or getting Sooyoung or the wedding planner to handle it. Keeping Jieun’s peace.
So far you had the photographer come in to take pictures of the bridal party getting ready, and someone from the wait staff come around with drinks. This time on the other side of the door was Sungchan, in his own groomsman suit looking quite put together.
“Oh, hey,” you greeted him quietly. “Everything okay with Minhyun?”
“Yeah, I uhm, I just wanted to see you,” he admitted brightly.
Looking over your shoulder into the suite, you saw the other bridesmaids occupied with getting their makeup done, putting the finishing touches on their hair, and chatting. Everything looked fine for now. You stepped into the hall with him, quietly closing the door behind you.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks.” You looked down at the dress you were wearing. “The designer that made the other bridesmaids dresses from was nice enough to let me exchange when she found out I was filling in. Thankfully, they had this in the same color as the others…”
“It looks really good on you.”
You traced the edge of his lapel. “Suit looks weird on you, Channie.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, it actually fits,” you teased.
“Oh, your aunt’s wedding?” He laughed. “My mom wanted me to be able to grow into that suit, and then I never wore it again.”
With a smile, you adjusted a piece of his hair. “You look great. I can’t wait to walk with you.”
“We’ll be the second-best looking couple out there,” he affirmed with a wink.
“Sungchan!” A man called his name from the end of the hall, and you spotted another one of the groomsmen speedwalking over to you two. “There you are, man. Come on, photographer’s starting with us.”
“Did you sneak away?” You snickered.
Sungchan started, “Well—”
“Yeah, got dressed in record time and disappeared,” the groomsman shook his head. “You look great, by the way, Y/N. He’ll see you later.”
He grabbed Sungchan’s arm and started taking him away. Sungchan waved to you, “See you soon!”
The music inside was bleeding out to the balcony where you had momentarily stepped out from the reception, Sungchan of course in tow. His suit jacket was draped across your shoulders to block out some of the crisp air, and you let out a content sigh as you looked out at the stars over the mountains.
“You’re beautiful,” Sungchan said dreamily into the quiet.
“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told me that, you know,” you informed him, words laced with fond amusement. “Which is kind of crazy, considering it’s barely been twenty-four hours.”
“You’re right, I should get a thesaurus. Hold on.” He took out his phone.
“Put that away,” you laughed, pushing his hand back down. He just turned around and held it up higher, making you try to reach around him to swat at the device again as he was fervently typing away. “Sungchan!”
“Fine, fine,” he relented, pocketing the device once more and leaning against the railing with you. “…Breathtaking.”
“Funny, I don’t remember you being this…” You trailed off, narrowing your eyes as you tried to come up with the right word.
“‘This…?’” Sungchan echoed, tilting his head and squinting his eyes to mimic you.
“Forward,” you finally decided. “When we were kids. I had to be the one to finally to tell you that I had a crush on you first, after like two years of us ignoring everyone telling us that we liked each other. And I mean, in hindsight, we were painfully obvious.”
“Y/N, come on, I’m not twelve anymore,” he chuckled breathily, picking up your hand and kissing your knuckles, then the inside of your wrist. “Have some faith in me that my flirting skills have grown up too.”
“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, squeezing his hand. “It’s just that some things are the same and some are totally different…”
“I know.” Sungchan brought your hand up to his chest, pressing your palm flat. His heartbeat was hammering away under your touch, and he giggled nervously. “This hasn’t changed. Still feel like I’m twelve sometimes, challenging the prettiest girl ever to a staring contest even though I always lost because I wanted any excuse to have your attention.”
“Want to see if you’ve gotten better at staring contests?” You suggested, stepping even closer to him. “Loser has to kiss the winner.”
“I’m not going easy on you this time,” he declared teasingly, squaring his shoulders.
“Close your eyes,” you announced, doing so yourself. “We start on three, okay?”
“Okay.”
“One, two, three!”
As soon as you opened your eyes, you saw Sungchan blink rapidly, and burst into laughter, covering your mouth with your hand to not sputter all over him. You laughed with your whole chest, the cold air devolving it into a coughing fit, and you gripped onto the railing for stability. Sungchan rubbed your back, even as he snickered a little.
When you’d finally caught your breath again, you looked back at him to see that he was grinning shamelessly. Still a little lightheaded from laughing so hard, you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your full weight against him.
“Seems like you haven’t gotten any better,” you chuckled. “I think you’ve gotten worse.”
“I tried my best,” he sighed dramatically.
“Well?” You looked up at him expectantly. “I’m waiting, loser.”
“Oh, sore winner,” he tutted, even as he tenderly cupped your cheek and traced your bottom lip with his thumb. “Impatient?”
“Yeah,” you snorted.
“Me too.” He tilted your chin up and kissed you. Sungchan tasted heartachingly familiar, a comfortable warmth spreading out from your chest to your fingertips that enticed you to just melt into him forever. You were unhurried, kissing him slowly and deeply, the cold air around you suddenly negligible. His mouth was equal parts gentle and ardent as it moved with yours, and his hand skimmed down your neck to rest on the nape, imparting more of his warmth in its wake.
Kissing him one, two more times, you broke apart with a fond smile on your face, murmuring, “We should get back inside before midnight. Jieun said they’re doing something special.”
“So are we,” Sungchan rebuffed jokingly, connecting your lips once more. After another moment of indulging each other, he relented, “Okay, let’s go.”
Lacing your fingers with his, you started back towards the entrance. The door opened then, and Sooyoung’s face lit up upon seeing the two of you.
“Oh, hey! Good, you two are already out here,” she said brightly, and more guests poured out after her. “The fireworks are about to start.”
“Perfect timing,” you grinned, nudging Sungchan.
Reclaiming your previous spot on the railing, Sungchan wrapped an arm around you, and you leaned your head on his shoulder. The fireworks were apparently supposed to start right at midnight, in just a few minutes, and the rest of the balcony quickly filled with wedding-goers.
“I still can’t believe I found you again,” he breathed out, pressing a kiss to your hair.
“I can,” you replied back simply. “I can believe it.”
“Yeah?”
“Because we’re soulmates. I’ve always thought that, haven’t you?”
“Oh my god, of course,” he giggled into your ear, kissing the side of your head again. “God, you don’t know how much I’ve been trying to not tell you I love you after only a day and you just… say what you’re thinking, as always.”
“It hasn’t only been a day, though.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“I lo—” The rest of Sungchan’s words got drowned out by the crack of the first firework going off, and you were laughing as you pulled him in for a kiss. The booms and sizzles rang out around you as he happily kissed you back.
You watched the rest of the fireworks show, the bright bursts of color dancing across the inky night sky. After it was over, everyone cheered and toasted to the new happy couple once more.
“That was wonderful,” you commented to Sungchan, the two of you hanging back while the crowd slowly began filtering back inside.
“It was,” he agreed.
“I’m fucking freezing,” you announced, looking up at him with a smirk. “Want to go warm up?”
“My room’s pretty toasty.”
“Oh, you read my mind.”
A tiny sliver of sunlight streaming in through a gap was shining right across your eyelids. With a disgruntled noise, you rolled over away from it, burying your face in Sungchan’s chest. He automatically pressed a kiss to your hairline before resuming his faint snores. You smiled to yourself as you drifted back off to sleep.
You awoke again to gentle fingers brushing hair from your face, and blearily peeked one eye open to watch Sungchan fondly gazing down at you. “Morning, beautiful,” he whispered.
“Mm,” you hummed, closing your eyes again as you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers brushing through your hair. “Morning, Channie.”
🥥 genre: slice of life au
🥥 pairing: husband!anton x f!reader
🥥 word count: 2.7k
🥥 summary: after a beautiful wedding, you and anton jet off the the maldives for your honeymoon.
🥥 warnings: nothing much that i can think of but let me know if there’s anything i missed :)
✎୭: domestic anton? sign me up !!! the story of how they first met can be found here, this story can also be read as a standalone.
“i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may now kiss your bride.”
a round of applause and cheers fill the vineyard but it falls upon deaf ears as anton lifts your veil. he leans in slowly, one hand rising to gently caress the apple of your cheek. your chest swells with adoration and love as the distance between you disappears. the last thing you see is his eyes sliding shut before your own flutter closed.
anton’s lips are soft and warm against yours. the kiss is unhurried and gentle, filled with nothing but love and devotion. the weight of everything you’ve ever known to be true; that anton was the one made for you, that the ending had been written the moment you stepped into a wedding you were never meant to attend settles into your chest and the overwhelming joy of finally marrying the man you love spills over, tears slipping down your cheeks as you kiss him back.
you stand barefoot on the balcony, fingers curled around the railing as the warm air of the maldives brushes against your skin. below you the ocean stretches endlessly, calm and impossibly blue, the sound of the waves rising and falling easing your senses. you let out a quiet sigh of contentment and settle against the railing.
your mind drifts back to your wedding day. to the way anton broke into tears the second you appeared at the end of the aisle, how he didn’t even try to hide it, tears spilling freely as his brother (and best man) had to help keep him up right. you remember his vows, voice wavering but sure, every word a promise he intended to keep until his last breath.
then the reception, how he barely let you out of his sight. how his hand was either on the small of your back or his fingers laced with yours, as if the moment he loosened his grip the world might try to take you away. you smile to yourself at the memory of him clinging to you through the airport later that night, guiding you through tsa with his arm hooked around your waist, lips brushing your temple every chance he got, completely unbothered by the curious looks and phones capturing the moment almost like marrying you had unlocked some new, shameless version of him.
behind you, the soft rustle of sheets reminds you that anton is still in bed resting. when you glance back you note that he looks peaceful. his lashes rest against his cheeks and his chest rises and falls in an even untroubled rhythm. it’s a sight you don’t take for granted.
for weeks, his shoulders were wound with tension and he would clench his jaw so tight you were scared he’d chip a tooth whenever his phone would buzz. you both shared sleepless nights scrolling through translations and headlines neither of you wanted to read. his international fans had been loud with love, overflowing with congratulations and well-wishes celebrating him in a way that felt warm and genuine but back in korea it was far from well wishes.
you still remember the pounding headache the two of you shared the day your engagement leaked. how quickly your joy had been stolen and swallowed by anxiety. for years you’d protected your relationship carefully, loving him in private and showing up for each other without being noticed but then a moment meant to be harmless ruined it all. your roommate, glowing with pride at being the one who ‘set you up’ posted a photo from the engagement without thinking twice, without asking.
the weeks that followed were nothing like the proposal anton had so thoughtfully planned. nothing like the flowers, the way his hands had trembled when he slipped the ring onto your finger, the certainty in his eyes when he asked you to marry him. instead, there were think pieces and rumors from strangers who felt entitled to him, to you and to your happiness.
you’d watched it weigh on him, watched him question whether loving you so openly was selfish, whether choosing you would cost him something he’d worked his whole life for.
standing here now watching him sleep, you can finally see the knot loosening. the fear hasn’t vanished entirely and maybe it never will but it no longer consumes him.
you turn back toward the ocean, excitement bubbling quietly in your chest. today marks your first official day as anton lee’s wife. yours forever.
you hear him stir again then footsteps approaching before arms slide around your waist from behind. anton presses closer to you and rests his chin against your shoulder as he looks out at the view with you. “it’s so beautiful. i can’t wait to explore it with you.” he murmurs.
you tilt your head toward him, smiling. “and i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
his grip tightens as he smiles down at you. “today, tomorrow and forever, baby,” he whispers. anton nuzzles into your neck, nose brushing your skin before he presses soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone.
“what do you want to do today?” he asks, the words slightly muffled due to him refusing to lift his lips from your skin.
you hum thoughtfully, eyes drifting back to the water. “maybe explore a little…go swimming?”
anton steps back for a brief moment and turns you gently until you’re facing him. he takes your hands in his, thumb immediately finding your wedding band, tracing it like he still can’t believe it’s there. lifting your hand, he presses a kiss to the ring then another to your engagement ring.
“as long as i’m with you i don’t mind what we do.” he says softly.
your hands find the back of his neck, fingers threading through the hair on his nape. his palms settle at your lower back, rubbing slow soothing circles.
“i love you,” he whispers against your lips, the words sending butterflies straight to your stomach.
you smile, brushing your nose against his. “i love you more.”
shortly after your breakfast of western foods together at the balcony, you’re transported to a local village by your personal guide who talks about the country’s history and culture leaving you completely enamored.
you arrive at the village and it’s nothing but smiles and laughter all around. every now and then someone recognizes anton and approaches him shyly, asking for a picture. you never mind, not when you see how his eyes light up and how easily he thanks them for listening to his music, how genuine his smile is when he speaks to people who love him just as much as you do.
the first stop on your little excursion is a courtyard filled with art made by locals. woven baskets hang from wooden posts and tables are lined with painted textiles and handmade jewelry. children linger nearby, some helping their parents others darting between stalls with curiosity.
you find yourself drawn toward them without thinking. one little girl tugs at your hand, proudly showing you a half-finished bracelet made of bright thread. you crouch beside her helping her tighten the knot around her wrist. another child quickly joins in then another and soon, you have a group of kids swarming you. one is sat on your lap while you try to help the others with their bracelets as well.
not too far away, anton has been swarmed too. a few kids have guided him toward a table covered in paint, instructing him on which colors to use. he listens intently, nodding along and follows their directions seriously. when they cheer at his finished piece, he smiles so wide and hivefives every one of them as they take turns showing off their work.
your heart does a small unexpected flip at the sight.
anton has always been good with kids. he’s gentle, attentive and so insanely patient. you’ve talked about it before, kids. how many you’d want, who’s features you’d want them to have, possible names. you spent late nights wrapped up in each other and agreed that there’s no rush. that you want to savor this chapter and learn how to be married before becoming anything else.
you meant it when you said you wanted to wait but watching him now, crouched in the middle of them, celebrating their painted masterpieces like they’re priceless you feel overwhelmed with the idea of having his kids.
one day, you think. you’ll get to see him like this in your home, with children who call him theirs, who tug at his sleeves and light up the second he walks into a room.
the little girl in your lap leans closer completely at ease and you instinctively wrap an arm around her. for a fleeting moment, it feels ike the future has brushed past you just long enough to say hello.
when it’s time to head back to the car, your guide falls into step beside you and a couple of the children trail along too, hands slipping easily into yours and anton’s, swinging happily between steps.
“you’re both wonderful with kids,” your guide tells you. both you and anton smile at his words. “do you have any of your own?” he continues.
“not yet, we just got married.” you answer with a soft laugh, glancing over at anton.
anton’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand then he grazes your wedding band and smiles faintly. “we want to enjoy this time first. learn how to be married before we grow our family.”
your guide smiles, “that’s wise. the dynamic always changes when a child is part of the picture,” he clears his throat, “it’s clear the two of you will make wonderful parents one day. the children have a pull to you.”
your chest warms at his words. anton lets out a quiet laugh beside you, a blush quickly spreading across his cheeks as he looks away, not quite knowing how to accept the compliment.
“thank you,” you say softly for the both of you.
soon enough, it’s time to say your goodbyes. you crouch down and return hugs and high-fives, promising to remember them. anton does the same, waving until they disappear back toward the courtyard.
your next stop the the shopping center. the drive goes by quickly, you spend most of it taking pictures on anton's digicam and munching on snacks. when you arrive you find vendors lining the streets. you wander easily from stall to stall, indulging yourself just a little and then a little more until anton is left trailing behind you with both arms full, clutching bag after bag with overflowing patience.
“babe, you don’t think this is a bit…much?” anton teases as you briefly head to the vehicle to leave your things.
you pause by the car and turn to face him with a pout. “i didn’t know how to turn them down,” you defend lightly. “and besides…some of these would be such nice additions to our home, no?”
anton’s expression softens immediately, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “you’re right, baby.” he says, adjusting his grip like the weight doesn’t bother him at all.
you smile triumphantly and start unloading your things into the car with his help. once you finish he turns to look at you and asks. “do you want to head down to the beach before lunch?”
you nod smiling. “sounds like a plan.”
stepping into his space, you rest a hand against his chest fingers splayed over his heartbeat. you lean in, lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “i can’t wait for you to see my latest set.” you pull away to gauge his expression and you’re pleased to find him blushing.
“you’re wearing it?”
biting your lips, you shrug your shoulders, “why don’t you find out for yourself?”
anton smirks, pulling you closer by your hips before moving his free hand to the front of your crochet cover up; you had purposefully worn it to emphasize your curves. “you’re such a tease.” he breathes, chuckling lowly as his pointer finger dips into the cut out above your breast, already eyeing the ruby red bra that peeked through.
“you love it, though.” you purr.
he cocks his head to the side in agreement, tipping forward to kiss your neck. your eyes flutter shut as you relish in the feeling but you pull away when anton grabs your ass through your dress. “easy there, we’re still in public.”
he groans, “you can’t be serious.”
“deadly i fear. now, time to go swimming!”
once the two of you make it to the beach, you find the area to be not so full. there’s a father and mother crouched beside their kids patiently helping them build a sandcastle, an elderly couple strolling along the waterline, a group of women sipping cocktails by the bar and a young couple making out on the sand completely wrapped up in their own world.
you let go of your husband’s hand and slip the straps of your cover-up down your shoulders letting the fabric fall away to reveal the bikini beneath. anton’s gaze follows the movement, eyes darkening noticeably as the material pools at your feet, showing off your body.
you toss the dress on to the nearest lounge chair and turn to face him, a teasing smile on your lips. “well, what are you waiting for?”
anton answers with a smirk, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it beside your dress. “nothing.”
he takes your hand and breaks into a sprint toward the water pulling you along with him. you squeal as the first rush of cold water hits your legs, laughing as you stumble forward. you expect him to slow once the water reaches your waist but he keeps going until you’re nearly submerged, far enough out that the sounds of the beach blur into background noise.
you break free, swimming away from him with ease, kicking your feet just hard enough to splash water back in his direction. he laughs, swiping water from his face before swimming after you. you squeal when he catches you easily.
his hands find your waist, pulling you against him as he wraps his arms around you. you giggle and instinctively wrap your legs around him. you flinch when you feel hardness pressed against your stomach, your eyes going wide as you harshly whisper, “there’s no way you’re hard! we’re surrounded by so many people!”
anton’s eyes widen instantly, panic flashing across his face before he ducks his head, cheeks burning red. he shifts you slightly in his hold, pushing you up so you’re pressed closer to his stomach instead, clearly trying to be discreet.
“i know, i’m sorry! please just…ignore it.” his grip tightens for half a second, embarrassed. “it’ll go away. i promise.” he whispers mortified.
he refuses to meet your eyes, gaze fixed stubbornly somewhere over your shoulder like if he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll cease to exist. his ears are bright red now.
“anton,” you murmur, trying not to laugh.
he shakes his head quickly. “don’t—don’t say anything else,” he pleads softly. “please.”
you throw your head back and laugh at your poor husband who gets hard at just the sight of you in a bikini. “you’re like a pubescent teenager.” you tease.
his eyes narrow. “Hey!”
before you can tease him again, he splashes water at you in retaliation, catching you square in the face. you gasp, sputtering then laugh as you splash him back harder. “okay! okay!” you say between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “i’m sorry. i’ll stop teasing!”
he narrows his eyes playfully then relaxes, the embarrassment fading as he smiles again. “good.”
you drift back into swimming beside him, shoulders brushing. eventually, he reaches for you again slower this time, hands settling at your waist. you lean into him without thinking, resting your forehead against his shoulder. you press a small kiss to his skin, smiling as you murmur, “i love you.”
anton can feel butterflies explode in his stomach at your words. he hugs your body closer to his, chin resting lightly against your head as he whispers back, “i love you more.”
wc: 1k , pairing: bf!sungchan x gf!reader , genre: fluff , warnings: sungchan is very clingy, one suggestive statement lol , synopsis: it's christmas eve and sungchan is so excited after spoiling his girl!
the apartment is quiet in the way only winter nights are quiet—soft, muffled, like the cold outside has wrapped the whole world in cotton. the only real light comes from the christmas tree in the corner of the living room, its warm bulbs blinking lazily, reflecting off the ornaments you hung together. there’s still a faint pine scent in the air, mixed with wine and cinnamon and something sweet you baked earlier and forgot about in the oven until sungchan laughed and rescued it.
you’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a blanket draped loosely over both of you. sungchan sits close—too close, really, like he always does—one arm slung around your shoulders, thumb tracing absentminded circles against your sleeve. he hasn’t stopped smiling all night. not the polite smile he wears in public, but the bright, boyish one that makes his eyes go shiny, like he’s holding a secret he can barely contain.
and he is.
you can feel it in the way his leg bounces slightly, the way his hugs linger just a second longer than usual, the way he keeps leaning in to press little kisses to your cheek like he’ll forget how if he waits too long. every time you glance at him, he catches your eye and grins wider, teeth flashing, shoulders lifting like he’s trying to physically hold back his excitement.
“what,” you finally ask, laughing softly as he kisses the corner of your mouth for the third time in five minutes. “you’re being suspicious.”
“i’m not,” he says immediately, voice light and a little too quick. then he pauses, considers, and breaks into a sheepish smile. “okay, maybe a little.”
you tilt your head, pretending to study him. “you’re terrible at secrets.”
he laughs, warm and full, and pulls you closer so your shoulder presses into his chest. “i know. but i’ve been good. mostly.”
you hum, letting your head rest against him, listening to his heartbeat—steady, familiar, comforting. the wine in your glass is half-finished, forgotten on the coffee table, and the room feels like it’s glowing from the inside out.
your eyes drift to the tree again.
the gifts underneath it are piled higher than you remembered. boxes wrapped in neat paper, bows tied carefully, little tags dangling from ribbon. some of them are big, some small, some suspiciously shaped. you blink, then sit up a little straighter.
“…there’s so many gifts under the tree.”
sungchan stiffens for half a second, then relaxes, breaking into the brightest smile yet. it’s almost blinding.
“yeah,” he says, unable to hide the pride in his voice.
you stare, heat creeping up your neck. “channie.”
“what?”
you gesture helplessly. “that’s… a lot.”
he shrugs, still smiling, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “it’s christmas.”
“but i didn’t get you that much this year,” you admit, pouting despite yourself. embarrassment makes your voice smaller. “i feel bad.”
he turns toward you fully then, lifting his free hand to gently pinch your cheek between his fingers. it’s affectionate, teasing, familiar.
“hey,” he says softly. “don’t do that.”
you wrinkle your nose. “i’m serious.”
he chuckles and leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you can protest. it’s light, almost playful, but it makes your heart stutter anyway.
“it doesn’t matter to me,” he says, eyes warm and sincere. “not even a little.”
you search his face, trying to find even a hint of disappointment, but there’s nothing there—just fondness, devotion, that unmistakable softness he only shows you.
“besides,” he adds, voice dropping slightly, playful glint flashing in his eyes, “there are other ways you can show me how much you love me.”
your face burns instantly. “sungchan.”
he laughs, delighted, and pulls you back against him, chin resting on the top of your head. “i’m kidding,” he says—then pauses. “mostly.”
you swat his arm, but you’re smiling too hard to mean it.
the night stretches comfortably after that. the two of you sit in silence for a while, watching the lights on the tree blink on and off, sipping wine, sharing warmth. every so often, sungchan presses another kiss to your cheek, your temple, your lips—like he physically can’t help himself.
eventually, he sighs dramatically.
“okay,” he mutters.
you glance up. “okay what?”
he groans softly, tipping his head back against the couch. “i can’t do it anymore.”
“do what?”
“wait.”
you laugh. “wait for what?”
he looks at you again, eyes sparkling. “i need to tell you. just one. maybe two.”
“tell me what?”
“about the gifts.”
your eyes widen. “chan—”
“i know, i know,” he interrupts quickly, hands coming up in surrender. “it’s so close. but i’m too excited.”
he shifts so he’s facing you fully now, knees angled toward yours, hands warm where they rest on your thighs through the blanket.
“okay,” he says, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “there’s one that’s kind of small. silver wrapping paper. i got it when i was abroad because it reminded me of you.”
your heart squeezes.
“and the big one?” you ask carefully.
he grins. “which big one?”
“sungchan.”
he laughs again, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. “that one took me forever. i wanted it to be perfect.”
“you didn’t have to do all this,” you whisper.
he shakes his head. “i wanted to.”
his thumb brushes your cheek, gentle. “i love spoiling you. especially during the holidays.”
you lean into his touch, breath catching just a little. “you already do.”
he smiles, softer now, quieter. “good.”
the clock ticks closer to midnight without either of you noticing. outside, snow starts falling—slow, quiet, like it’s afraid to interrupt the moment. inside, sungchan wraps the blanket tighter around you both, pulling you into his chest until you fit perfectly there.
“merry christmas,” he whispers, even though it’s not quite time yet.
you smile against him. “merry christmas, channie.”
he kisses you again, slow and sweet, and for a moment, everything feels impossibly warm—like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the glow of the tree, and the quiet promise of tomorrow morning waiting just around the corner.
wc: 934 , pairing: bf!anton x gf!reader , genre: fluff , warnings: some kissing at the end! , synopsis: just toni and his gf enjoying a day in the city :')
new york city in december feels like it’s pretending to be something else.
the buildings still loom tall and sharp, the streets still hum with taxis and footsteps and music spilling out of storefronts—but everything is softened by the snow. it falls steadily, like it has nowhere else to be, dusting fire escapes and street signs and the shoulders of strangers who don’t even bother to brush it off anymore.
anton loves this.
you can tell by the way he keeps slowing his steps, glancing upward, like he’s afraid he’ll miss something. his hand is warm in yours, fingers long and gentle, his thumb brushing the back of your hand every few seconds like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there.
“this is my favorite version of the city,” he says quietly.
you look at him instead of the skyline. his cheeks are pink from the cold, curls peeking out from beneath his beanie, eyes bright with that soft, thoughtful excitement he gets when he’s emotional but trying not to be obvious about it.
“yeah?” you ask.
“yeah,” he nods. “it feels like a movie.”
you smile. “you always think everything’s a movie.”
he laughs, low and shy. “only the important things.”
the rink is crowded, music drifting through the air—something old and jazzy that sounds like it belongs in the background of a 90s rom com. the ice gleams under string lights, and couples glide past holding hands, laughing when they stumble, pulling each other closer instead of letting go.
anton tightens his grip on your hand.
“you okay?” he asks.
you raise an eyebrow. “are you?”
he exhales, smiling sheepishly. “i haven’t skated in a while.”
“you’ll be fine,” you tease. “i’ll catch you.”
he looks at you then, really looks, like you’ve just offered him something precious. “promise?”
you nod. “promise.”
on the ice, he stays close—closer than necessary—one hand firmly holding yours, the other hovering at your waist like he’s afraid to cross a line even though you’ve crossed it a hundred times already. his movements are careful, deliberate, like he wants to make sure this moment stays intact.
when he does slip, it’s barely noticeable. he laughs softly, breath fogging in the cold air, and instinctively pulls you closer instead of away.
“see?” you say. “i’ve got you.”
he hums. “i know.”
you skate in slow circles, the city blurring around you, snowflakes clinging to your coat and his scarf. every so often, anton glances down at your joined hands like he can’t believe it’s real.
later, you duck into a small café tucked between two buildings, its windows fogged up from warmth and chatter. the inside smells like coffee and sugar and something baked fresh that morning. a christmas song plays softly overhead—one you recognize instantly.
“it’s from laufey’s christmas album,” anton murmurs with a smile.
you laugh. “of course you know that.”
he shrugs, cheeks pink again. “it’s romantic. one of my favorites.”
you sit across from each other at a tiny table, knees brushing underneath. he wraps his hands around his mug, fingers still cold, and you reach out without thinking, covering them with yours.
his breath catches.
“you’re always cold,” you say gently.
“not right now,” he replies.
the moment stretches, quiet and heavy with feeling. the snow outside keeps falling, cars passing like distant ghosts, and for a second it feels like the city has narrowed down to just this café, this table, the space between you.
after, you wander through shops glowing with warm light—vintage bookstores, little stores selling ornaments and scarves and things you don’t need but want anyway. anton insists on buying you a knit hat you pause in front of for too long.
“anton,” you protest. “i was just looking.”
“i know,” he says, already pulling out his card. “but i like imagining you wearing it.”
your heart flips.
outside again, night settles in fully. the city sparkles—windows lit up, trees wrapped in lights, the street alive with color and sound. snow crunches under your boots as you walk, shoulders brushing, hands intertwined.
anton stops suddenly.
“wait.”
you turn. “what?”
he steps closer, carefully adjusting your scarf, fingers lingering at your collarbone. “you’re… really beautiful,” he says quietly, like he’s confessing something.
you laugh softly. “anton.”
“i mean it,” he insists, eyes earnest. “like—right now. here. this feels unreal.”
you swallow. “it kind of does.”
he leans in then, pressing a slow, careful kiss to your lips. it’s gentle, unhurried, like he’s savoring it. the world keeps moving around you, but neither of you seem to notice.
back at his place, the city noise fades into a distant hum. the windows glow faintly with reflected lights from outside, snow still falling beyond the glass. anton kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his coat, immediately turning back to you like he doesn’t want to lose momentum.
“come here,” he says softly.
under the covers, everything feels warmer, quieter. you curl into his chest, his arm wrapping around you with a protective ease that makes your chest ache. his breathing slows, syncing with yours, his lips brushing your hair, your forehead, your cheek.
he kisses you like he’s telling a story—slow, lingering, full of feeling. every touch feels intentional, like he’s afraid of rushing.
“i could stay like this forever,” he murmurs.
you smile into his shoulder. “you say that about everything.”
“only the important things,” he repeats.
outside, the snow keeps falling, and new york keeps pretending to be a movie—one where everything is romantic, and nothing hurts, and love is always waiting right where you left it.
